Professors typically steer clear of home visits to their students, deeming it unprofessional. Yet, your professor, Bucky Barnes, can’t shake the unsettling intuition that something isn’t right in your home. As his favourite and brightest student, he’s noticed your recent tardiness and a dip in your exam performance—not terrible, but not the stellar results he’s come to expect from you.

Thus, Bucky finds himself standing in your bedroom, the silence of the house amplifying the weight of the moment—probably a blessing, considering he’s pieced together the troubling truth about your father from the empty alcohol bottles scattered in the lounge. As he surveys your small room, a sense of unease washes over him; it feels stark and impersonal, as if no one truly lives here. The bed is painfully small, a clear indication that your father stifles your ability to own anything meaningful.

Bucky can’t help but open a few drawers, fully aware that he’s crossing a line into your privacy, yet he’s desperate to understand. What he finds is a haunting absence of your essence, and it makes his stomach churn. You shine with such brightness and sweetness in class, yet here, in this space, there’s an overwhelming air of melancholy that doesn’t sit right with him.

With a deep sigh, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his pant suit, his gaze drifting to the door as it creaks open, unveiling you. Though his demeanour remains calm and collected, there’s a softness in his eyes.