He remembered the day he left.

He remembered when he told him it would only be two months, just two months' time and he would be back -- he promised.

And they both knew it was a lie.

He remembered kissing him, desperately, as if it would be the last time, pulling him close and breathing in, trying to forget that eventually they would have to part.

It felt childish at the time, but he waved, waved energetically, and tried to plaster a smile onto his face. But eventually, too tired to keep the cheery façade, he turned away, and didn't see him gazing out after him as he turned his back.

He remembered waiting. The agony of sitting on the huge, vacant bed, staring at his phone and waiting for that text: all while steadily watching his life drip lower, and lower.

He remembered staring through the window, across that desolate blue that separated them -- and he remembered praying. He wasn't one to praise the gods only for gifts received, beg them for things never promised, but he prayed every night for the man he always loved; the man who left him behind.

He tried to forget the way he had looked that night; bright eyes turned by thoughts of loss, of the uncertainness of the nature of the trip. The way he hesitated at the mouth of the craft, turned to him as if to wish a second goodbye, couldn't bear it, and left.

He tried to forget so he could remember the good times: the warmth encouraged by real, actual love as they held each other, as he felt him for the last time, as they had wedded all those years ago and he could still smile about that one miniscule moment, in the grand scheme of the world.

He remembered the prayer he uttered every night, so deeply engrained into him he could say it in his sleep -- "Please, come home, I'm still here. Please stay safe. Come home."

He tried to forget ever seeing himself in the mirror; first lively and unafraid, now gaunter, terrified at the thought of seeing a world where he didn't exist.

He tried to remember so he could forget the hard times. He tried to forget so he couldn't remember the way he had left him.

He'd begged him not to go -- clinging to his jacket, eyes welled with tears, anxiety clutching at his throat -- and he left. "This is something I have to do, sweetheart. In two months' time, I promise you, I'll come home. Wait for me."

And he waited. He waited and he yearned and he ached for the day he would return.

He tried to forget the face of the ghosts he saw wandering the halls -- he used to reach out and call his name, and every time show up empty. He learned to forget they even existed.

The first night had been the worst. A figure he'd mistaken for his lost, his drowned, his dreamed husband had been a false and he'd gone blindly to it, only to remember.

He remembered that he was gone, beyond all hope. His prayers had done him no good. He was gone -- forever.

He tried to forget the anger, the despair at his hopeless it all was. His mind turned to a storm, dark thunderclouds and a cold ache he couldn't change.

So he tried to remember as he sat outside months later, phone dead at his feet, eyes set to the sky, as he thought. He remembered.

He remembered how, when you lose someone, you never truly lose the memory of them -- nothing tangible, but something intimate. So he could remember how to cherish all the memories he had had, and he could remember his legacy.

He picked up a scrapbook from long ago, ran his fingers over the delicate photos, and remembered. A tear splashed onto the paper, but he remembered how to smile once more, as something tugged on his heart.

He remembered Steve Rogers. Bucky Barnes lifted his head, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and remembered how to live again.

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Yo! So this was kind of short and reminds me of this Greek tale, actually. Alcyone and Ceyx or something? I mean, they turn into birds in the end, and it's sort of much darker, but... Any way, sort of more poetic than usual, I guess? Let me know what y'all think! :)