friday (i'm in love)
summary: every day you love bucky. every friday he pretends to love you too
pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader
word count: 2.3k
warnings: college!au, angst, phoebe bridgers made me do this, ambiguous ending
a/n: i've been working on this bad boy since august and finally got around to finishing it. i actually really like this and i hope you all do too! please remember to reblog and comment - i love getting feedback!
masterlist ─ i no longer have a taglist but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary and turn on notifications to stay updated on when i post!
The Monday sun trickled through your half opened blinds, waking more sweetly than you probably deserved. Your eyes cracked open, seeing a peaking glance of the blue morning sky, and a half smile made its way to your face. Mondays were usually hard for you but you thought that just maybe today would be a change.
That is until your hand reached for the other side of the bed, feeling the sheets cold from a body long gone. Any warmth the splashes of sun may have granted you seeped from your body, leaving you as cold and empty as your sheets. Disappointed - but not surprised - you slipped from underneath the covers and made your way to the bathroom. While you were waiting for the water to heat up, you hesitantly looked at yourself in the mirror.
It was the same as every Monday of the semester - messy hair, the remnants of mascara just under your eyes, the peak of a smattering of bruises across your collarbones - always low enough that no one could see them but you, and the person who left them there. But they would mostly fade by Friday, just to be replaced over the weekend.
It was a pattern you had somehow let yourself fall into, no end in sight. Every time your roommate gave you the side eye, or poured you a glass of wine when she heard your muffled sobs over the sound of the running shower, or heard the door quietly open and close in the way too early morning hours while she was awake in the living room, you tried to come up with ways to end it, ways to break the cycle. You would never do it, of course, but maybe if you could imagine, just for a moment, an end to the hurt you put yourself through, you could take a breath of relief.
As you stepped out of the lobby of your apartment into late fall air, you tampered down a quick flash of anger. It didn’t seem fair that the light blue of the sky and the golden rays of the sun were allowed to be out and proud when your own blue mood was so dark it neared black.
But still, just like every Monday, you took a deep breath and headed to your first class.
You were halfway across campus when you saw Bucky, talking to Sharon, and the quick flash of eye contact before he looked away, not so much as a wave of recognition, threatened to bring you to your knees.
And the sky remained blue and clear.
-
Tuesday was so dark and cold it gave you whiplash.
The second day of the week was always a little easier, the wound less fresh, and you eased yourself out of bed, still sore from yesterday’s workout - where you ran until you could barely breathe because it was the only time you stopped thinking of Bucky. The warm shower nearly held you hostage, knowing you would be faced with a bitter chill once you stepped outside.
You managed to get out despite the protests from every cell in your body, and spent a long time getting ready, delaying the inevitable.
Your heart thudded, heavy in your chest, as you navigated campus, never sure when your greatest daydream and darkest nightmare would emerge from the crowd to haunt you with empty eyes.
The universe granted you reprieve for a day.
-
Wednesday wasn’t as kind.
The same weather matched your overcast mood and you bundled up in the first sweatshirt you grabbed from your drawer.
It wasn’t until you were already out of the door that you realized it was Bucky’s, and you let out a choked sound before you composed yourself.
Of course it would be your luck to be just outside the building when you got a message your only class for the day had been canceled, and you decided to make the trip worth your time by heading to the library.
You studied for your upcoming exam, digging into your textbook with a highlighter and a middle-of-the-week attitude.
As you turned the page, it sliced your finger and you let out a hiss of pain. The other hand gripped your pen so hard you thought it might explode in a splash of ink and shame. From the way your week was already going, you honestly wouldn’t be surprised.
Dropping the pen on the table with a soft clatter, you dug around in your bag, searching for tissues you knew you didn't have. You finally gave up, sticking the bleeding fingertip in your mouth so you didn’t get blood on the page of notes you had been diligently working on. You looked around to see if anyone had seen your miniature fiasco, but everyone else on the floor was either immersed in their own studying or chatting quietly amongst themselves.
In your glance around, the elevator doors opening caught your eye at the very same moment Bucky walked out. Your heart swelled in a flurry of hope as his face split into an easy grin, until you realized he was looking over you. You turned your head enough to see Steve and Sam just a few tables over, and Bucky took a couple steps forward until his gaze dropped enough to see you. And your sweatshirt.
He came to a sudden stop, smile disappearing from his face, and he took a sharp turn towards the corner of the library where the stairwell led back to the bottom floor. You could barely hear the slam of the heavy door over the shattering of your heart.
-
By Thursday, you had fully convinced yourself to move on.
You had one last crying session with Wanda, over a bottle of wine and a mountain of good advice you would try desperately to take.
With a warm buzz, you felt light and airy on the decision to do better, be better, be stronger. No matter how many times you had told yourself the last time was truly the last time, you were convinced this was it.
Instead, Friday brought you a hangover and a text from Bucky.
Usual tonight?
You ignored it all day. You turned your phone off, shoved your laptop in a drawer, took away any form of communication you had with him. You spent the day catching up on reading you had been telling yourself you would get to for months.
It almost worked.
Wanda was gone for the weekend - she mistakenly trusted your promise that Bucky wouldn’t be coming over.
Because by the time the clock struck midnight, you texted him back.
-
For most of the next week, you didn’t see Bucky at all.
Monday it was a downpour, the sky black and the wind cutting your skin. You knew he skipped class on days like that. After class, you went for a run, watching the rain splatter on the window that looked over campus, and tried to push him from your brain. It worked.
Tuesday, in the early hours of the morning, you got a panicked call from your mom. Your dad was in the hospital and she needed help for a couple days. You packed a bag and got in your car, heading home without a second thought.
Wednesday you were so busy you didn’t think about Bucky at all.
Thursday, it was almost easy to block Bucky’s number.
Friday, you heard it.
Knock. Knock. Knock knock knock.
The pattern that let Wanda know to disappear into her room, where she could pretend she didn’t know what was happening. Bucky didn’t like anyone to see him there, even the girl who heard everything the two of you did through the thin walls.
The doorknob rattled, and you could tell he was surprised to find it locked. Every Friday before, it had been left open for him.
Evening your breathing, you opened the door and saw his confused face. Your thoughts wrestled between slamming the door shut and leaping into his arms.
In the end, you did neither, stepping back and letting him trail you to your bedroom.
“You never answered my text.” There was no emotion behind the statement. He said it like it was a simple fact, no different than telling you that your walls were grey.
“I know.” He sat on your bed like he belonged there.
“Why?” You backed away as far as you could, your back hitting the wall, your arms crossing over your chest like they could protect you from his words.
“Why do you think?”
“I have no clue.” You were in disbelief. He had no clue? No clue what you felt for him? No clue that he broke your heart a little more every time he came and went?
“I’m done. With us.” You tried to keep your voice from shaking, but there was still a slight waver. You wondered if he even noticed.
“What do you mean you’re done?”
“I mean I don’t want to do this anymore. Don’t want to see you. Don’t want you here.”
“Why?” So many why’s. So many sharp words he didn’t even know were cutting you deep.
“What do you mean why, Bucky? This isn’t fair anymore! You stay here all weekend, you slip in my bed and in me and then you’re gone by the time I wake up Monday morning. And every Monday I can’t hold my tears back, even though I know you won’t be here.”
“Baby, you -”
“Don’t call me baby.”
He looked genuinely shocked, and you knew why. You had never raised your voice at him. The two of you had never even gotten in any kind of fight; he didn’t care enough to.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just,” he stopped, seemingly gathering up his next words, “you knew what this was when we started.”
“And what is ‘this’? What am I to you?”
“You know what you are. You’re a… friend. With benefits. We said there were no strings attached.”
“No, you said there were no strings attached, and I went along with whatever you wanted because I knew this was as close as I could ever get to you loving me back.” The words flew from your mouth before you could catch them, and the tension that blanketed the room was so thick you felt like you could hold it in your hands.
“What?” His voice was barely a whisper, the first time he had shown any true emotion since he walked into your apartment.
“Just forget it.” You took a deep breath. “Get out.”
His eyes held a thousand questions, and you didn’t want to hear any of them. He sat, still as a statue, just staring at you.
“I said get out.”
It was like the words awoke him from a trance and he stood quickly, stumbling past you as he made his way out of the apartment.
-
The weekend hurt - the first weekend you hadn’t spent with Bucky in you didn’t even know how long.
But you didn’t cry.
You thought that might be a good thing.
-
By Monday, you were truly feeling better - the first Monday you could remember not having an emotional hangover. You got up early and went for a morning run, and didn’t even have to push the thought of Bucky from your mind. Then you went home and showered and got ready for the day. As you walked to class, you held your head high, a ghost of a smile on your face.
You felt good.
Then you saw him again.
It was like deja vu, life in slow motion, a moment so perfectly timed you couldn’t even make it up in fiction.
You passed Bucky, the same as just a couple weeks before, talking to Sharon. Except this time, his arm was slung over her shoulder, a cocky grin on his face. Except this time, he actually looked at you, met your eyes in a stare, and his face dropped.
Except this time, gazes still locked, you watched each other, heads turned, until the moment passed and you were on your way, heart stilled in your chest.
-
Tuesday and Wednesday you couldn’t even get out of bed.
It was like the small modicum of progress you had was washed away with the rain that pattered outside your window.
You wouldn’t - couldn’t - eat, so Wanda resorted to bringing you glasses of water, making you sit up and drink at least two before she would let you go back to wallowing.
She was a good friend; you knew she would make you get out of bed eventually, and she would help you move on. And you would try.
Thursday, the door cracked open, and you figured it was her finally coming to drag you out of bed. Instead, Nat and Wanda walked in.
Without a word, then got into bed on either side of you, and held you until you couldn’t cry anymore.
-
The weekend was easier. You went out with your friends you had been neglecting. You didn’t see Bucky. You felt better, at least a little bit.
You thought that maybe you would always love Bucky - love the way he touched you, love the way he would lay in your bed for hours and talk about anything and everything, love the way you knew each other inside and out - but you could also move on.
It was possible, you just had to try.
-
Monday night, you were sitting on the couch watching old TV reruns when you heard a shuffle outside your door.
Knock. Knock. Knock knock knock.
