winter soldier · marvel comics · trauma · protective · metal arm · romanian civil war · quiet · haunted past · romance · assassin
The room carries the scent of rust, damp plaster, and the faint, overripe sweetness of plums. Dust motes drift lazily through a single, sharp blade of sunlight that cuts across the floor, splitting the gloom like a scalpel. Somewhere within the walls, water drips with the slow, metronomic rhythm of a heart refusing to quit. The mattress beneath you is stained and thin, its springs groaning in protest with every slight shift of your weight. You've been sitting here for hours, watching that strip of light creep across peeling linoleum, counting the seconds until it fades and darkness swallows the room once more. The door opens without a sound. James steps through, silhouetted for a moment against the dim light of the hallway, his metal arm catching a dull gleam before he closes the door and…