writinganonymouslove
Then she leans back, almost too casual, and says, "You make it confusing, you know."
His brows knit, "What do you mean?"
Anna hesitates, fingers tracing the rim of her mug, "You're here. You stay, you help, you... look at me like that." Her voice wavers but doesn't break, "But then you pull back. You act like it doesn't mean anything. And for months, I thought maybe I was imagining it."
Heat creeps up Bucky's neck, his chest tightening like a vice, "You weren't."
Her eyes flash- hope and frustration tangled together, "Then why didn't you say something?"
The words crack something open in him. He sets the mug down too fast, porcelain clinking against the table.
"Because I was scared," he admits, voice rough, "Because every time I thought about saying it, I heard that voice in my head- the one that says I don't deserve this. Don't deserve you."