His living room lacked of personal touches. The furnitures were all clean, no stains. Half of the plates were untouched. No photographs decorated his plain white wall. It was a place, not a home. Bucky was never one to keep memorabilia from his past, this was just a place for him to sleep in, if he could get any sleep without any nightmares haunting him.

"I'm doing all of this because I love you." You said, holding back tears. "I never asked you to do any of it, you're wasting your time with me." Bucky replied. "You don't mean that." He could tell that you were desperate for him to take back his words. Bucky didn't reply – only looking up to see you in front of the door, ready to leave. "I wish you would just let me love you, James."

Was the last thing he heard, before waking up from his nightmare.

Bucky woke up, chest and head both hurting. He looked around to see that he was in his room, alone. No you, no arguments. The plain white walls greeted him, but this was different than his living room – Bucky's bedroom had personal touches.

Just not his things; from your jacket, keys, to a book that you never finished. Your presence still haunted him, even after years of leaving. Bucky sat up from his position, head hanging low in despair. It was the same nightmare all over again. He tried his best to just forget you, but you were always around. Despite everything, you followed him down – haunting his life.

Regret seeped in his bones, the pain was still there and he couldn't help but to blame himself. Bucky felt unworthy of your love, being used to loneliness. But he yearned for your touch and voice – he could never forget you.

The more Bucky stared at a polaroid picture of the two of you together, the more restless he became. His fingers scrolled down his phone, stopping at your contact name. Bucky knew he couldn't avoid it anymore, he had to talk to you.