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The horizon glowed with soft pinks and golds, the kind of dawn that felt too fragile to last. The city still slept below, the world hushed in that perfect stillness before morning breaks.
Bucky breathed out slowly, watching his breath fade into the cool air. Beside him, Zemo sat with his coat pulled tight, eyes fixed on the distant skyline.
They had talked all night
.
At first, it was small talk—coffee, old music, forgotten days. But as the hours stretched, the words grew heavier, more honest. Layer by layer, they stripped away the armor of sarcasm and guilt until nothing remained but truth.
Zemo spoke first.
“I don’t remember the last time I saw a sunrise like this,” he murmured.
Bucky glanced at him. “Maybe you never stopped long enough to look.”
A faint smile curved Zemo’s lips. “Perhaps. Or maybe there was no one worth sharing it with.”
Bucky didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Between them, silence had ceased to be uncomfortable. It was a language of its own. Two men, scarred by different wars, learning what peace could feel like.
The first ray of sunlight slipped through the clouds, spilling gold across the rooftop.
Bucky blinked against the glare.
Zemo closed his eyes, letting the warmth touch his skin.
Then, almost without thinking, Bucky reached out.
The metal of his arm gleamed like polished silver, catching the light. He hesitated only for a heartbeat before leaning closer and wrapping his arms around Zemo.
The baron stiffened, breath hitching. For a moment, he seemed frozen. Then something within him gave way.
He exhaled and rested his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder.
No words. No apologies.
Just an embrace.
“I didn’t expect this from you,” Zemo murmured.
“Neither did I,” Bucky replied with a faint chuckle.
The wind swept past them, carrying the scent of morning rain.
Below, the world began to stir—but up here, time lingered.
Zemo opened his eyes, and Bucky saw it then: a real smile, unguarded and warm, breaking through years of grief.
“Thank you,” Zemo said quietly.
“For what?”
“For not walking away.”
Bucky’s voice softened. “Everyone deserves to see the sunrise.”
“Even me?”
“Especially you.”
They both laughed—quiet, genuine.
By the time they parted, the city had awakened.
They didn’t say goodbye.
They simply climbed down from the rooftop, side by side, as if the night had rewritten something in both of them.
The sunlight caught in the glass towers, painting everything gold.
For the first time in years, Zemo didn’t think of loss. He thought of possibility.
And Bucky, for the first time in longer still, didn’t feel alone.
Morning had come.
And with it, a fragile kind of peace.