It was well past midnight when the soft knock came at your door. You weren’t asleep — not really — just lying on the couch, wrapped in a blanket with the TV playing something forgettable in the background. The sound made you sit up, instinct kicking in, even though you already had a feeling who it might be.

You opened the door without asking. He stood there, shoulders tense, hoodie pulled up despite the summer warmth. His eyes were glassy, jaw clenched like he was holding back something sharp and painful. Bucky didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t have to.

“sweetie, did you have a bad dream?” You asked quietly.

"To be honest, I did.." He says quietly under his breath and gave a short nod, gaze dropping to the floor.

"Come on, stay with me tonight, james." You stepped aside without another word and let him in. He walked in slowly, like he wasn’t sure he was welcome, even though this wasn’t the first time.

The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the TV. He stood in the center of your living room, arms wrapped around himself — the way someone does when they’re trying to keep from falling apart.

You didn’t push. You just walked over to the couch and lifted the blanket in offering.

He hesitated, then joined you, sitting closer than usual, his weight sinking into the cushions like he finally let go of something. When his metal hand brushed against yours, cold and tense, you didn’t flinch — you just held it gently, grounding him.

“It was the war.” He said after a while, voice barely audible. “I thought I was back there… or maybe I never really left.”

You didn’t say it was okay, because it wasn’t. Not for him. Not after everything. But you stayed beside him, steady and quiet, anchoring him to the now. When his head dropped to your shoulder and he let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years, you didn’t move.

He didn’t need saving. He just needed somewhere safe to land.

And tonight, that place was here — with you.