He didn’t miss the quiet wince as you slipped your shoes off, the sluggish shuffle of your feet, or the ghost of pain in your eyes that you tried to hide behind a tired smile.

“Rough day?” he asked gently.

“Yeah... but I’m fine,” you replied, offering him the softest of smiles and a brief kiss to his cheek before disappearing down the hall.

It wasn’t a lie, exactly. You were still standing. That counted for something, didn’t it?

In the bathroom, you made the water as hot as you could bear. Steam rose in lazy tendrils as you sprinkled in Epsom salts and a few drops of your favorite lavender oil. The floral scent bloomed around you, clinging to the tile and seeping into your skin. You lowered yourself slowly into the deep tub, every inch of immersion a dull ache, followed by the quietest relief.

This tub had been the deciding factor when you and Bucky chose this apartment. You remembered laughing about how luxurious it felt at the time: “for a couple of homebodies who barely go out, we might as well live like royalty”. Now, it felt less like luxury and more like survival.

But even as the water surrounded you like a cocoon, the ache in your body refused to fully release. It clung to you, stubborn and unrelenting.

Then you heard a soft knock on the doorframe.

“I come bearing gifts,” Bucky announced with a grin, stepping into the doorway like a knight with a tray instead of a sword.

You blinked. “What’s all that?”

“Girl dinner,” he said proudly, showing off his perfectly curated haul. A long, bathtub tray rested across his arms filled with goodies: creamy brie, rosemary sea salt crackers stacked with care, and a generous pour of your favorite wine in a delicate glass.

The laugh that bubbled from your chest was small, but real. “Where did you even learn that term?”

“Internet,” he said smugly, setting the tray across the tub with exaggerated precision. “I keep up with trends, thank you very much.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered affectionately, shaking your head.

“Ridiculously thoughtful,” he corrected, leaning in to kiss the top of your head, the gesture grounding you more than the bathwater ever could.

You let yourself sink into the warmth of the water, the quiet clink of the wine glass, and the way the soft cheese spread so easily over the crisp cracker. You hadn’t realized how much your soul had needed this kind of care.

He didn’t say much as you sipped and nibbled, but he sat nearby, watching you with a look in his eyes like he was memorizing you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, leaning over to kiss the corner of his mouth. It may have been a small gesture, but it was packed with all the words you didn’t have energy for.

When you finally emerged from the bath, wrapped in your robe with damp hair clinging to your neck, you were warmer and softer, but not better.

The ache had simply moved and your muscles still protested every movement. You didn’t have the energy to pretend anymore.

Bucky’s eyes tracked your every movement: the too-careful stretch, the half-stifled wince, and the way you paused before sitting, trying to gauge which position would hurt the least.

“Alright,” he said gently, stepping forward to intercept your path to the couch. “No more pretending.”

You opened your mouth to protest. “Bucky, I’m—”

“You’re hurting,” he said, voice quiet but firm, his hand brushing down your arm with deliberate care. “Let me help. Please.”

There was no fight left in you, only surrender.

You nodded once, and let him guide you to the bedroom.

The sheets were cool as you lay on your stomach, face turned sideways into the pillow, and your breathing was shallow.

He started at your shoulders, both vibranium and flesh working in tandem. One hand was warm, melting your tension. The other was cool and grounding, easing away pain like pressure points of ice and fire. It was like having icy-hot pads on demand, but far more precise and loving.

He worked intentionally slowly. His thumbs kneaded into knots you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying for days. He moved like your body was a map he already knew but wanted to rediscover every inch of.

There were no distractions, only the press and slide of his palms and the occasional quiet sigh he coaxed from you as another knot surrendered beneath his care.

You drifted in and out, conscious enough to feel, but too exhausted to stay aware. Somewhere between your lower back and your thighs, your mind stopped forming complete thoughts. All you could focus on was the sensation and safety.

By the time he reached your calves, your breath had evened out, heavy and drowsy.

Bucky leaned down, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, soft and reverent.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

And for the first time all day, you let go.