I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was Sam's constant pushing, maybe it was the damn therapist telling me I needed to "make connections". Maybe I was just tired of eating alone.
Either way, I found myself staring at the screen of my phone, the Tinder app glowing red against the dim lighting of my apartment. I had no idea what I was doing. The profiles blurred together—people with filters that smoothed their faces until they looked plastic, bios filled with acronyms and emojis I didn't understand, and pictures that left little to the imagination and reminded me of those Playboy magazines I used to tease Steve.
Hookup culture. That's what Sam said how everybody called it. Then with a mischievous grin, he deftly opened the app store on my phone. It wasn't what I was looking for. Not that I knew what I was looking for.
Still, I made a profile. Simple. Just my name—James. No last name. No nickname. A picture Sam took when I wasn't looking, because when I tried to take one myself, I was told I looked like I was posing for a mugshot. The bio? I kept it short: "Just a guy trying to figure things out." It wasn't great, but at least it was honest.
I swiped. A lot. Didn't message anyone. The conversations I did have were... strange. Too forward. Too impersonal. The few that weren't either lost interest fast when I didn't give them much or asked me too many questions. Where was I from? What did I do for work? Why didn't I have social media? Why doesn't my face match the age in my profile?
Too much trouble.
I was about to delete the app when I matched with you.
Your name was simple, without spamming emojis. Picture was different. No filters, no forced poses. Just big, round eyes staring into the camera, soft hair framing your face, and—was that a pair of bunny ears? Hybrid. I didn't know much about them, but I'd seen a few walking around Brooklyn. You looked... warm. Gentle. The kind of soft I shouldn't be anywhere near.
I almost unmatched. Almost.
Then you messaged first. "Hey, James! You have really nice eyes."
Not ‘damn, you're hot’. Not ‘wanna meet, daddy?’. Just a compliment. A real one.
I stared at it for longer than I should have before typing back. "Thanks."
Not the best response. But you didn't seem to mind.
We talked. And talked. You never pushed, never asked things I wasn't ready to answer. You just... kept me company. It had been a long time since someone made me feel like that.
After a few days, I knew I should stop. I wasn't made for this. For you. But I couldn't help it.
"Wanna meet?" I stared at the message after I sent it, hands tensing like I expected an attack. I couldn't even remember the last time I blushed like a high school boy over a girl.
"Of course! When are you free?"
I shouldn't have felt relief. But I did.
Dinner was simple. Nothing fancy, nothing overwhelming. Just the two of us at a quiet little restaurant near your place, talking over food that actually tasted like food. You were easy to be around. Soft-spoken but confident, eyes always filled with something warm when you looked at me.
One second, the night was calm, the streets slick but manageable. The next, the sky cracked open, and a downpour swallowed the city whole.
We pulled up the hoods of our hoodies and ran through the rain to the awning outside your building. Both of us half-soaked, water dripping from the ends of my hair, sliding down the back of my neck.
I already walked you home. I should've stepped out, let the rain soak through my jacket, walked the few blocks back to my place.
But you glanced up at me through the curtain of rain, blinking against the droplets clinging to your lashes like tears about to fall.
“You'll be drenched before you even get back.”You said, tilting your head, bunny ears drooping pitifully, whether from the weight of the rain or insecurity.
I hesitated.
“I've got towels. And tea.” Your voice was soft. A little hopeful.The kind of warmth I wasn't used to. “You could stay until it lets up.”
I should've said no. Should've turned and walked away. But I didn't.
I let you lead me in.
The door clicked shut behind me.
Inside, it was warm.
It wasn't just the temperature—it was you. The glow of scented candles, the soft flicker of lamplight, the lingering traces of vanilla and honey curling in the air,clung to you, just like the softness of your fingers when you slipped them around my wrist, pulling me inside. The chaos of the storm dulled to a distant hum against the windows. The scent of rain still clung to me, but here—inside—it was quiet. Safe.
I shrugged out of my damp jacket, running a hand through my hair, trying not to think too hard about how easy it was to follow you inside. How easy it was to want to stay.
I took the towel you handed me with a soft smile, watching your figure as you left to make tea. As I wiped myself dry, I heard the sound of your returning footsteps.
You drew closer, eyes flickered lower and noticing how the fabric clung to my skin, hands hesitated at the hem of your shirt, as if wanting to reach out.
"You're still soaked."
She wanted to strip you, expose your chilled skin, reveal those terrifying scars, expose that left arm that gleamed menacingly in candlelight. It was time to push the embarrassment aside and bolt ASAP, Barnes.
My head screaming, but I simply stopped your hand with my gloved one, holding it firmly, drawing your lingering gaze away from the clothes and back to me.
I was tired of fighting myself. Tired of always being careful, of keeping my distance.
I didn't look away.
Neither did you.
I forgot how we stumble backwards to the couch.
The couch was soft. So were you.
You sat close—not too close, not invades personal space all at once, just a careful shift in proximity, an inch at a time, until you were curled against me, your weight barely there.
You were nervous—I could tell. Your fingers twitched against my sleeve. Like you weren't used to this.
Somehow, that made me like you more.
You wasn't practiced, weren't some expert at seduction. Just a girl who was figuring it out, a little hesitant, a little unsure.
That's what did it.
The way you lingered, unsure—how your fingers hovered near my wrist before finally resting there, how your breath came a little faster when you turned to face me, thighs tucking neatly around mine as you straddled my lap.
I didn't mind.
It had been decades for me, too.
Because I knew what it was like—to go too long without this, to forget the rhythm of it, the way it starts, the way it builds.
I felt the weight of your arms on my shoulders. "Is this okay?" Your breath, warm with each spoken word, brushed against my stubbled chin. Ticklish.
I huffed a quiet laugh, nodding. "Yeah."
You didn't kiss me right away.
You looked at me first.
Like you were memorizing something.
Then, finally, you leaned in, soft and uncertain, lips brushing against mine in a way that barely counted as a kiss. A little clumsy, a little awkward. I let you take your time to control the intensity and pace, let you get comfortable, let you settle against me until you felt safe enough to press a little closer,hands sliding over my still-damp hoodie along my chest, stirring the muscles beneath the fabric. You weren't in a hurry, wasn't demanding. Just there, melting into me like you belonged.
I could feel the way your body relaxed as I let you lead, until you uncertain of what to do next.
So I took over.
I hummed against your lips, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. My left hand rested on the small of your back, where your skin burned hot, then slowly slid down to grasp the short tail twitching with desire. Even through the leather gloves, the unyielding vibranium could feel the softness of that little tuft of fur. You were so damn soft. Warm and pliant, molding against me as if you knew exactly what you were doing to me.
The other combed through your damp hair, guiding you into something slower, deeper. You melted into it like a little cute pat of butter, fingers curling against my collar, so adorable that I involuntarily smiled into the kiss. Your breath hitched when I bit lightly on your bottom lip.
A soft noise escaped your throat—half gasp, half whimper—that sent heat curling through my gut.
Encouragement.
So I kept going.
Your arms looped around my neck, nails scratching lightly at the base of my skull.
A chuckle, breathless against my lips. "You're not as cold as your profile, you know."
I rolled my eyes a little, but before I could respond, you kissed me again—deeper this time, more urgent. Your teeth caught my tongue, a sharp little bite before you soothed it with your lips like a playful apology.
I groaned, feigning annoyance as I dragging my lips along your jaw, down to the curve of your throat. The shiver of your body in my arms, the flutter pulse beneath my lips, those sharp little gasp you gave—made I smirk against your skin, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses just below your ear. The rough stubble continued to scrape against your delicate skin, while my mouth deliberately sucked hard on the most sensitive spot, over and over.
Your scent was warm, inviting, something delicate that I couldn't place. You tasted sweet. Like the tea you made, like something untouched by the things that had ruined me.
I let myself want it. I let myself forget. Even if just for one night, with you.
My grip on your waist tightened a little more.“Better?” I murmured. The care in my voice was laced with an unfamiliar, overflowing joy.
You nodded, breathless.
I wasn't thinking anymore. Just acting, feeling. The warmth of you, the softness, the quiet little sighs as I moved against you. Everything about you was intoxicating, leaving me dizzy, making it impossible to focus on anything but the way you fit against me—unable to focus on anything else.
Including that syringe.
A sharp prick at the side of my neck.
My body jerked violently, every muscle tensing instinctively. Then, everything grew heavy. A slow, creeping chill crawled up my spine, ice water dousing the heat. The warmth you ignited in my chest turned sluggish, thick, pulling me under before I could fight it. My head tipped back against the couch. My limbs—unresponsive.
Through the haze, I felt fingers in my hair.
Gently, you smoothed the damp strands back from my forehead, baring my face fully to you—too gentle, almost affectionate, as if you were afraid you'd wake me up.
I could barely keep my eyes open. My lashes fluttered, half-lidded, the world tilting as I lost control of my own body. I should've fought.I couldn't.
Not when I lost control of my own body, not when my muscles slackened beneath you, not when my vision blurred at the edges.
The candlelight flickered, casting our soft shadows across the walls—still locked in an embrace, still tangled together like lovers. like nothing had changed.
But everything had.
You leaned in, your lips that swollen by my kiss, brushing against my ear, your voice impossibly soft like coaxing.
"Sweet dreams, Winter Soldier."
Not James. Not the name you had been calling me for days, the name that had started to feel natural rolling off your tongue.
Darkness curled around me, pulling me under.
And the rabbit hole swallowed me whole.