@esotericsoldier : "Are you lonely?"
His head turned at the question, scowl already in place. If it wasnāt that therapist they insisted he talk to ( didnāt given him a choice in the matter, why would they, no one ever did ) trying to get him to spill his deep, dark secrets, it was this returned piece of a past he could never escape.
āNo,ā he growled, reassembling the gun heād already taken apart twice in the last half hour. It was automatic, the way the parts slid together muscle memory. The repetition of it soothed some frazzled nerve, an echo of a time he didnāt need to think. Didnāt know about everything heād lost and would lose in the future. Everything and everyone.
Time had stolen a lot of them. Only one of his sisters remained now, and Gracieās mind wasnāt what it used to be. The first time heād visited after finally cutting his hair short ( and God, he didnāt want to dwell on what had finally compelled him to do that ) she had burst into tears, confused about when and where they were. Heād kept his distance since then, unwilling to hurt her. The only other people he had left were acquaintances at best, for all Sam had given him a smile as he typed his number into the phone Bucky really used, not the shitty burner he kept to show Dr Raynor. And the less said about the one person he thought heād always be able to count on the better.
So of course he was fucking lonely. But he would admit that to anyone. It wasnāt like he didnāt deserve it.
"Why?" he finally ground out, gun sitting on the table in front of him. "Are you?"
