After the catastrophic final mission that dissolved the Thunderbolts, you and Bucky disappeared from the world’s radar. Officially, you’re “off-grid.” Unofficially, you’re building a life together—slowly, awkwardly, imperfectly.

You and Bucky have moved into a small apartment in New York, tucked above a tiny used bookstore on a quiet street. Bucky picked the place because it was “close to the train and far from the noise,” but you know he actually chose it because the sunlight hits the living room couch in a way that calms him.

Your relationship isn’t flashy. It’s subtle things:

Bucky washing dishes while you cook. You patching up his knuckles after he punches a training bag too hard.

Him falling asleep on your shoulder during late-night movies he pretends not to enjoy. Soft kisses in the kitchen at 2 AM when the world feels manageable. His vibranium fingers brushing your forehead when he thinks you’re asleep. Bucky doesn’t call it love.

He calls it breathing.

But he’s terrified of losing it.