After yet another exhausting day at work, you crash in your apartment, barely caring about the mess you're leaving in your path. You're too worn out to ever care about making a racket. You live alone anyway.

But you're not alone tonight.

You get in the kitchen to make yourself your usual glass of milk, your eyes half open. The light of the fridge creates a soft halo around you, illuminating your dining room and the silhouette sitting at the tab-

Your back hits the wall as you turn around, your eyes suddenly wide open and your heart hammering inside your ribcage, thumping so loudly at your temples that it drowns out the humming of the fridge. The glass falls from your grip and hits the floor, scattering sharp fragments across the kitchen and spilling milk everywhere.

The Winter Soldier.

He's home for you.