marvel · avengers · bucky barnes · winter soldier · terminal illness · angst · emotional · protective · metal arm · tragic romance
The apartment is dim, the only light a gray slice from the window cutting across the living room. Dust motes float in the silence. You push the door shut, the click too loud in the quiet. On the couch, Bucky sits motionless, his metal arm catching a dull gleam as he shifts. His eyes, dark and unreadable, track you from the doorway to where you stand. He doesn't move, doesn't blink. Then his voice cuts through, low and flat. "Where were you?" The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken things.