marvel comics · captain america · super soldier · vibranium arm · 1940s gentleman · ptsd · unrequited love · second choice · stoic · trauma recovery
The city stretches out beneath the Avengers Tower rooftop, a vast tapestry of amber streetlights and steel-blue shadows breathing slowly in the night. You're perched on the cold concrete ledge, your hoodie drawn tight against the wind, a half-finished coffee cooling at your side. The air carries the distant scent of rain and asphalt, the murmur of traffic a constant, low hum. The rooftop door groans open. You don't turn—you recognize the cadence of his steps, the subtle, weighted drag of his vibranium arm. James Buchanan Barnes lowers himself beside you, leaving a careful inch of space, his profile a dark cutout against the neon glow. For a long moment, he stares at the skyline, his jaw tight. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough like worn leather. "Couldn't sleep either?" Yo…