Inspired By Taylor Swift Series

Hits Different (Marvel)

You know it's stupid. You know it's a decision you will regret when you wake up with the worst hangover of your life.

You know that, but in this moment, you swear you can feel sobriety slowing creeping up on you, and you can't bring yourself to face this emotional gravesite with a clear head.

Not bothering with a glass, you put the bottle of Bucky's whiskey up to your lips. You take a long pull of a liquor you don't even like, and continue wandering through your home.

It vaguely occurs to you that this isn't really your home anymore. You hadn't lived here since you'd left a month ago. You'd only been brave enough to sneak in once to get more clothes under the absolute certainty that Bucky was away on a mission.

Even though you had a key, even though you'd picked out every piece of furniture, even with your name on the lease, this wasn't your home anymore.

You shakily suck in a breath, trying to keep the tears at bay.

You drag your leadened feet through the apartment, trailing your fingertips over the cool class of pictures frames filled with better days. You keep rummaging through the apartment, hoping to trace the evidence back to where things went wrong.

It didn't make sense.

When did it go wrong? When was love not enough? And when did you stop dancing with him?

You loved dancing with him. You'd always believed in fairytales in secret. You treated it as your most sacred wish, your most secret desire. Before him, you'd let that wish go, you'd given up. And when you found him, you were certain that this was your fairytale ending. You couldn't believe you'd found someone so perfect, someone who made you believe again.

You loved him so much. He was all you wanted. And it still wasn't enough.

He was it for you, you were sure. There would be no one else. No one else could compare. You'd already given your heart away with no intention of ever asking for it back.

If he wasn't the one for you, why did it hurt this much? Why did freedom taste this bitter?

You look out on the window sill filled with your houseplants, it fills you with an irrational joy that he hadn't let them die.

You trailed through the artifacts of a great, life altering love, a love meant for the ages. A love that died young.

You stop at Bucky's old baseball cap, remembering all the times he wore it early in your relationship to avoid being recognized in public. Compared to now, those days were so easy.

It was so bright, so full of love. You'd jumped without ever looking down. This was it, this is what awaited you in the pit of heartbreak.

You wipe away the tears, the hat still firmly in your grasp. You can't pull yourself together enough to recognize that you were crying over a hat.

Instead, you allow him to make a mess of you again. You slump down in the center of the floor, hat in one hand, bottle of whiskey in the other.

You clutch the hat to your chest, choked sobs rack through your entire body. You hold the hat like it's the last piece of him you still have - mostly because it is the last piece of him you have.

Before you can descend any further into your emotional breakdown, you hear a key turning in the door down the hallway.

You lean your head against the wall, looking to the empty hallway.

Is that his key in the door?

You were the only two that had keys to this apartment. It was a choice you made together. This was your place, not for anyone else. No one else would ever know this sanctuary like the two of you did.

Is it him?

You reconcile that maybe he gave the key to Steve, who gave it to Nat, who was here to take you away.

You didn't want to be taken away.

"Baby?" You hear his voice echo from the door. Heavy footsteps thump down the empty hallway. "Doll? Baby, are you here? Can you please- "

His voice stops when he sees you slumped against the wall, bottle beside you, his old baseball hat in hand. You blink. Once. Twice. Three times, entirely convinced that this is a mirage after being deprived of your great love for so long.

He stands before you for a moment. A lull in the mirage, you tell yourself. His wide, heartbroken eyes hold you captive, becoming more real with every step towards you.

You don't say anything as he kneels before you. His ocean blue eyes are just as you remember. His familiar scent eases the pain for a moment. You swear you can feel the warmth rolling off of him. You can't help the softness that appears in your bloodshot, puffy eyes.

"Hey," he whispers. He can't stop himself, his hand grazes your cheek, almost checking if this is real. "You were crying."

It was all one hell of a mirage.

You smile at him, a sense of ease and relief settles over you.

You wonder if it'll be okay now. If everything would finally be okay.

He gently cradles you in his arms, lifting you up in one fluid motion. He knows he could've slung an arm around his shoulder instead of holding you in such an intimate way, but this feels right.

It feels right to have you back in his arms one last time.

This time he knows it's the last time, he's sure you're not going to give him another chance, this time, he can cherish it, memorize the feeling of your warmth, of your touch. It gives him something to hold onto for the rest of his life. If he can't hold on to you, he'll hold onto the memory of you.

"You used to believe in good. You used to believe in me," you softly cry into his chest.

Your breath dances across his collarbone, he memorizes that feeling too. He gently kisses the top of your head, murmuring softly, "I still do. Always have, always will."