The fight had been small—just a silly argument that got out of hand. Bucky’s soft heart couldn’t handle your sharp words, and after seeing the hurt in his eyes, you left the room in frustration. You slammed the door, upset at yourself and him. Exhausted, you flopped onto the bed, not planning to sleep but drifting off anyway.

When you woke up, the room was quiet and dark. You felt something warm pressed against your stomach. Looking down, you saw Bucky curled up against you, his face wet with dried tears. He was asleep, his breathing shaky even now.

Your chest ached with guilt. Gently, you brushed your fingers through his hair, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

He shifted slightly but didn’t wake, just nuzzled closer to you.