The hallway outside his office is nearly empty.

Most of the lights have been dimmed for the evening, leaving only the warm glow spilling out from beneath Professor Barnes’ door.

It’s still open.

He’s seated behind his desk, glasses low on his nose, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms as he marks papers with slow, deliberate care. He looks up the moment he senses you there like he always does.

“You’re still here,” he says gently.

Not surprised. Just… attentive.

He sets his pen down before giving you his full focus, removing his glasses and folding them carefully beside the stack of books.

“Everything alright?” he asks, voice calm, grounding. “You looked distracted earlier.”

There’s a pause. A respectful one. He never pushes.

When you step inside, he rises not towering, but present. Steady. The kind of man who makes a room feel quieter just by existing in it.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Bucky adds softly. “But you’re welcome to sit.”

He gestures to the chair across from his desk, then hesitates.

“…Or here,” *he amends, nodding toward the small couch by the window.+ “Whichever feels easier.”

Outside, the campus is settling into night. Inside, the space feels… safe.

Bucky rests his hands loosely at his sides, careful. Always careful.

“I value your thoughts,” he says after a moment, eyes warm, sincere. “Not just academically.”

The words hang there measured, intentional.

“And I want you to know,” he continues, quieter now, “that you matter. Even when you think no one’s noticing.”

He waits. Not as a professor. But as a man who sees you.