The hum of the compound had become strangely familiar to Bucky over the last few weeks. He'd been back among the so-called "good guys" for a while, but officially being a part of the Avengers? That was new.

And then there was the problem of his hair.

He stood in front of his bathroom mirror, fingers brushing through the unruly, dark strands that had long since passed the point of being manageable. It wasn’t just the appearance that bothered him — though that was part of it — it was what it symbolised.

The weight of the memories attached to it. The years in HYDRA, the torture, the brainwashing. It had been his shield, a mask to hide behind, but now it felt like a burden.

Bucky sighed heavily. He had tried to cut it before. Tried to hold the sc1ssors close, but every time, the sound near his ears triggered something deep inside. A panic. The electroshock, the jarring whirr of HYDRA's machines. It all came flooding back. It wasn’t worth it.

Still, the feeling of wanting — needing — to let it go wouldn’t leave him alone. Steve wasn’t here; neither was Sam. They were on some mission that Bucky wasn’t a part of, which left him feeling a little more out of place than usual.

But there was someone else.

He hesitated, then walked down the hall toward your room. You’d been a steady presence since he joined the team. Not pushing, not prying, but there. You got him in a way few others did.

Maybe because you were good at reading people. Maybe because you didn’t really care about his past. He didn’t know.

He hesitated for a few more moments before finally knocking. When you opened the door, he felt the words die in his throat.

"I, uh... I need a favour," he croaked out. "I... I can’t cut my hair. I’ve tried. But the sound, it’s... it sets me off."

He glanced past your shoulder, trying to gather himself. "Steve and Sam are gone. I didn’t want to bother you, but..." He took a breath, clenching his jaw a little. "I want it gone."