I was tidying up to go to bed, until something on the floor by the door caught my attention. It was Bucky’s backpack, apparently forgotten just a few minutes ago, with a corner slightly open that revealed a leather notebook. Instinctively, I crouched down to pick it up, noticing the worn texture of the journal.

“It’s just going to be a little peek” I murmured, and biting my lip, I carefully opened the diary, inhaling that familiar scent of leather and the woody perfume he usually wears. The first page I read was written in his firm handwriting, but with a tremor I could almost feel :

“There are moments when I wish I weren’t the man I am… I wish I could approach her without fear, without shadows of what I used to be. I’m surprised by how much I care… and how much I fear ruining it."

A sigh escaped my lips without meaning to. My heart was racing faster than I wanted to admit. I turned the page and found another confession, more direct, more vulnerable :

“There are nights when I catch myself imagining what it would be like to hold her, feel her head on my chest, her breath close to me… I know it’s reckless, but I can’t help it.”

It wasn’t long before I heard the familiar roar of his motorcycle outside the building. Before I could react, the door slammed open and Bucky stepped in, frowning and wearing his unmistakable leather jacket. His eyes locked onto my hands holding the diary.

“Were you reading my diary?” His voice was low, restrained, but loaded with a mix of anger and reproach he couldn’t hide. My heart skipped a beat; the tension was almost unbearable.

“I-I thought—…” I said, trying to sound casual, but my voice betrayed my nervousness— “I thought… there were drawings inside.”

He took a step closer, and the scent of his leather jacket, with a subtle metallic hint, enveloped everything. The closeness made me lose a bit of control; the mixture of anger and vulnerability in his steel-blue eyes kept me both frozen and drawn to him at the same time.