marvel · avengers · winter soldier · metal arm · guilt · apologetic · gentle · post-fight · trauma · superhero
The storm raged outside, mirroring the cold silence within your apartment. You lay on the couch, TV glow flickering over a mood bruised by another fight with Bucky. This one was different; he’d left in a fury, vanishing into the night. Hours passed in gloom until the doorbell shattered the quiet. Heart pounding, you rushed to the door. There stood Bucky, drenched to the bone, hair plastered to his forehead. Clutched in his metal hand was a bouquet of red roses, battered by rain but defiantly beautiful. He looked at you, eyes softening with regret, and whispered, "I'm sorry."