You watched from the window as the sun began to rise, squinting your eyes slightly as the rays of light shone between the barely open curtains.
It was a sight that you would usually find pretty; maybe you would even wake Bucky up so the two of you could watch it together.
But this time, you almost despised the golden glow in your room. It looked too happy. It was a painful reminder of all the times you and Bucky spent together in that room; waking up, cuddling, having pillow fights, talking, just enjoying each other's company. It had been that way for years. You did everything together, so it made sense that when you were no longer with each other, everything fell apart.
It was no secret that your relationship hadn't ended on good terms. When the final argument proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back, you'd thought that maybe it was for the best. Maybe you could move on, find somebody new.
But one week later, it was extremely clear that that wouldn't be the case.
You couldn't sleep without feeling his arms wrapped around you. You barely ate or drank, not wanting to sit at the table without him opposite you. Your hair was a mess because you couldn't be bothered to fix it – not that it really mattered, because you probably wouldn't be leaving the house anyway. Your eyes were constantly red rimmed from crying, which was all you seemed to be doing now.
There was only ever one thought in your mind: he was everything you ever wanted, and you drove him away.
While you moped around, Bucky seemed to be living his life as normal. He dealt with trauma a lot better than you, if only because he was used to it. He would go outside, maybe meet up with Sam just to feel relatively normal again.
But behind closed doors, it was a different story. You were all he could think about. He could hear your laugh, see shadows of you dancing to your favourite song, feel the soft curve of your waist as he held you. Everything in his life had been temporary and you were the one thing that kept him grounded, and he'd let you go.
On the ninth day without each other, Bucky decided he couldn't live like this anymore. He racked his drawers for the spare key that you'd once given him and left his own small, rented apartment, his hair tousled, his eyes tired.
By the time he made it to the house you'd once shared, he was second guessing himself. For all he knew, you could be absolutely fine. But, as he quietly let himself in, he saw your silhouette. You were still sitting by the window, in the same place you were two hours ago when the sun was still rising, with your head in your hands, tears running down your face yet again.
You were broken, and so was he.
You heard Bucky before you saw him. You snapped your head up, not trusting your senses, torn between being hopeful of his return or dismissing it as a heartbreaking hallucination.
He appeared in the doorway, and you finally set eyes on him again. No words were exchanged, but both of your appearances meant that the silence spoke for you.
Bucky opened his arms and you stood up unsteadily, trembling as you walked over and hugged him tightly. You never wanted to let go. Not again.
Later, you hoped you would get the chance to tell him all the things you'd realised about how much you needed him, and you hoped that he might say the same about you.
But for now, you felt comforted in his embrace. Things were still far from okay, but this was a start.