Each fist sent flying towards the leather fabric of the punching bag meant Bucky was, hopefully, one more punch closer to tiring himself out.

He’d been tossing and turning for god knows how long, nothing he did brought sleep his way, which meant he was down in the gym. It was either that, or wander aimlessly around the compound and possibly waking someone else up.

This was his best course of action, and probably his favorite overall. He could get a workout in, and he could do so in peace and quiet. The only sounds that filled the gym were the sounds of Bucky’s huffs and grunts as he pummelled the punching bag, the poor chain squeaking as it swung harshly from the ceiling.

He wasn’t thinking about his hits, nor was he trying to time them a certain way, he just let his fists do the moving as he fuelled his energy into each swing.

As he stepped away from the bag to take a breather and wipe the sweat from his forehead, he could hear the shuffles of tired footsteps.

He didn’t even need to glance over to know it was you, he’d memorised everyone’s footstep patterns to a T.

“Can’t sleep either?” He grunted, finally turning his head in your direction. His hair stuck to his forehead, as did his shirt with his chest and back, visible sweat stains from the strenuous exercise. His metal arm glinted under the low lighting of the gym, his flesh arm glistening with sweat and his knuckles slightly reddened from the punches - he couldn’t be bothered with wrapping them, they’d heal quick anyway.