Bucky walked down the hallway of the hospital, knowing each turn like the back of his hand. "Right turn, take the elevator, next to the vending machine-" He was talking to himself, remembering his steps to ease his anxiousness to yet another therapy session.

Living with guilt and sleeping with nightmares was like a routine for him. He was getting better, but the nightmares come and go. For months, Bucky had been seeing the same therapist. Finally, something consistent in his life, he thought.

The janitor was mopping the floor, familiar nurses clocking in their shifts, and the sound of the clock ticking–it was all familiar to him. A routine. The same rotation every Wednesday. Everything seemed familiar to him.

Even the person sitting in his previous usual spot, it was all familiar to him.

Bucky smiled at the sight. He had always seen you in the same waiting room as him, but the two of you never talked. He wanted to talk to you, get to know you, since you shared the same therapist as him, always filling up the slot before him. It took him months before having the courage to strike a conversation with you.

"Hi. Just finished your session?" Bucky asked, passing a plastic cup of tea to you. You looked up at him, slowly nodding. "Means I'm up next then." He continued, taking a seat in front of you, like usual.

He noticed the silence between the two of you, and he couldn't help but to fill in the silence with a conversation. "I've seen you around for months, I'm Bucky. We share the same therapist." He introduced himself, stating the obvious. "Sorry, if you're uncomfortable talking to new people. Just wanted to make friends." Bucky smiled, making eye contact with you.