Warnings: None! Just two sleepless lovebirds inspired by my sleepless nights. Enjoy!!
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You roll over to check the time and groan as you read it aloud to yourself. The boxy “4:00” seems to mock you as you contemplate just rolling back over and attempting a last-ditch effort to sleep. Ultimately, you decide against it. It was far too late for that. The cut-off for an actually helpful night of sleep for you was at the latest 3.
Sitting up with a huff in the dead of night feels like routine by now. Seven nights in a row, an entire week of fitful, often even wholly restless nights. You scrub a hand over your face and force yourself to stand. As always, your body has decided to act as if 6 hours of motionless insomnia requires a full meal. Your stomach growls at you as you trudge to the kitchen, and you’re so dazed that you almost miss the very source of your sleep deprivation.
As he has every night before, Bucky is leaning against the counter, nursing what smells like a fresh pot of coffee. Even like this, clearly suffering the same bone-wearying exhaustion you are, he looks good. Beautiful, even. His eyes shine despite the bags underneath them as they look off, lost in thought, and his hair is tousled from tossing and turning as if inviting fingers to run through it-
You shake yourself, shore up your defenses, take a deep breath, and walk in, giving him the traditional insomniac-to-insomniac nod. He responds with a smile he only seems to reserve for Steve, you, and Sam when he’s not looking. Tired, but soft, as if just seeing you has lightened his load just a little.
You attempt to stoically ignore the dizzying jitters it evokes, but you’re guessing your smile gives you away. His widens just enough to set off a new kaleidoscope of butterflies aflutter in your chest. You clear your throat and head past him, only to feel his hand land softly on your arm to stop you.
Bucky shifts his weight to lean over you, placing exactly what you had been going to get in your flustered hands: a cool glass of milk. You blink and look up at him with a questioning eyebrow, and he shrugs, not the least bit embarrassed.
“I heard you comin’, Doll. I know what you like on nights like this by now.”
You feel your face heat up and look down, dodging his crystalline, teasing eyes. This was it! This! This teasing that teeters on the edge of flirting in a way that leaves you light-headed and dizzy by the end of each interaction. How are you supposed to sleep when moments like this keep replaying in your head? How can you close your eyes when his smirk keeps appearing in your mind?
You glance up again to see that Bucky’s smile has fallen, and you bravely reach up to rest one hand against his cheek for just a moment, offering a quiet “thanks.” His smile comes back blindingly, and you can’t help but return it, even as you let your hand fall back down to your side. You look away, only for your eyes to immediately turn back to Bucky’s when he breathes in as if to speak.
You hang on to his every move as he studies you in the tense pause that ensues, before he leans back and sighs to himself, whispering out a defeated, “nevermind.” You give him a few more seconds of silence, then nod to yourself. He must not have found what he was looking for. You turn toward the door, but only take a step before you’re stopped again, only this time by Bucky stepping in front of you and placing his hands on your arms, coffee long forgotten.
“Doll,” he takes a deep breath and tries again, sounding almost desperate, “Sweetheart, we’ve been dancing around this for months and this week alone has been torture, I... I need the sun to break.” He rolls his head up as if looking for answers from the ceiling and backs up as if he’s been burned, releasing you to hug himself around the middle. “I’m halfway gone already and I don’t even know if you-” he shakes his head and looks down with a self-deprecatory laugh, “Have all the signs been in my head? Am I makin’ all of this up?” He looks back up to you, studying again, like you’re a puzzle he’s been longing to solve for years, and steps forward achingly shy, almost terrified you’ll run from him. “Has this all meant what I think it does?”
The war fear and hope are fighting in his eyes pushes you to act, and, placing your glass on the counter, you step up to meet him just as shyly, putting your hand back in its place on his cheek, tilting his forehead down to meet yours. A smile and a gentle nod are the only answers you can bear to give, the butterflies feeling like a swarm, but they’re all the answers he needs, closing his eyes in relief and wrapping you up in his arms. You stand together for a precious moment, soaking in the beautiful revelation of returned feelings before Bucky steps back and offers you his hand. You take it without question, and your trust makes him smile as he leads you to the living room. You both situate yourselves on the couch and put on something meaningless, knowing you’ll talk over it anyway.
The team has long been used to you two being out of your rooms at horribly early hours of the morning but never had they happened upon a sight this sweet. Sam is sure to snap a photo, and Steve can barely hide his grin behind his hand. Bucky is leaning against the arm of the couch, holding you as you lean against him, both of you sound asleep as the Food Network plays on the TV. The best sleep you’ve had in years.
