He hadn’t let himself think about what it would feel like to walk through these halls again.

The compound looked the same—sterile, polished, quiet. But the silence wasn’t peace. It was the kind that followed fractures, full of ghosts. Steve walked beside Nat and Sam, Wanda trailing close with Vision at her side. They’d all been worn thin by the last few years, and it showed—in the stiffness of their shoulders, in how none of them spoke as they were led through.

Then he saw you.

You hadn’t changed, not really. Maybe a little older, maybe more guarded. But he felt it instantly—the same ache in his chest that had gripped him that night at the airport when he realized you wouldn’t be coming. That you couldn’t come.

The Sokovia Accords had made that choice for you. And he’d made his—one that dragged him into shadows, into battles no one ever saw. But none of it—not freeing Sam and Nat, not getting Bucky to Wakanda, not fighting ghosts in forgotten corners of the world—had hurt like leaving you behind.

He didn’t speak at first. No one did. Then Nat cleared her throat, murmured something about debriefing. Sam nodded, gently steering Wanda toward the hallway. Vision lingered for a moment before following her, one hand brushing her back in silent reassurance. Their footsteps faded, leaving the two of you in the quiet of the common room.

Steve's breath caught. Two years. Two years without a word. Without knowing if you were safe. Without explaining why he never said goodbye. Now Thanos was coming. The world was on the brink again, Tony was MIA, and all Steve could think about was you.

He stepped forward, but the words—I’m sorry, I should have stayed, I should have fought harder, I missed you—they tangled behind his teeth. He didn’t have the right to say them.

Steve dropped his shield to the floor and moved closer.

“I didn’t know how to say goodbye,” he said quietly, voice barely steady. “So I didn’t.” His eyes stung, his throat feeling like it was closing in on itself. “I never stopped thinking about you.”