"Good morning—I mean, buna dimineata, Andrei!" I called out as I made my way down the narrow cobblestone street toward the bodega, my voice bright and airy, trying to fight the morning haze still clinging to my thoughts.

Andrei didn't respond. He didn't even glance up from the paper, his usual warm greeting conspicuously absent.

"Andrei, hello?" I said again, a small nervous laugh slipping out as I approached the counter.

Without a word, Andrei slowly folded the newspaper, the motion heavy and deliberate. His weathered hands slid it toward me, his eyes avoiding mine. My heart stuttered as I noticed his expression—tight-lipped, eyes downcast. I hesitated before my eyes finally dropped to the paper. The bold headline caught me first, but it was the photo beneath it that made my heart lurch painfully into my throat.

My legs weakened as I whispered, "Is this... Is this today—"

The tremor in my voice didn't go unnoticed by Andrei, who merely nodded solemnly. His lips pressed into a tight line, sympathy radiating from his silence.

"This... Sebastian... yes?" Andrei's voice broke through the fog in my head, his words thick with concern.

I couldn't answer. My entire body was suddenly too heavy. The paper crinkled in my grip as my hand shook. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, drowning out the rest of the world as I stared at the photo. My mind struggled to make sense of what I was seeing.

"No... no..." I muttered under my breath, barely audible, as I tried to fight the rising wave of panic.

The front page was plastered with an image of him—James—just outside the dilapidated United Nations in Vienna. His face, his unmistakable profile, was captured amidst the chaos in grainy yet irrefutable footage. My eyes burned as I scanned the details of the article, each word a stab of fear and disbelief. Winter Soldier Responsible for UN Bombing, Wakandan King Dead.

Suddenly, I remembered. This morning. He wasn't in bed. I woke up alone, the sheets cold beside me. He'd been gone before I even opened my eyes.

Why didn't I notice sooner? Why didn't I ask?

He'd taken late night and early morning walks before, but now the timing gnawed at me. My stomach churned violently as the pieces of my worst fears started clicking together, faster and faster.

My body acted on pure adrenaline. Before I even registered my legs moving, I was sprinting down the street, the crumpled newspaper still crushed in my trembling hands.

I fumbled with the key, my shaking hands making it nearly impossible to fit it into the lock. My breath came in ragged gasps, the panic surging through me with every heartbeat. After what felt like an eternity, the door swung open, and I stumbled inside.

"James!" I called, my voice shaky and desperate, rising as I rushed into the apartment. "James!"

There he was, sitting at the kitchen table, journaling in that calm, focused way he always did. He looked up, startled by my sudden entrance.

His eyes were wide as he took in my disheveled state. "Jaige, what the hell—are you okay?"

I slammed the newspaper onto the table between us, the crinkled front page staring up at him accusingly. "What the fuck is this?" I demanded, my voice barely above a whisper, but shaking with barely-contained fury.

His eyes darted to the paper, and I saw the moment the recognition hit him. His entire body stiffened as he grabbed the page, his knuckles going white as his eyes scanned the image of himself. For a brief moment, his face was unreadable, frozen in shock.

"Why are you on the front page of a newspaper? Blowing up a UN conference in Vienna? How could this happen?" I choked out, my voice cracking under the weight of my own words.

He let the paper slip from his hands, and it floated back onto the table like a dead weight between us. "I... I didn't do that," he said quietly, but there was a desperation in his tone. "I was out for a walk. I—"

I cut him off, the words spilling like kerosene, threatening to explode with any spark. "I want to believe you, but this is bad, James. This is so bad."

"Jaige," he began, his voice gentle, pleading, as he stood up and reached for me. "I swear to you, I didn't do it. I would never—"

"The explosion killed the king of Wakanda, James!" I yelled, the words reverberating in the room, harsher and louder than I intended. I didn't mean to raise my voice, but the fear, the doubt, and the confusion ignited. "How am I supposed to just ignore that?"

James clenched his jaw, his face twisting with frustration. "You know—you told me you believed in me, Jaige. You told me you believed I was more than my past. Did you even mean that? Do you believe it now?"

"Of course, I do," I whispered fervently, but my voice faltered. "But this picture... your past... we know how the Winter Soldier can be activated—"

"It wasn't me," he growled, stepping back as his hands dragged through his dark hair. "I'm not him anymore. I told you that. I thought you understood."

The room felt like it was closing in around us, the air too thick, the silence too heavy.

James took a deep breath, his chest heaving as he tried to calm himself, but the hurt in his eyes was undeniable. "I thought you knew me," he said softly, his voice breaking just a little. "God, I really..."

His voice trailed off, and for a moment, I thought he was going to leave it there. But then he looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and anger. "I love you, Jaige," he said, the words heavy and raw, like they were ripped out of him. "But..."

His lips brushed against my cheek in a fleeting, hollow kiss—a kiss that felt more like a goodbye than a promise. The rest of his sentence was lost as he turned on his heels, storming toward the door.

And then he was gone. The door slammed behind him, the sound reverberating through the apartment like a gunshot.

I stood frozen, the shock of it all washing over me. My breath came out in ragged, uneven gasps as I stared at the empty space where he had just been. The words he'd said, the way he'd looked at me, kept playing over and over in my head.

I love you, Jaige.

He'd said it for the first time. But it wasn't a confession spoken in warmth or joy. It was ripped from a place of hurt, anger, and betrayal. And I hadn't even said it back.

I sank onto the couch, raking my fingers through my hair as tears welled up in my eyes. My body trembled violently as the weight of everything came crashing down on me.

The first time he said I love you, and I'd let suspicion, fear, and doubt poison it.

My chest ached as I tried to breathe through the sobs, each breath shaky and painful. The thought of him out there, on the streets, being hunted, tore me apart. He needed me. And I didn't believe him.

I crept toward the window, my vision blurred with tears as I pressed my forehead against the glass. Through the fogged pane, I watched as his figure disappeared down the street, swallowed by the shadows.

"I love you, too," I whispered to the empty room.

But he was already gone.