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Setting: After TWS (not Civil War)
Two months.
It had been two months since the elusive Bucky Barnes had shown up on the staircase of your apartment building days after pulling you from your wrecked car—two months since Bucky Barnes had kissed you—two months since you had even seen him.
"забудь меня (forget me)."
You hiked your duffle bag up over your shoulder and walked along the busy sidewalk, pushing past crowds of people in order to reach your apartment building. Your muscles ached as you walked away from the VA where you'd been taking lessons from experienced fighters; you had signed up for a self-defense class a week after Bucky left. You wished you could say that it wasn't because of what had happened on the bridge, but it had everything to do with that day. You refused to ever need saving again, especially since the last man who saved you ended up disappearing as if he had been erased off of the face of the earth with one of those 'for big mistakes' erasers.
"забудь меня (forget me)."
How could you? How could you forget him? Ironically, those words he had said to you seemed to ever leave; they bounced back and forth in your mind, no sign of escape. You heard him everywhere you went; you were always thinking of him, and it nearly drove you insane. A stranger couldn't have such an affect on you, could they?
Just as you were beginning to cross the street, a biker nearly ran into you, though luckily after the training you'd been doing at the VA had prepared you for similar incidents. However, this wasn't exactly the life or death situation you had taken the class; it helped you nonetheless. You stepped quickly to the side, but the handlebars of the bike managed to rip your duffle from your arms and it fell to the ground. Pursing your lips, you cursed under your breath and knelt down to retrieve it. Upon standing back yo, you caught a glimpse of a figure—a familiar figure.
"Bucky?" You whispered to yourself, narrowing your eyes to get a clearer perspective of the man across the street.
A bus drive by, and you stepped back up onto the sidewalk waiting for it to pass. Once it was no longer obstructing your vision, you looked up and down the sidewalk across from you, only to see a crowd of strangers—none of whom were Bucky Barnes. You stood there for a few more minutes, lingering no farther than ten feet from the spot you'd been standing when you saw him—Bucky. Only some part of you had convinced yourself it was an illusion—a mean trick your mind played on you, because you missed him. It felt silly. . .to miss him, especially when you'd only spoken with him twice. Even a shared kiss couldn't change the fact that you barely knew Bucky. It also, however, could not change the fact that you wished to see him again.
