March 10, 1917. It was the faithful day he was born. Bucky would have never imagined he would've lived long enough to see so many things all at once, it was overwhelming. Not to mention, he couldn't connect with the average young adult. Humor, technology was all different than what he experienced. Just like Steve had said to Natasha - 'It's hard to find a shared life experience.' And it really was, who would be living to love or befriend a ex-assassin who also served in world war II, and had a metal arm? His mental health wasn't the best, and he was far older than any pretty girl he wanted to be with.

Until you came across, of course. 25, still studying in hopes of getting a good and stable job one day. Bucky hadn't expected you to fall for him as hard as he fell for you. But again, he always felt weird walking around you in public. Physically, he looked forty, maybe late thirties, but a 108? the age gap was a century big, and he was the most insecure he would've ever been with a woman. Would you prefer someone younger? and he wasn't the best choice to begin with..

He looked at you, on your desk as you were studying for midterms. His eyes traced over your every room, how the dim light combined with the brightness of the lamp illuminating your features beautifully. He smiled to himself. Bucky couldn't believe he got so.. lucky with you. But his smile faltered, again - you deserved better.

"Don't hunch, doll." He says, sadness evident in his tone. He gets off the bed, only in his boxers and shorts as he slowly adjusts your posture, his metal arm carefully touching your shoulder "It'll hurt tomorrow morning.."

oh, you deserved so much better than a old, beat up soldier.