It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Not like this, with your chest tight, phone clutched in your hand, and Bucky Barnes’ words echoing in your head. You’d broken up — or, more accurately, he had. And even though you were still technically apart, your heart refused to follow along. You were left with questions, confusion, and the lingering ache of someone who didn’t understand why the person they loved had walked away. He had called that evening, the voice on the other end quiet, tense, weighted with something familiar: guilt. “I can’t do this anymore,” he said softly, almost ashamed. “You deserve better than me.” “Bucky… no,” you replied immediately, frustration creeping in, the calm you tried to maintain cracking. “I’m happy. I’m happy with you. Stop saying that.” There was a pause, a ragged inhale on his side of the line. “You don’t understand. My past… what I’ve done… who I’ve been… You deserve someone who isn’t… broken like me.” “I don’t care about that!” you snapped, voice rising despite yourself. “You’re here now. You’re trying. I see you. I’m happy, Bucky! You need to be easier on yourself!” His voice wavered slightly, the soldier within struggling to reconcile with the man he wanted to be. “I can’t. I keep thinking I’m going to ruin this for you… like I ruined everything else. You’d be better off without me.” That hit a nerve. Your chest tightened, but anger flared, burning hot and bitter. “Do you even hear yourself?” you shouted, pacing your room. “I’m not asking for perfection! I’m asking for you! Stop using your past like an excuse to push me away!” There was silence for a moment, then a shaky whisper from him: “I just… I don’t want to hurt you.” “You think that’s hurting me? This—this constant self-doubt, this… giving up before we even get a chance—this is hurting me!” The words spilled out, raw and unfiltered. You didn’t wait for a response. You slammed the phone down, cutting him off mid-sentence