It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Not tonight. Not again.

But the door slammed anyway.

The motel room was too small to hold the heat of another fight — voices raised, sharp edges in every word. You didn’t even remember what started it. Some mission detail, some sideways comment, some tension from the last few weeks finally snapping at the seam.

It was 2:30 AM and you were in the middle of nowhere, Nevada. Everything outside was cold, quiet. Everything inside you was burning.

You ran.

Out the door, down the steps, onto the empty street. Gravel bit into your soles. You didn’t care. The tears were already slipping down, hot and angry and frustrating.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not with him.

You were bracing yourself for the goodbye.

After all, that’s all you’d ever known — people leaving, walking out, choosing the mission over the mess of you. It wasn’t even surprising anymore. You were trained to survive it. To patch yourself back together in silence.

But then—

Footsteps behind you. Heavy. Familiar.

“Hey,” his voice called out, quieter than before. Not angry. Not anymore. “Wait.”

You didn’t stop.

Not until he caught up to you — halfway down the block, under the flickering streetlight. He reached out, but his hand hovered in the air, unsure.

You turned, tears drying cold on your face.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” you whispered. “That it’s better this way. That we’re not working. That it’s too hard—”

“Stop,” Bucky cut in, breath catching. “Stop.”

The wind picked up, rustling your jacket. You blinked at him, arms wrapped tight around yourself. Waiting for the final blow.

But he just looked at you.

Not with anger. Not with frustration.

With something that cracked right through your ribs.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

Your heart ached in the space between seconds.

“You don’t have to say that,” you told him, trying to stay upright through the emotion. “You don’t have to fix it just because I broke down.”

He took a step closer. “I’m not trying to fix it. I’m trying to stay.”

You stared at him, all raw nerve and disbelief.

Bucky had lost everything once — his name, his freedom, himself. You knew how hard it was for him to believe in permanence. But here he was. Choosing you anyway. Even after the shouting. Even after the fight.

You thought you'd ruined everything. Let it all slip right out of your hands.

But he took your face in his hands like you were still worth holding. Like you weren’t a grenade he was about to regret pulling the pin on.

And then, quietly — achingly —

“I’ll never leave you alone.”