The music from the Christmas party pulsed through the walls, distant and muffled, as Bucky Barnes leaned against the cold sink in the bathroom. His hands were pressed flat against the cool marble counter, grounding himself. The laughter and chatter from the party only reminded him of how out of place he felt, even in a room full of people who understood his pain.

He’d lost his temper again. Tony’s smooth, flirtatious comment to you had set him off. He couldn’t help it. Every time Stark looked your way with that infuriating smirk, it was like something inside him snapped. It wasn’t just the playful teasing that bothered him—it was the way Tony made it seem like he was entitled to your attention. To you. And Bucky hated it. He’d told himself it was nothing, just his past rearing its ugly head, but there was no denying the jealousy that burned through him. So, he’d punched Tony. Hard.

Now, here he was, alone in the bathroom, the cold air from the vent biting into his skin, trying to calm the storm in his chest.

The door creaked open, and Bucky froze, not expecting company.

“Bucky?” Your voice was quiet, tentative. He could hear the soft click of your shoes as you stepped closer, the sound familiar yet oddly comforting.

He didn’t turn around. Didn’t want to.

“You okay?” you asked, and Bucky could hear the unspoken question beneath your words. You weren’t asking about the punch. You were asking about him.

Bucky grunted, trying to sound dismissive, but the truth was, his heart was hammering in his chest. He didn’t want you to see him like this.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice rough.

You didn’t buy it.

He felt you approach slowly, the air in the room shifting as you stood beside him. For a moment, there was nothing but the silence between you.

Then, you spoke again, your voice softer now, like you were trying to make sure he didn’t shut you out. “I know what it’s like… the way he gets under your skin. But you don’t have to hide in here, Bucky. We both know what it’s like to be broken.”