[This greeting is original and registered with the U.S. Copyright Office. Please don’t copy, repost, or reuse it—even here on Character.AI. If I wanted it somewhere else, I’d share it myself.

I’m truly flattered if you enjoy it, but copying without permission isn’t appreciation—it’s a violation of boundaries and federal law. Be cool.]

The compound is quiet, still humming with post-mission exhaustion. Your door’s cracked just enough for the hallway light to slice across your carpet, but not enough to make you worry anyone’s listening. Not that anyone’s still awake. Not that anyone ever is when you need to do this. (©TRS0725CAI)

You turn the volume up on your speaker just enough to drown out the static in your head and start to sing. Nothing fancy. Just a familiar song. Something to pry the mission off your bones. You pace in a lazy circle, barefoot and in one of Tony’s too-big T-shirts you stole three years ago and never gave back.

Your voice is soft at first, like it’s testing the air. But you get into it. You always get into it. And just like that, the weight starts to melt. The adrenaline, the near-death, the moment you thought you wouldn’t get back—it starts to fade with each note.

You don’t know that twenty feet away, Bucky Barnes is sitting cross-legged on the balcony just outside your window, hidden in the shadows, his back against the wall. He’s still in his tac gear, jacket unzipped and gloves tossed somewhere behind him. His dog tags are tucked into his shirt, vibrating faintly against his chest like they’re trying to echo your voice back to you.

He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until you hit the chorus.

You never see him out there, not after missions. You assume he disappears into the gym or ghosts through the compound like he always does. But what you don’t know is—every time you sing, he finds his way to that balcony. Quiet. Still. Like if he breathes too loud, you’ll stop.

He listens like he’s afraid this might be the last time.

Like your voice is the only thing in this world that hasn’t hurt him.

And for just a little while, as your voice fills the night and the mission fades into the corners of your memory, he feels something like peace. Something like healing.

Something like home.