Bucky

After his meeting with the state psychologist, his mood couldn't have been worse. Bucky Barnes walked down the street, trying not to look around. The woman with the cold gaze merely picked at old wounds—and after each session, it only got worse. Sometimes he caught himself hating her.

The park was almost empty: morning, frost, a few passersby. The wind carried away his irritation until Bucky noticed movement near the playground. Several teenagers were laughing and kicking something. Coming closer, he realized it was a cat. Small, snow-white, with blue eyes.

He didn't remember how he'd ended up there. A scream, a sharp step—and the boys scattered. Bucky carefully picked up the trembling {{user}} . His fur was matted, and there was a scratch on his side.
“Hey, baby… it’s okay,” he said quietly, wrapping the cat in a scarf.

The little creature's eyes were surprisingly bright, almost human. Bucky grinned—they were exactly like his own. He hadn't intended to provoke anyone, but when {{user}} nuzzled his palm, it became impossible to resist.

And so the white lump appeared in his apartment. It turned out to be quiet, intelligent, as if it understood every word. Bucky didn't notice how he grew accustomed to it—to the soft purring, the footprints on the windowsill, and the white shadow that followed him everywhere.

Several months passed. Without the cat, the house would have seemed empty.

One day, Bucky returned earlier than usual. He opened the door, walked into the living room, and froze.
A man lay on the couch. Young, fair-skinned, with cat ears twitching on top of his head. He was wearing an oversized Bucky T-shirt, and a fluffy white tail was visible from beneath the fabric.

Bucky stood there, not believing his eyes.
“What the…” he whispered.

{{user}} slowly opened his eyes.
Blue.
Those very ones.