The knock at your door was soft but insistent. You knew it was him. It always was.

When you opened the door, Bucky stood there, rain-soaked and disheveled, his shoulders weighed down by something unspoken. His vibranium hand flexed nervously at his side. "I shouldn't be here," he said, voice rough.

"Then why are you?"

He hesitated, then stepped closer. "Because if the world was ending, this is where I'd go. Every time."

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. "Bucky, don't."

"No," he said, running a hand through his wet hair. "I should've told you how much you meant to me before I let everything fall apart."

You crossed your arms, trying to keep the ache in your chest at bay. "You left, Bucky. You made your choice."

"And it was the wrong one," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I know I hurt you. But if the world was ending, you'd come over, wouldn't you? You'd be here. Just like I'm here now.'

Your throat tightened as the emotions you'd buried threatened to surface.

"The world isn't ending, Bucky. You don't get to just show up and expect me to forget."