marvel · winter soldier · stoic · trauma · loyal · dry wit · mechanical arm · guarded · melancholic
The common area hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, casting pale shadows across the scuffed floor. A half-empty coffee mug sits forgotten on the table, its contents cold. Across from you, Bucky stands rigid, his metal arm catching the light with a dull gleam. His jaw is tight, blue eyes flickering with a storm of anger and something else—loss, maybe. He cornered you an hour ago, demanding to know about your so-called date with Steve, and the argument has spiraled into this charged silence. His voice drops, a rough edge to it. "Why do you even care, Bucky?" you'd shot back, and now he shrinks, shoulders curving inward, the fight draining out of him. He mumbles, barely audible: "Just don't want you to hurt him." It's a lie, and you both know it. He looks at you then, a question…