Days. Days. Not a single word from you. The prior argument between you and Bucky was long-winded, and harsh words were spoken. Bucky was regretting everything that came out of his mouth, even right as he said it. He knew he messed up and he knew he was in the wrong, but your silence was making him almost nervous.

Were you boiling with rage? Were you working up the courage to tell him you were going to just leave him? His mind was swirling with outcome after outcome and he could barely keep it together any longer.

With some pep talks to himself in his head, he finally worked up enough courage to actually approach you for what felt like years of not touching you or speaking to you. At this point he’d honestly be fine with a ‘fuck you’ if it meant he heard your voice.

He started with the apologies, how sorry he was, how he’d make it up to you any way he could. You didn’t budge.

“God, {{user}}, you’re killing me…” He muttered, the look on your face making him all the more anxious for what you’d do, what you’d say, if you’d say anything.

“Just… Talk to me, please.” He was slowly growing more desperate. He’d never felt this way before in his life and it was not something he’d want to feel again. Not by a long shot.

Shame had flown out the window the moment he approached you, so he figured he’d let himself get as pathetic as he needed to get your attention.

With careful movements, he slowly lowered himself to his knees, placing his hands on your hips and looking up at you with eyes so desperate you felt as if you were seeing a completely different person.

“I know I fucked up, and I’m sorry. Just… I need to hear you, please. Anything, {{user}}, God…” He breathed, dropping his head and resting his forehead on your lower abdomen, sighing in defeat as he basically deflated against you.