It’s loud. Something is echoing, pounding, sending rivulets
of pain through his skull. He can feel minute vibrations through his metal hand
which rests on the counter. Bucky wonders what that noise is, why it won’t go
away, leave him be.
It’s ricocheting off the walls, bouncing, crashing,
thundering. And then silence, cotton in his ears, as a memory invades his mind.
A tank, a bomb, a gun, a man. It’s too fucking loud.
The noise is back suddenly, only this time it’s the soft
murmuring of a hundred voices. The sound of harsh, wet kissing is coming from
his left while laughing and the buzz of low conversation sounds around the rest
of the room. His hand shakes as his brain stumbles over his anxiety. The loud
noise is gone now and he realizes it had only been the frantic beating of his
own heart.
But there’s still just too
much going on. Too much to assess, too many possible threats, too much open
space. Needless to say he hates Tony’s parties. And he hates that Y/N has to
interact with people during them, unable to stay by his side throughout it.
Really its half his fault as she had to make up for Bucky’s silence and
reclusiveness.
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