FORTY-FIVE

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TWO MONTHS LATER

It starts small.

It always does.

Melany is just looking for a shirt.

Something comfortable.

Something of his.

Because his things don't feel like his anymore.

They feel like theirs.

The room is quiet, soft with afternoon light filtering through the curtains. It smells faintly like him—clean, familiar, grounding.

She moves easily through it.

Unthinking.

Comfortable.

Until—

She notices the drawer.

His nightstand.

Slightly open.

Just enough.

Her steps slow.

Something in her chest tightens.

You know what that is.

The thought comes uninvited.

Immediate.

Clear.

Her fingers brush the edge of the drawer.

Pause.

Don't.

Everything in her says don't.

Respect it.

Leave it alone.

Trust him.

Her breath catches slightly.

She almost listens.

Almost.

But curiosity is a quiet, insistent thing.

And she's already here.

Already reaching.

The drawer slides open.

Slow and careful.

And there it is.

Small. Dark. Undeniable.

A ring box.

Her stomach drops.

Oh.

Her fingers hover.

She shouldn't.

She knows she shouldn't.

But everything clicks—

The rooftop.

The almost.

The waiting.

I want it to feel inevitable.

"Oh my god..." she breathes.

And before she can stop herself—

She picks it up.

"Mel?"

Her entire body jolts.

The box disappears behind her back instantly.

Steve stands in the doorway.

Still. Watching.

Not confused. Not casual.

Alert.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yes," she says too fast.

Doll. // Bucky Barnes X OCWhere stories live. Discover now