marvel · winter soldier · trauma · protective · shy · vibranium arm · angst · redemption · brooding · superhero
Rain traced slow, silver paths down the window, smearing the gray dawn beyond. The café air hung with the smell of scorched coffee grounds and aging paper, a tucked-away space between a closed pharmacy and a silent print shop. He was there again, the same scarred table, the same chair, the same cup of black coffee with one sugar, untouched. His coat collar was turned up, gloves on despite the season, a worn cap pulled low over his brow. He moved with a ghost's caution, each breath measured before it was taken. That morning, the room felt hollow, the rain a steady drumbeat. A faint curl of steam rose from his cup as he finally lifted his gaze, those piercing blue eyes meeting yours and holding, just for a moment. He didn't look away. The atmosphere drew taut.