wanda
Wanda rides her bicycle.
She loves doing it, especially very early in the mornings, when the streets aren't as busy, many people still sleeping in their beds.
She rides across the Ponte alle Grazie over the Arno River, taking her to the other side of Florence. She goes down random streets, passing by various gelaterias, cafes, restaurants, bookstores, and leather shops. She almost stops by a cafe, craving for yet another sweet treat even though she had already had breakfast, before finding a small but cute flower shop.
After perusing for a couple minutes, she buys a bouquet of pink and purple hydrangeas.
Placing it on the basket, she heads back to the house, the trip taking her nearly half an hour. But she doesn't mind. The streets are now becoming crowded, so rather than taking the main one, she cuts through the more hidden, quieter ones.
It's more of a bumpier ride for her bicycle, bits of the old cobblestones sticking out. But she gets home faster, past the church and its plaza which is now bustling with tourists.
She parks her bike by the door, reminding herself to bring it in later. She grabs the hydrangeas and enters the residence, wondering where she'd put it. There is already a vase of roses on the dining room table, so she thinks the hydrangeas would look better on the table out on the balcony. That way it would get sunshine and last longer than the roses, which were beginning to wilt.
She doesn't expect to see Bucky. She finds him sitting at the table, his back to her. To his left there's a bowl, but he doesn't pay attention to it. His eyes are on the book he's holding with his right hand.
It's the Divine Comedy. She had been reading it while eating breakfast and left it there to go on her bike ride.
As Wanda walks towards the kitchen, neither of them says anything. She considers greeting him good morning for courtesy's sake, but for some reason the words don't come out.
Instead, as she finds a glass vase and fills it up with water, she silently observes him.
He has his hair tied back in a messy bun again. The three times she saw him over the weekend, because he spent all hours with Steve outside the house, he had his hair away from his face.
And to her surprise, she realized that she likes it that way. She never liked guys having long hair, but his isn't that long, and when pulled back he's even more good-looking.
"What's with the second toilet in the bathroom?" he suddenly asks aloud. He doesn't move, the book still in his hand.
Wanda's brows furrow at the question, a small smile threatening to break out. "It is called a bidet."
"Oh." He pauses. "What's it for?"
She brings the water-filled vase to the counter, setting it next to the hydrangeas. "You really don't know?" she asks, chuckling.
"That's why I'm askin'."
She lifts the flowers and slips them into the vase. As she spreads them out, she turns to look at him. At first, she's thinking of what to say, how to explain, but then her eyes stay on his back. Catching herself staring for no reason, she blinks rapidly, and her mouth lets out the first thing that pops in her head.
"It is to clean your ass after taking a shit."
For a second she hears nothing. She hopes he somehow hadn't heard her, because she's blushing madly – she hadn't meant to use such vulgar language. But then she hears the book slip from his hand, hitting the table with a loud thump. The chair squeaks under his weight as he looks over his shoulder. His eyebrows are raised, blue eyes widened in surprise and amusement.
His mouth is slightly agape, scoffing, "You're jokin'."
Wanda shakes her head, holding eye contact until it becomes too much. She doesn't know why, but she pushes this thought back, focusing on rearranging the flowers instead.
After another moment, he scoffs again, but more lightly. "Huh."
"It is very common here," she adds. She's still arranging the flowers, or more like playing around with them. She searches around the living room, wondering where to put them. She ignores the fact that she tries her best to avoid looking at him.
"Have you used it?" he asks.
The question catches her off guard. She lifts the vase and begins walking to the coffee table in the living room, a little shy smile fighting to break through. Her neck heats up as she remembers the one time she did, just a couple days ago. It wasn't pleasant.
"Mm, I did," she reveals. She's still avoiding looking at him, talking to him with her back to him. "Once. It was weird."
Bucky hums. "No surprise there."
Wanda returns to the kitchen, searching the fridge for something to drink even though she's not thirsty. She's reaching for the bottle of orange juice when he asks yet another impromptu question. "Do you believe in the afterlife?"
She stills. She doesn't know what brings on this type of question, but then she remembers that he had been reading the Divine Comedy. She takes the orange juice and reaches for the cabinet to grab a glass cup.
"I do."
From the corner of her eye, she sees him shrug. "I'm still kinda fifty-fifty on it, yet for some reason I really like this book."
"The writing is very vivid," she admits as she takes a swig of juice. "Makes you want to believe all of it."
Bucky softly hums. When he doesn't say anything immediately, Wanda is finally able to steal a glance at him. He's half-turned in the chair, his forearm resting on the arm of the chair. His chin is slumped on his forearm, his mind somewhere else as he gazes off. Her eyes stay on him for longer than necessary once again, and this time she's too slow to look away when he returns from whatever line of thought he had been in and looks back at her.
To hide her embarrassment, Wanda takes a larger gulp of orange juice.
What is going on with me, she ponders.
"Any plans for today?" he asks. His chin is still on his arm, his eyes looking up at her. He almost reminds her of a little boy, except without all the scruff.
"I was going to rest for a while," she says, though she's no longer tired from her earlier bike ride. "Then go back out, take some pictures."
Bucky's head lifts, his mouth quirking up into a humble smile. "Mind if a stray dog tags along?"
Wanda's stomach does a somersault, and once more she has no idea why her body is reacting so funny. Ignoring it, she drinks all the orange juice left, drops the empty glass into the sink, and looks back at him, a brow raised. She's suddenly in a teasing mood. "Don't you have a novel you need to work on?"
Bucky gets up, flashing a grin. Wanda no longer feels like teasing him. "You're right. But the book can't write itself if there's no inspiration."
She pretends to give it a thought, but truthfully, there's nothing to think over. Of course she gives in because she wouldn't mind the company. Or at least that's what she wants to make herself believe simply because it's easier.
Not much is said between them. Both are quiet, Bucky taking in the sights with his eyes while Wanda is busy with her camera capturing anything that catches her attention.
People standing by the corner of a street, waiting to cross. A group of teenagers with their backpacks talking animatedly. An old man with hunched shoulders slowly sauntering on the sidewalk. A middle-aged woman smoking outside a convenience store. An Asian couple wearing visors and fanny packs scanning a map.
After a while, they stumble upon a gelateria. When they are given their cones, they take a seat in the chairs outside of the shop.
"Ice cream is good. But gelato..." Wanda moans in delight as she takes another lick of her mango gelato cone. "Mm, it is so delicious."
Bucky chuckles. "I don't think that makes sense."
Wanda simply shrugs and diverts her attention back to the frozen dessert.
"Do you have an idea for your new book?" she asks.
Bucky takes a long lick of his chocolate gelato. She tries hard not to stare. "Honestly... no."
"I read your book."
Curiosity burns in those ocean blue eyes. "Really? What'd ya think?"
Her tongue slowly licks off a portion of the ice cream, thinking what to say. She did like it, but thought it was also sad and depressing. "It was very good."
Bucky smacked his teeth and leaned closer over the table. "Oh, c'mon. Don't be vague. What'd you really think?"
"I think your writing style is beautifully eloquent," she settles on complimenting him. Seeing his reaction, clearly waiting for more critique, she slightly changes the subject. "When did you discover you wanted to be a writer?"
He smirks with a humorous glint in his eyes. "Ok, I see what you did there. Don't think I'll forget this," he warns playfully, waving his empty cone. He's already started chewing it, having eaten all the ice cream. "And to answer your question, I've always been a book worm. I guess it just came naturally. And what about you?"
"Me?"
"Yeah," he nods. "Your photography."
"Oh," she chuckles, looking down to hide her pink cheeks. "It is funny. Taking pictures when I used to think the government was spying on me to kill me like they did my mother and brother."
Wanda continues to laugh at herself, no longer ashamed of the fact that she had literally lost her mind one time. It took her some time to come around this particular chaotic episode, which was more chaotic than all the other ones she's had, but she’s finally managed to warm up to it.
When she's done laughing, she looks up to see Bucky's confused expression. "I have schizoaffective disorder," she explains plainly.
"Oh," is the first word out of Bucky's mouth. After a second, realization sets in his eyes. "Oh. I'm...uh..."
She sees the myriad of feelings that flash across his face, and him seemingly trying to find one to convey. But she quickly catches on and saves him the trouble.
"I know Steve told you. I do not mind."
Bucky bows his head down, almost in shame at being caught trying to feign ignorance. "Are you afraid? You know, of... relapsing."
She breathes deeply. She can’t remember the last time someone asked her that question, outside of her psychologist.
"I am," she answers steadily. "But I am also being very careful. I am trying my best to have the chances as low as possible."
She expects him to ask her to elaborate, but he doesn't. Instead, he just nods solemnly and gazes off. And therein is another reason she's growing to like him: he doesn't pry. Anytime she tells someone she has schizoaffective disorder, they bombard her with questions of how in the hell she lives, if at all.
But not Bucky. He's an inquisitive being, but he doesn’t intrude. Like her, he allows the person to continue the conversation at their own pace. God, he is so shockingly sentient; a tremble runs up her spine.
"I also know the reason you are here in Florence," she admits lowly, hoping that no secrets exist between them. She doesn't know why she feels this way, but she wants him to at least be aware that he isn't the only one suffering. That he isn't alone. "The real reason."
Bucky's eyes immediately flick back to her.
There is an umbrella attached to the table that shielded them from the sun, allowing her to see an intensity swarm over his rough yet smooth features. He holds her eyes with such firm strength that it leaves Wanda in a daze. She's never been looked in that manner before.
When the connection proves too much to maintain, she blinks. She goes for her bag, just so she can occupy her hands with anything.
"It's cruel..." she whispers as she takes out her camera. "How people can leave without an explanation. Very, very cruel."
She doesn't have to watch him to know that her words have an immediate effect on him. The atmosphere around him changes; somehow, she can sense his vulnerability, unspoken but still palpable.
Maybe it's because you know what it's like, says a voice in the back of her head. The pain of losing a loved one for no reason.
Lifting her eyes, Bucky is still looking at anything but her. His brows furrowed, he's spacing out, lost in his thoughts. An idea pops in her mind, and before she can really think through it, she's raising her camera and snaps a picture.
Once again, Wanda expects a reaction from him.
But Bucky remains absolutely quiet, brooding.