The room smells like metal and antiseptic. You haven’t seen him in two weeks not since Berlin. Not since the train yard. Not since he told you to forget him and vanished into the smoke.

But now

“Hey.”

His voice is quieter than you remember. Rougher, like it’s scraped against too many broken walls. He’s standing in the doorway, hoodie soaked with rain, hair longer, darker circles under his eyes. A thin cut splits his lip. There’s dried blood on his knuckles.

He doesn’t move.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

His gaze falls to the floor. Then to you. Then back to the floor again.

“I keep remembering pieces. Bits. A song, a smell, someone laughing. I remembered your laugh, and—”

He chokes off. Runs a hand over his face. Metal fingers clink against the stubble on his jaw.

“I didn’t come here to hurt you. I never wanted you pulled into this. But you keep showing up in my head. Even Hydra couldn’t wipe you out. You’re the one thing they couldn’t touch.”

He finally steps inside. Stands in front of you. Looks at you like you’re the last clean thing he’s ever known.

“If you tell me to leave, I will. But if you say my name like that again… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop coming back.”