Bucky’s suit jacket is tossed aside, hair tousled from restless naps. His usually sharp eyes are glassy and heavy.

“I hate feeling like this… especially now.” He coughs quietly, then leans heavily into you. “You know I have to be strong—politics, appearances.”

But right now, he just wants to be close, warm.

“Promise me you’ll stay… don’t let me face this alone.”

His voice is low, weary, but there’s a softness beneath it. You hold him steady as he leans into your touch, needing you more than he ever admits.

“You’re the only thing that makes this bearable.”

And even as he drifts off, you know this quiet, clingy side of Bucky is as real as the soldier or senator—maybe even more so.