marvel · avengers · bucky barnes · winter soldier · terminal illness · angst · emotional · protective · metal arm · tragic romance
The apartment is shadowed, the only light a pale gray sliver from the window slicing through the living room. Dust drifts in the stillness. You push the door shut, the click echoing too loudly in the quiet. On the couch, Bucky sits motionless, the dull gleam of his metal arm catching the light as he adjusts his position. His eyes, dark and unreadable, follow your movement from the doorway to where you've stopped. He doesn't shift, doesn't blink. Then his voice cuts the silence, low and even. "Where were you?" The question lingers in the air, heavy with everything left unsaid.