~ one shot based off of blue strips by jessie murph ~
warnings: smoking
word count: 600 words
The night air in Malibu was too warm to be kind.
Bucky leaned against the balcony railing, watching the lights from the party below smear across the pool water. Laughter carried on the breeze, sharp and glittering, a sound that felt foreign to him now. He’d come because Sam said it would be “good PR,” but the minute he saw you across the terrace, he knew it was a mistake.
You looked different. Not unrecognizable, but evolved. Polished. Like all the rough edges he used to know had turned to armor. You laughed at something your new guy whispered, the kind of easy laugh that used to be his favorite sound.
He took a slow drag from the cigarette he wasn’t supposed to be smoking. It burned his throat, but at least it gave him something to do with his hands.
“Didn’t think you smoked anymore,” your voice said behind him.
He didn’t have to turn. You always had a way of finding him, even when you shouldn’t.
“Didn’t think you came to these kinds of things,” he said, flicking the ash into the wind.
“I didn’t,” you replied, stepping beside him. Leaning your back against the railing and leaning on your elbows, tipping your head back. “Until recently.”
Your perfume hit him next — familiar, maddening. He almost smiled. Almost.
“So, new guy?” he asked, nodding toward the laughter drifting from inside.
“New everything,” you said lightly. You gesture to the mansion. “House, life… people who don’t disappear for months without a word.”
He winced before he could stop himself. You caught it, of course you did. You always saw straight through him.
“That’s not fair,” he said quietly.
You gave a small, humorless laugh. “Neither was waiting.”
The silence that fell between you was heavy, full of ghosts. The kind of quiet that only existed between people who had once known too much about each other — favorite songs, the way one of you liked to be kissed, the sound of laughter in the dark.
He turned to look at you. “You look happy.”
You met his gaze without flinching. Running your hand over familiar cold metal as you touch his arm. “I look fine.”
There it was — the truth, hidden in plain sight. You didn’t look happy. You looked strong. And that was different.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.
“I know,” you murmured. “But you did anyway.”
Another silence. Another drag. Somewhere below, music shifted — a slow, sultry rhythm that almost made you laugh. You used to dance to songs like that in his kitchen, barefoot and half-asleep.
You leaned into him, your head resting on his shoulder. The contact wasn't accidental, it was familiar, comfortable. It shouldn't feel that way.
“So what now?” he asked, voice rough.
You shrugged. “Now nothing. You go back to saving the world, and I go back to pretending I’m over it.”
His laugh was soft, almost disbelieving. “You’re not?”
“I’m trying,” you said. “But you have a way of ruining progress.”
The admission hung between you, bare and dangerous. For a second, it felt like everything might collapse back into what it used to be — bad decisions and good intentions tangled in the dark.
Then someone called your name from inside. The new guy, voice bright and easy. You straightened, the mask sliding neatly back into place.
“I should go,” you said.
Bucky nodded, forcing his jaw to unclench. “Yeah. Go be happy.”
You hesitated, eyes flicking over him one last time. Hand grazing over his shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Barnes.”
When you were gone, he exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The smoke rose, disappearing into the night sky.
Below, the party kept going; lights, laughter, and music he couldn’t stand to listen to anymore.
For a long time, he stood there, staring at the reflection of the moon in the pool. It looked fractured. Beautiful, but broken.
Just like the both of you.
I drew a less than enthusiastic VDV soldier (the blue doesnt stand out too well on the tyelnyashka; now it just looks like a Navy/Naval Infantry tyelnyashka, but I promise you I'm not that dumb) with some sort of KLMK/White Berezka/Byelyj Byeryozka top (which I don't thing the cut is very accurate for the time period; looks a bit more like SSO/SOSPN's early cuts, but who knows), a Lifchik/Poyas-A chestrig (which doesn't have the top two pouches on each side; just one), the Holy Mushroom helmet, the SSh-68, and the oh so sexy AK-74 (maybe AKS-74; he is a paratrooper after all...).
The lines didn't turn out as clean as I wanted. It's high in probability that it's due to the fact that I shaded with the pencil before coloring it all in. Big bruh.
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HOW TO WRITE A SOVIET-AFGHAN WAR SONG:
Сидя на песке; мальчик лет девяти.
На его лице была грязь и выражение резкой, резкой горечи.
Его глаза были остекленевшими,
его тело дрожало,
его сердце почернело.
Я не знаю, что ждет в красивых, красивых горах.
Я не знаю, куда эти вертолеты везут моих павших друзей.
Нет света без тьмы,
нет звезд без ночи,
нет любви без войны.
Мама всегда говорила:
«Не позволяй этому заболеть»,
но есть вещи, которые я не могу отпустить.
Я не знаю, что ждет в красивых, красивых горах.
Я не знаю, куда эти вертолеты везут моих павших друзей.
В песке холодное тело.
В песке холодное тело.
в вертолете холодное тело.
В ВЕРТОЛЕТЕ ЕСТЬ ХОЛОДНОЕ ТЕЛО. БРАТЬЯ! ВСТАВАЙ, ВСТАВАЙ! ПОЖАЛУЙСТА!
Sitting there in the sand; a boy, around nine years old.
There was dirt on his face, and an expression of sharp, sharp misery.
His eyes where glazed,
his body was shivering,
his heart was blackened.
I don't know what’s waiting in the beautiful, beautiful mountains. (Always say somethin about the mountains, or how pretty oooo pretty pretty Afghanistan is. double points if you can shove both into it)
I don’t know where these helicopters are taking my fallen friends. (Its a bit rare, but try to mention helic of some sort; extra spooky points if you mention the Black Tulip, as shown in the example)
There’s no light without dark,
there’s no stars with no night,
theres no love without war. (somewhat subtle nods to Viktor Tsoi's Pyesnya byez Slov; if you're cool you'll know)
Mother always said (s a y s o m e t h i n g a b o u t y o u r m o m)
“don’t let it get to your head”
but there are somethings that I cannot let go.
I don't know what’s waiting in the beautiful, beautiful mountains.
I don’t know where these helicopters are taking my fallen friends.
There’s a cold body in the sand.
There’s a cold body in the sand.
there’s a cold body in the helicopter.
THERES A COLD BODY IN THE HELICOPTER. BROTHERS! WAKE UP WAKE UP! PLEASE! (Ultra ultra points for screaming at some point.)
