Hurt // Marvel [2]

7

I adjust the baseball hat on my head as I approach the coffee stand I've been going to everyday. I quickly spot Bucky already sitting at a table, two cups sitting in front of him. I'd like to take that as a sign that he's warming up to me.

I pull out the seat across from him and sit down.

"I diluted your coffee with a bunch of cream and sugar like you did yesterday." He pushes one of the cups across to me. "I wouldn't even call it coffee at this point." My lips slip into a small smile. That's the most I've heard him talk without me forcing him.

"I don't actually like coffee," I state. "For some reason I've just started to drink it recently, but I'm still not used to how bitter it is." In the quiet pause, I take a sip of my drink and notice the notebook sitting in front of him.

"Do you write?" I ask.

"Memories," He states. "Just in case."

"It isn't a bad idea." His eyes move up and meet mine. "Writing stuff down also helps you remember it. I've also found it helps get emotions out. Writing all that down is probably even better for you than you think." He looks back down at the notebook and leans over towards his backpack before pulling out a different one. Bucky slides this one across the table to me.

"You can start with this one, but we can get more." I run my fingers across the cover before looking back up at him.

"Thank you."

"I have an apartment." He seems to force the words out, like he was nervous to say them. The emotion was small though, barely noticeable. He doesn't want to seem vulnerable. "You can stay with me for a little while after you move out of the hotel."

"I don't want to completely intrude on your life." He shakes his head.

"You aren't. We'll be helping each other." I nod.

"Thank you, Bucky." I look back down at the notebook in front of me and consider what would be best for me to put in it. Sure, I might have a few memories I might want to write down, but I only have a few years of memories of a boy who died a few months ago. Bucky has his entire life to write down. Instead I think I might write letters in it. Like the one I wrote to Steve yesterday. I want to write to my friends, even though I'm not sending them. It lets me vent a little and process everything that's going on. Plus I'll be able to give them to everyone once I see them again and I'll know I won't forget anything I wanted to say.

"I think I'm gonna want a few more of these." I motion down to the notebook and Bucky looks at me. "One per person." I think out loud but Bucky doesn't question me.

"There's a few vendors that actually sell them. Or there's a shop down the road." Bucky moves his own notebook from the table back into his backpack. "Do you want me to hold that?" I shake my head and motion to my own backpack sitting at my feet. I put my own notebook away and mirror his actions as he stands up and I grab my still full coffee cup off the table.

"Are we going to go get some now?" I ask.

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"No. But I'm not the one who's been living here for who knows how long." I notice his slight smile again. "The only thing I really know is the one coffee stand. I've been trying to keep myself away from possible stressful situations. I don't need anything setting me off."

"What exactly are your powers?" He seems hesitant, as though he doesn't want to intrude on my personal information.

"I wish I knew." I shrug. "As far as I knew, it was only the ability to heal people. And then when-" I pause before continuing. "And then suddenly I could hurt people. I hurt the people I love and I couldn't figure out how to control it. If I become too stressed or worried, my entire body heats up enough to burn someone. There was once some sort of wave came off of me, pushing everyone back."