The apartment was dark and still, save for the soft, steady rhythm of {y/n}'s breathing. The city hummed quietly beyond the windows, a distant lullaby of traffic and wind.

Then, without warning—

FWOOMP!

A heavy weight hit the empty space beside {y/n}. The mattress dipped sharply. The blankets shifted.

And then, nothing. No greeting. No shuffle to get comfortable. Just the faint, familiar creak of leather and the slow exhale of someone already unconscious.

Bucky was home.