#psyche!

• The night had been perfect. Soft music, a fancy restaurant, a leisurely stroll through the park. You couldn’t have asked for more.

• …And yet, you’d been distant. Distracted.

• “Hmm?” His question snaps you out of your spiralling thoughts, and you quickly slap a smile on your face, hoping he won’t be suspicious.

• It doesn’t work.

• “Doll, I know something’s wrong. You’ve been stuck in your head all night. Talk to me.”

• The arm around your shoulders pulls you in closer, and you rest your head on Bucky’s shoulder, your footsteps easily matching the pace of his. (Perhaps he was slowing down for you.)

• “It’s nothing,” you whisper into his shirt. But the tremble in your voice betrays you.

• Bucky stops, pulls you to the side, something swirling and desperate in his eyes. Something scared.

• “Doll, please… Please talk to me.”

• “It’s nothing, Buck.” You attempt to resume your pace, turning to lead him down the quiet park path, but he halts you with a touch to your sleeve.

• He swallows in the light of the lamppost. “Did—“ he chokes, clears his throat. “Did I do something wrong? Is it something I did?”

• “What?” Shock roots you to the spot almost as effectively as Bucky’s grasp on your sleeve, and you struggle to keep your jaw from dropping. “Bucky, no. No, it’s not anything you did.”

• “Then why won’t you tell me?” Those eyes. Those freaking blue eyes.

• Your hands start trembling, the thoughts in your head swirling and swirling like that stupid house in The Wizard of Oz. Swirling like a stupid tornado with no yellow brick road to follow.

• “Buck…” Your voice trails off, but your breathing increases. Short, shallow. Oh God.

• This was it. He was breaking up with you. You were lying to him. You could never be trusted again. He would find out and break your heart and then you’d be left with nowhere and nothing and nobody and—

• “Just breathe. C’mon, doll, breathe!”

• Bucky’s sharp eyes narrowed into focus again, hovering inches from your face, and you realised then that your hand was locked over your chest, his hand trembling overtop it.

• “Breathe for me, doll. C’mon. In…” He inhaled slowly. “And out…” A steady exhale.

• Mimicking his actions, you eventually calm enough to bury your head into his chest, tears spilling onto his clean shirt.

• “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

• “Shhh. Shhh, hey, what’re you apologizing for?”

• For ruining the relationship. For not keeping your shit together. For letting him realise that you were nothing more than a broken toy for him to throw out now that you didn’t work.

• Silence and crying. Those were the only sounds as you slowly calmed down, Bucky rubbing your back in a steady, soothing pattern.

• Eventually, when your tears fade into hiccups, he pulls back just enough to cup your face and look you right in the eyes.

• “How long?”

• You sniffle, a final tear slipping its boundary and trailing down your cheek.

• “About a month.” Your words are soft, quiet. Broken sounding. “I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve had so much on your plate, and I just… I thought…” Tears started afresh, and your voice cracked as you sobbed. “You didn’t sign up for this, Bucky. You didn’t. I was—I was normal when we started dating. I was normal and then… and then…”

• And then I almost lost you…

• Yes, that had been the catalyst for it all. The day Bucky got home from a mission, bleeding and bruised, barely conscious.

• Steve had immediately rushed him to the med bay, and you’d had to wait for three hours while they patched him back up.

• In that time, you’d done a lot of thinking. Of spiralling. Round and round and round. About everything you could’ve done better. About everything you needed to try. About everything that could go wrong.

• And those thoughts had never truly left you. They haunted your apartment like a ghost, ran errands with you on your shoulders. They never shut up!

• You’d sworn you wouldn’t let Bucky know. That he wouldn’t have to add you falling apart to his already too-long list of responsibilities.

• But you couldn’t keep that promise, even to yourself.

• Serious determination fills Bucky’s eyes, something bordering on rage, if you had to put a name to it, and yet not.

• “You are normal. There is nothing wrong with you. This?” He swipes a thumb over your cheek, brushing the tears away. “This is temporary. You are exactly what I signed up for, in the good times and the bad. And you never—“ he inhaled slowly here, as if his breath alone was what would hold him together. “You never have to hide it from me.”

• Tears rushed to your eyes in a third wave, but this one was good. Clean. Relieved.

• It didn’t cure the thoughts. It didn’t cure the late night spirals or pulse spikes when he walked out the door.

• But it made a home for them, right there on Bucky’s chest. And when you didn’t have to carry the weight alone, suddenly it seemed less heavy. Bearable.