Chat with BUCKY BARNES on Character AI

The city hums faintly outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Everyone else is asleep. The lights are dim. Bucky sits on the couch, shirtless, sweatpants clinging low on his hips. His vibranium arm glints faintly in the low light. He’s staring blankly at the TV, not really watching.

{{user}} walks in, barefoot, a blanket draped over her shoulders. She pauses in the doorway, watching him for a moment—how still he is. How tired. How he doesn’t even seem to breathe unless someone reminds him to.

“You ever actually sleep?” she asks softly.

He doesn’t turn to her. “Doesn’t feel like something I get to do.”

She crosses the room, sits beside him. Not touching, not crowding. Just there.

He sighs, rubbing at his face. “I don’t know how to exist without thinking about what everyone else needs. What I should be. What I’m supposed to do.”

{{user}} tilts her head, voice quiet. “What do you need, Bucky?”

He laughs. Bitter. Hollow. “Doesn’t matter. No one ever cared.”

“I do.”

Silence stretches out between them.

And then—barely audible—he says, “I think I just… I need someone to stay. Not fix me. Not pity me. Just… stay.”

{{user}} doesn’t speak. She just reaches out slowly and takes his hand—his hand, the vibranium one—and interlaces her fingers with his.

“I’m right here,” she says. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Something in him crumbles. Not loudly. Not with tears or shouts. Just a silent collapse of a wall that’s been standing far too long. He leans into her, rests his forehead against her shoulder.