Stucky One-Shots (Angst, Fluff, Smut)

Opening up can open some wounds

ayyyy so this isn't smut it's just a sort of melancholic and it's definitely an angst one-shot, so yeah...

words: 2k

Well I've been on fire, thinking of you, tell me you don't, it feels like you do, opening up can open some wounds, how does it start and when does it end?

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When he awoke, the other side of the bed was empty. His eyes flickered towards the door, which stood slightly ajar and Steve connected the dots. He felt his chest ache, he knew what he would find just past his line of vision in the next room. It pained him every time, and it had been more frequent and much more severe. Glancing at the clock on his bedside table, it was the ungodly hour of three a.m. It must have been a nightmare to trigger an episode, there were a lot of those recently. He rolled out of the blankets, and the air was freezing. It wasn't this cold when the two went to sleep last night. He stumbled a little as he pulled on a pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt. He didn't bother with socks; his toes weren't as important as Bucky. Nothing ever was.

Slipping through the door, he rounded the corner to enter his living room. He made a full stop in the middle. His heart almost shattered the second his eyes fell on his boyfriend, just a small, dark lump on the couch without any light source, save the minimal street-lamps through the window. There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance. There wasn't any other sound, no other movement. Steve didn't know what to do, he'd comforted Bucky a thousand times up until now, yet this time felt different. It felt especially bad. His eyebrows knitted together, he wanted to do something, but what?

He took a hesitant step forward and the floorboards creaked slightly. He kept his eyes on Bucky, his Bucky. The shape on the couch didn't move.

Maybe he was asleep....

Steve knew better than that. He took a second stride, and there was another noise of protest from the wood beneath his feet. He wondered if it was just tonight, or if the floor did this all the time and he just didn't notice. He took a final step, he was within an arm's reach. Bucky hadn't stirred, facing parallel to the glass, staring at the wall. Thunder cracked, shaking the apartment, and the wind hummed in discontent. Steve jumped slightly, but there wasn't any sign of disturbance in other.

"Buck...?" Steve mumbled, sitting a reasonable distance away. Nothing. He didn't dare get closer without being certain that his boyfriend wouldn't hurt himself; Steve couldn't care less about his own personal wellbeing. "Buck, can you hear me?"

Nothing. Steve swallowed hard, his mind reeling. He tried to remember everything Bucky's therapist said when sat in on a meeting with the two; he was in the Avengers' intensive care ward for six weeks after they retrieved him from HYDRA and only then he was finally cleared for the safety of the public. Following recommendations from the psychiatrist, Bucky was to start seeing a psychologist regularly to help him recover and cope with his trauma. It was working really well, Bucky made huge strides in progress. Steve had to remind himself that healing isn't linear; there were times of progress and times of regression. There would be days where life was almost the same way before the war, and days where it felt like Bucky was back at square one. Steve knew that he wouldn't get back the same guy he fell in love with nearly one hundred years ago, but he didn't care. He loved Bucky, no matter what.

"Bucky," his voice was barely audible. "We are sitting in the living room right now, it's raining outside, and it's very late. You are sitting on the davenport, and I am next to you."

Silence. The air was empty, devoid of Bucky's relaxed energy and warmth. The cold was unrelenting, Steve noticed himself shivering. He slowly stood up and made his way towards the thermostat. The heat had been switched off, the temperature low enough for water to become ice if left out long enough. It was peculiar. Steve frowned; he set it last night to be a comfortable sixty four degrees since he knew winter was coming, and quite rapidly.