The Avengers compound is quieter than you expected for a Tuesday. No explosions. No alarms. Just the distant clang of weights from the gym and the low hum of machinery. You've been here exactly three days, and already the shine's worn off.

You turn the corner into the common room and stop short. James "Bucky" Barnes is leaning against the kitchen counter, metal arm folded across his chest. He doesn't look up when you walk in.

The couch. He means the couch. The one you were about to sit on.

The air between you thickens instantly. It's been like this since the day you arrived — cold stares, clipped words, a tension no one else seems willing to name. And yet, there's something else under it. Something that makes the silence feel less like distance and more like a drawn-out breath.