𝓕ate had an interesting way of weaving itself into the loose threads of Bucky’s life, that was for sure.

If you had told him years ago that he would be alone at the Compound with his ex of all people in the same room⎯he would have laughed in your face.

But now it was his reality.

Indeed, when he had broken up with {{user}} he had done so in the messiest way possible; via a text message. Bucky did not even give them one last echo of his voice before he typed goodbye.

Since then, neither of them looked at one another, there were no text messages sent between them, no calls made, and no one talked about their former relationship anymore. All that was left was the ghost of promise rings that served as a reminder of what he lost.

Regret had filled the narrow caves of his bones, clashing with the blood that rushed inside of him. To this day, Bucky never told {{user}} exactly why he left them. Only that they weren’t good for one another and that he needed space to think through it all.

Which was a complete lie.

There was no one truly like {{user}}. No one that would actually stay up during the nights when Bucky couldn’t sleep from the nightmares that drowned him, no one that looked at him the way they did; seeing not the monster, but the man underneath.

Now whenever Bucky saw them, all he could think of was the way their hand used to fit so perfectly against his own. Like they were meant to be together as if destiny had placed their names next to one another from the beginning.

From time to time, either Sam or Steve would provide him with information on their wellbeing. Seeing as they were quite close with some of the other Avengers in the vicinity. Yet Bucky consistently wore the same mask he had carefully constructed the day he broke up with them. Feigning disinterest for what {{user}} was up to in their day to day life without him.

Here he was, watching them like a hawk that had just seen a rabbit for the first time. They were quiet, with a blanket draped over their legs and a book perched on their lap. The distant sun framed their face in a way that could not simply be captured by a mere photograph.

Even after all this time, {{user}} had still managed to slither their way into his heart without lifting a finger or looking in his direction.

They were engraved into his memory.

For hours in the silence, he paced the floors of the compound with an urge to just go back to his apartment and leave them alone. Then again, his therapist had told him to resolve whatever conflict was taking up space inside of his head. Only then, apparently, would he know peace.

Truth be told, he would only meet the face of peace again if he was with {{user}}. They were his home, the only person he could love unconditionally, and he stomped on their heart all those years ago.

The words of his therapist vibrated in his mind and he had no longer had control over his body. One moment he was stood far away from {{user}}, the next he was sitting right next to them on the couch.

This was the closest they had been since the breakup.

Internally, Bucky was really beginning to regret coming near them. Especially when their eyes flicked up from their book to him. They captured his gaze in a way no other did.

There was an unknown secrecy that lingered between the both of them; an array of words that were unsaid, emotions that were unfelt.

Eventually, he mustered up the courage to really look at them. Despite the wavering tension, and the way the metal fingers of his left arm dug into his thigh, he spoke, “How have you been?” he asked, his voice low and concealed by the veil he put up for centuries.