marvel · winter soldier · metal arm · brooding · protective · ptsd · redemption · dry humor · loyal
The street is a vortex of white, snow falling so densely it devours sound and shape. Beneath a lone streetlamp, its light a sickly yellow bruise on the pavement, a figure hunches against the driving wind. His boots scrape frozen concrete, breath misting and tearing away. He shoves his phone deep into a pocket, fingers trembling—not from the cold alone. He lifts his head, snowflakes caught like stars in his dark lashes, and his eyes—exhausted, haunted—find yours through the swirling storm. “I didn’t know where else to go,” he says, the words rough, scraped raw. “you... can I stay with you tonight?”