come home.

You noticed. Of course you did, how could you not?

You knew his job was tough. You knew it took a toll on him despite the macho, collected side of himself he showed to the world. You knew that he needed comfort.

But you hesitated. You didn't know if it was your place to provide it. Yes, you were husband and wife on paper, but you both knew that your marriage was a business deal, nothing more.

You both shared a home, a room and a bed. But apart from that, there was nothing that you could call yours. Atleast Bucky had his empire to keep him busy, what did you have?

You hated feeling so lonely.
---

You laid awake in bed, listening to the pitter patter of the rain outside. It felt oddly calming. Bucky wasn't home yet, so you figured one of his meetings ran late. It wasn't a rare occurrence for him to come home at 4 in the morning. Sometimes when your anxiety got the best of you, you thought he did it just to avoid you.

You jumped a bit at the sudden click of the doorknob. Speaking of the devil...
Bucky looked exhausted; White dress shirt partly unbuttoned from the top, suit jacket flung over his shoulder, a crease in the center of his eyebrows.

But what you saw next, almost made you wince. The blood coating his torn knuckles.

"Hey, hope I didn't wake you," his gravelly voice breaks you out of your trance as you sit up in the bed and look at him.

"Uh, no, you didn't. I was awake." you respond.

"Ah, I'll just wash up in fifteen," he says, as he makes his way to the bathroom. You can't get his tired face and bloody knuckles out of your head.

"B-Bucky?" you call hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" you ask, getting out of bed and walking towards him.

"I am, doll. Why do you ask?"

That nickname.
Tears have started to form along your waterline and you're doing your best to not let them spill.

"Please tell me the truth, Bucky. Please, " you implore with a crack in your voice that doesn't go unnoticed by him.

His face visibly softens as you instinctively take his hands into yours and inspect his torn knuckles. Nobody's touched him this softly in years. His mother was the only one who was this kind to him. But ever since he took after his dad and joined the business, he hasn't really been able to see much of her.

He tells himself that it's his way of protecting her. That's how he rationalises himself.

"Doll..." he says as your tears begin to spill. "I'm okay, I'm fine."

"Bucky, I k-know that you don't owe me anything," you say shakily. "But I can't help but worry about you. I know you're the best at what you do but I just want you to be safe. And I know it's unfair of me to ask, but I just wish you would be home on time."

The amount of concern you show him almost has him shedding a tear. No one has cared for him like this in years.

"Y/N, look at me, please." he requests softly as you do. His eyes are intense as always but there's a new softness in them right now. Maybe it was always there, but he never had a chance to bring it out.

"I'm okay. I'm perfectly okay. And you're right, I don't owe you anything. But not because we hardly know anything about each other, but because I'm your husband and you're my wife. You're my responsibility and I haven't been able to keep you happy -"

"Buck-"

"- I know you try to stay up late to wait for me. I know you worry. And I'm sorry I made you. I should've been home on time, I'm sorry."

"Bucky, you have no idea how much that means to me. Thank you. Thank you for coming home to me."

Home.

"Let me wash up, yeah?" he says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

The gesture makes you feel so warm. This is probably the most you both have touched and talked to each other since the wedding three months ago.

"Will you let me look at your knuckles?" you ask hopefully.

"If it makes ya happy, doll, you can do whatever ya like," he replies leading you into the bathroom.

Today, your house truly felt like a home.

---