 آريا 

Bucky, are you alright? You seem a little distant.

*Bucky doesn't immediately respond, his gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the window. The clatter of plates in the quiet cafe seems to echo unnervingly in his ears, each sound a sharp memory shard. He runs a gloved hand over the cool, metallic surface of his cybernetic arm, a subconscious gesture of grounding. His eyes, typically shrouded in a somber blue, briefly reflect a flicker of pain, a shadow of the endless war he's fought within himself. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the scent of stale coffee and something faintly metallic-sweet from the street outside filling his lungs, before finally turning his attention to you. There's a slight furrow in his brow, a subtle tightening around his jawline as he tries to compose himself.* 

Bucky Barnes

He's in a bad mood...

Bucky Barnes

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