Warnings: None! (other than my attempt to salvage a fic i started when i was 14)
Twelve Years Earlier
Maybe university wasn’t for you. You were two years into your degree, yet you felt as though you’d only been there for a brief amount of time - although perhaps your attendance (or lack thereof) was a good indication of why that may be.
By some miracle, though, you had been accepted onto your course’s year of study abroad. You could have picked anywhere: Japan, Canada, France!
You chose Sokovia.
To this day, you weren't entirely sure why you had picked Sokovia specifically - it was a shitty little country with nothing too special about it, but perhaps it was its absolute nothingness that brought you there. You didn't have to be anything special in that sort of place, just simply exist.
The campus was actually quite a pretty place, with beautifully detailed architecture and a wonderfully weird combination of young people all trying to find their footing in society. You couldn't help but get distracted by the constant quiet excitement on the campus, so much so that you were headed in the completely wrong direction of your lecture hall.
In hindsight, perhaps missing your first lecture at a new university, in a new country, just to admire the campus was an incredibly stupid thing to do. But maybe it was fate, too. Life is filled with weird signs from the universe that you never quite realise until the moment has long passed; this was definitely one of those moments, whether you accepted it or not.
As you head mindlessly down one of the many narrow pathways that weaved between the campus buildings, looking up at the delicately detailed archways and hidden little gargoyle figures, you fail to notice an embarrassingly large, loose cobble. Before you could even begin to register what was happening you were on the floor, a stinging graze on your elbow and a bruise already forming on your knee.
“That’s a compensation claim,” you hear a Sokovian, male voice chuckle from a metre away.
You look up to see a dark haired, friendly faced man holding his hand out in an attempt to help you up.
“I was really hoping no-one saw that,” you laugh, your voice laced with embarrassment as you take hold of his hand, pulling yourself back on to your feet.
Letting go of his hand, you finally made eye contact with the man, finding him to be maybe two or three years your senior.
You couldn’t lie - he was gorgeous. Deep, brown eyes with a perfectly round yet defined face and a laughing smile directed at you.
“There’s plenty of guys around here, you know. You didn’t need to throw yourself to the ground to get their attention,” he laughs, nudging your side with his as the two of you begin to walk, only for him to stop when he notices that he’s nearly knocked you onto the ground once again.
“Hey!” you exclaim, turning to face him in feigned offence. “How do I know that you didn’t pull that stone out yourself to get my attention?”
“You got me!” he says, his hands up in surrender. “I just love pulling pathways apart with my bare hands to get girls’ attention.”
“You Sokovians have some weird hobbies.” you laugh, the man narrowing his eyes at you before shaking his head in defeat.
The two of you continue to walk, a comfortable silence between you.
“Kaffee?”
His voice catches you by surprise once again, tilting your head for him to continue.
“I kind of feel like I owe you for, you know, laughing at you,” he says, a faint redness creeping onto his cheeks. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, natürlich!”
“I would love to!” you exclaim, almost overly excited to actually be spending some time with a real life human. “Lead the way.”
------------------------------
On your way to the cafe, you’d been worried that you’d struggle with keeping the conversation going, that your social skills may had worsened significantly over the summer, but you and this mystery man completely clicked. The two of you were so comfortable together, it felt as though you had known each other for years, as if you were childhood friends.
“I probably should have asked you this before,” you say, your hands wrapped around the warmth of your mug. “But, what’s your name?”
“I’m Helmut Zemo,” he states, nodding his head towards you. “Most people just call me Zemo though.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Helmut.”
You take another sip from your mug, eyes locked with Helmut’s as you do so before you’re suddenly startled -
