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Chapter Text

The ceiling light in the back corner of this Chinese restaurant is flickering on and off. You doze off and see a happily old and married couple sharing a plate of delicious roasted duck. 

This was one of your favorite restaurants—just a few blocks from your apartment complex, with the best duck in town. You craved it tonight, but your date tonight was vegan, and the mere thought of it made him cringe. Reluctantly, you chose something else.

You came here often enough to recognize the staff and memorize the menu, and occasionally, you’d run into your neighbor from down the hall at this restaurant. Apparently he liked this place too. 

Anyway, what time was it? 

It’s late, and you have work tomorrow. 

Better yet, what movie should you watch tonight?

“Do you agree?” The voice cuts through your foggy thoughts, yanking you back to the present.

Your eyes blink rapidly as they focus on the face in front of you. It's Adam, the guy you matched with on the dating app.

For a few days you guys would exchange text messages here and there, and then he eventually brought up the idea of going out to dinner. He was fairly attractive, and kind enough via text, so you thought ‘why not?’

“Sorry, what did you say?” You tilt your head slightly, trying to show him you’re engaged, though your mind still lingers somewhere between reality and the warm, comforting image of that roasted duck. 

Adam exhales sharply, running his fingers through his hair. The frustration on his face is visible.

“I feel like most women in our generation expect so much yet give so little in return. Why do you think that is?’ His words hang in the air, sharp and direct.

This ridiculous excuse for a date has been a parade of complaints and rants since you sat down. For the past forty-five minutes, you've learned to just tune him out, like some annoying background noise you can’t escape.

There’s a dollop of Szechuan sauce clinging to his chin, bright and red, glaring at you like a warning. But you don’t point it out. You don’t care enough.

“No clue,” you mutter, your eyes still locked on the dark red sauce that sits disgustingly on his face. 

Adam doesn’t even notice your lingering gaze on his chin. He keeps talking, like a broken record, oblivious to your growing detachment. “I just feel like girls nowadays don’t care. About their appearance, or how they act. They carry themselves with little regard.” He flicks a quick glance at your face, then right back down to your sweater. “Nice sweater, by the way.”

Jesus Christ, what are you even doing here?

Finally, like an answered prayer, the waitress swings by and places the check between you and Adam with a practiced smile. Her eyes linger on you for a moment, a spark of recognition lighting up her face. “It’s funny seeing you here tonight. Your friend Bucky placed an online order and should be stopping by to pick it up soon.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, he’s hardly a friend.”

It’s the truth. Things got off to a rocky start the day he moved in. He showed up at your door, eyes blazing with annoyance, complaining about the noise from your speaker. Ever since then, every interaction has been a verbal sparring match—one sarcastic jab after another. You’ve gotten used to the banter, the way he leans against his door frame with that infuriating smirk, always ready with a smart remark.

Before you can get another word in, Adam reaches for the check. “Don’t worry, I got this,” he says, pulling out his wallet with a flourish, clearly wanting to make a point. The waitress gives you a polite smile, taking that as her signal to leave and let you two sort the payment out. 

Oh, great. At least he’s paying–

“–and your share will be twenty-six bucks. So, if you have cash… or maybe you can just Venmo me. Whatever works.” 

And just like that, any shred of respect you had left for this man evaporates. You sigh and bring out your wallet, pulling out a twenty bill, a five, and a single. 

As you both exit the restaurant, you turn to him ready to bid goodbye and get the hell out of here. You want nothing more than to just crawl back in your bed and put on a romcom. That would be the only way to possibly salvage this miserable night.

“Thanks for the evening, but I—”

“Let me walk you home.”

Adam cuts you off abruptly. You force a polite smile, eager to decline as quickly as possible.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be alright. Thanks again,” you take a step away from him, ready to leave but he quickly grabs your wrist. The hold he has on you is tight and your body tenses up. 

“What kind of man would I be if I let a frail woman like you walk home alone in the dark?” He says to you. You meet his gaze and the namelights of the restaurant are flickering and making a buzzing sound. Everything about tonight is just ominous and straight up weird. 

“No, I really should get going-” you try to tug your arm away from him but the grip he has on it is tight. He pulls you closer with one swift and easy tug, “Stop rejecting kindness and let me walk you home,” he demands, his voice low and unyielding.

You look up at Adam, a mix of annoyance and fear tightening in your chest. Just as you’re about to protest, a pair of headlights cuts through the darkness, illuminating both of you. Instinctively, you and Adam turn to face the approaching motorcycle. The rider kills the engine, removes his helmet, and you instantly recognize the familiar figure.

Black leather from head to toe, dark jeans, leather gloves—you’d know that familiar look anywhere, dreadfully so. 

When the man lifts his helmet, his cold blue eyes lock onto yours, and your heart skips a beat out of relief.

It’s Bucky—your neighbor. 

The man who’s made it his mission to get under your skin ever since he moved into your apartment complex. Yet, in this moment, his familiar face is a lifeline, and the tension gripping your chest loosens just a little. His cold blue eyes flicker to you, to your date, and back to you. 

“Well, isn’t this a coincidence,” he says dryly, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Under normal circumstances, the sight of your infuriating, sharp-tongued neighbor—the one who’s made a hobby out of testing your patience—would have your blood boiling in seconds. But right now, all you feel is a wave of relief washing over you. This was the perfect excuse to get away from Adam.

Before Adam could say anything else, you quickly retract your arm, shoving them back in the pockets of your coat and speak with a firm voice, “He’s my neighbor, he’ll give me a ride back home.” 

Adam’s eyes flicker with something… anger, maybe? He grits his teeth and gives one glance to Bucky before looking back at you. “Alright, whatever. Goodnight.” 

You stand there, both of you watching as Adam stalks off, muttering curses under his breath. 

The tension slowly dissipates, replaced by an awkward silence. When you finally look at Bucky, he’s leaning casually against his motorcycle, an amused gleam in his eyes. That knowing smirk tugs at his lips, and you already know what’s coming.

He’s about to tear into your love life, no doubt ready to mock your latest dating app misadventure.

“Don’t,” you immediately snap, rubbing the temples of your forehead in frustration. 

Bucky lets out a snort and heads towards the restaurant door. The namelight of the restaurant is still flickering and the wave of colors flash over his face, but this time there isn’t an accompanying feeling of uncertainty. 

“I’m going to pick up my order. If you were serious about needing a ride home, I’ll take you,” Bucky says, his voice steady, no hint of sarcasm this time.

His gloved hand wraps around the door handle, but before he steps inside, he pauses and looks at you, his expression uncharacteristically serious. His eyes linger, searching your face as if trying to read the thoughts swirling in your head. There’s no teasing smirk, no smug grin—just a quiet sincerity that catches you off guard.

Then, without another word, he pushes the door open and disappears into the restaurant, leaving you standing under the flickering neon lights. 

After a quick moment of waiting by his motorcycle, he steps out with a bag of food in one hand and his helmet in the other. He makes his way behind his motorcycle, putting the bag of food in the small trunk compartment in the back. 

His body is angled away from you as he approaches the seat, shoulders rigid, his expression unreadable as always. Without looking at you, he extends his arm, offering you his helmet. It dangles from his fingers, the glossy surface reflecting the flickering neon lights overhead.

You hesitate before taking it, your fingers brushing his glove for the briefest moment. “You don’t have an extra helmet for yourself?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop yourself.

Bucky finally turns his head, his eyes flicking to yours with a look that’s half-amused, half-exasperated. 

“Does it look like I go around town giving people rides?” His voice is dry, dripping with sarcasm.

You roll your eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching, “Whatever.” 

Bucky swings his leg over the motorcycle, settling into the seat with practiced ease. He scoots forward, leaving just enough room for you behind him. 

You look at the bike and the helmet, the nervousness is evident on your face. Bucky looks at you, noticing how uneasy you look. 

Bucky’s eyes narrow as he watches you, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. “Never been on a motorcycle before?” His voice is casual, but there’s a teasing lilt to it.

Your head snaps up, and you scoff, a little too quickly. “Of course I have!” But your fingers are still fumbling with the helmet straps, clearly betraying your nerves.

Bucky’s expression softens, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He sees right through your bluff, and for once, he doesn’t mock you for it. Instead, he lifts his gloved hand and curls his fingers in a come-here gesture. “C’mere. Let me help you.”

The idea of riding a motorcycle for the first time sends a jolt of fear through you, enough to make you swallow your pride. Just this once, you’ll accept his help—for the sake of your own safety, of course.

He adjusts the straps effortlessly. “There,” he says, his voice lower now, almost soft. He looks up, his blue eyes meeting yours, and for the briefest second, neither of you moves. Then he clears his throat, breaking the spell. “Don’t tell me you need help getting on, too.” 

Your cheeks burn, and you quickly turn away, slipping the helmet on to hide your face. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

You swear you hear him chuckle under his breath as you climb onto the bike, your arms instinctively wrapping around his waist for balance. His body is warm against yours, sturdy and strong, and you’re hyper-aware of how close you have to sit to keep your balance.

Bucky doesn’t say another word as the engine roars to life, the sound vibrating through you. He glances back, just once, to make sure you’re holding on tight. Then, with a swift, confident motion, he pulls away from the curb.

The city lights blur around you as the wind rushes past, cool against your skin. Your heart races, half from the thrill of the ride, half from the way your body molds against his, every movement in sync. As the motorcycle speeds through the night, you tighten your hold, burying your face against his back, letting the adrenaline drown out the lingering embarrassment.

You’d never admit it, but despite everything, you feel strangely safe.

As you both make it to the apartment complex, he helps you off and removes the helmet off your face. You blink up at him, momentarily dazed—whether from the ride or the close proximity, you’re not sure. But before you can dwell on it, he’s already moving away, popping open the trunk compartment and retrieving his takeout bag. The scent of roasted duck wafts through the air, making your stomach growl. You curse inwardly, knowing you’ll be heating up instant ramen tonight as the meal you had didn’t satisfy you one bit. 

There is no elevator in this complex, so you guys begin hiking up the stairs to the same floor in which you both reside. 

“So,” he starts, his voice casual but laced with curiosity. “You wanna give me some context about Mr. Tug of War back there, or would you rather spare me the details before I drill into your shitty dating habits?”

You stop mid-step, whipping around to glare at him. “Seriously? I should’ve just walked home.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome for the rescue, by the way.” He brushes past you, his shoulder just barely grazing yours as he continues up the stairs. 

Your jaw clenches, and you hurry after him, unwilling to let him get the last word. “I don’t owe you an explanation for my dating life.”

“No,” he agrees, throwing you a sideways glance. “But you might owe me a thank you for saving you from that disaster of a date. But knowing you, there’s more to come, isn’t that right?” 

Your mouth falls open, a sharp retort dancing on the tip of your tongue, but nothing comes out. You close it, glaring at him instead. “Funny coming from you, at least I’m putting myself out there instead of staying cooped up in my room like a broody teenager and letting it swallow me alive.” 

Bucky’s smirk falters, his jaw tightening. For a brief, fleeting moment, his eyes darken, the teasing glint replaced by something colder, sharper. 

But it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared, masked by a casual shrug. “Yeah? Well, maybe I just don’t like wasting my time on people who aren’t worth it.”

The words hang heavy in the air, but neither of you acknowledge them. Instead, you both fall silent, your footsteps echoing off the chipped walls as you make your way up to your shared floor. By unspoken habit, you each head to opposite ends of the hallway, your doors facing each other, a few paces apart.

Bucky stops by his door, his hand on the knob, but then he turns back to you. He lifts the bag of food, the familiar aroma of roasted duck teasing your senses. 

His lips curl into a sly grin as he dangles it in front of you. “You know, I ordered duck. I was going to offer you some, but…” He trails off, letting the implication hang, his eyes gleaming with playful mischief. 

You stop by your door, turning to face him and crossing your arms, giving him a glare-down, “But?” 

“But… you still haven’t thanked me for giving you a ride,” he continues. 

Yeah, he gave you a ride and essentially saved you from a nightmare of a date, but in return you had to deal with his snarky comment on the way back to your apartment. You love duck, but this just isn’t worth risking your pride. 

You know he’d hold it over you for the next few days if you show even an ounce of gratitude. It’s like hand delivering Bucky Barnes ammunition.

Your jaw tightens, and you fight the urge to chuck something at him. “You’re insufferable.” 

Bucky lets out a snort at your comment and you both open your respective apartment doors, going your own separate ways for the night.

Chapter Text

“How are your dating endeavors treating you?” Your younger sister questions on the other side of the speaker phone, teasing and playful as she always is. 

You let out an exasperated groan, gripping the knife a little too tightly as you slice through carrots. “Don’t remind me,” you mutter, chopping the vegetables a bit more forcefully than necessary. “I’m starting to think I’m cursed. I mean, what is it with me and dating? Why do I always seem to attract the wrong people?”

There’s a slight pause on the other end of the line before your sister lets out a light, almost sympathetic laugh. “You know, you do still have that neighbor of yours. What’s his name again? Brody? Becky?”

The knife nearly slips and slices a finger at your sister’s suggestion and you scoff, “I’d rather be caught dead before even considering dating Bucky,” “Oh! His name is Bucky! But seriously, isn't he attractive, and around your age right?” 

You sigh and push a strand of hair out of your face, “I don’t know. He acts like he’s at least a hundred years old sometimes,” 

There’s a slight pause between the two of you, the only sound is the knife cutting the cutting board. You swallow nervously, your eyes flickering to a photo of your family framed on the wall and back to your cutting board, “...how has Mom been?” 

Your sister’s response is delayed, and you can hear the hesitation in her voice as it catches, crackling like the tension in the air. “Um…” She clears her throat before continuing, as though gathering strength to speak, “As good as it can get. Dad’s stressed out, but you know how it is.”

You stop cutting all together and set your knife down. It’s like the weight of her words settles in your chest, heavier than you expected. You close your eyes, feeling the dull ache of guilt creep in. “I’m sorry. I’m over here complaining about my sad love life and you’re dealing with Mom’s sickness on your own–” 

This is exactly how a conversation with your sister goes. You two have that rhythm—catching up a few times a week, casually chatting about life, and eventually slipping into the heavy stuff. It’s like a natural progression.

You talk about the little things first, the surface-level banter—how work’s been, the latest drama with your friends, the usual, but eventually, you both end up here. The conversation always shifts when you bring up Mom. It’s like the air suddenly thickens, and just like that, everything feels heavier.

“No, stop it. You already know that we’ll be okay–” your sister attempts to reassure you. 

 “I should visit you guys. It’s been a few months anyway–” 

“No!” she yells out, silencing you completely. 

She lets out a long sigh before speaking, “Please, stop. I know you’re worried, but you have your own life going on. Don’t let us stop you from living it.” 

You can feel her trying to protect you from the guilt, the weight of the situation. She wants you to live, to do more than just worry about everything that’s out of your control. But it doesn’t feel that simple, not when she sounds so strained. 

You reach for the phone, taking it off speaker, bringing it closer to your ear, wanting to make sure she hears how serious you are.

“Are you serious?” you ask, your voice quiet but insistent. “I just gave you a twenty-minute rant about how lonely and boring my life is. You think I’m not trying to live it?”

There’s a pause before she giggles, a sound that seems out of place, but it brings you some comfort. “Okay, true,” she admits. “Your dating life is sad, but you’re just wasting time on people who aren’t worth it.”

You mentally groan at her words. She’s using Bucky’s very exact words against you. Coming from your sister, it actually leaves a sting even though she’s joking, “So I’ve been told.” 

“Just delete the dating apps and let it come naturally,” your sister suggests, “–and don’t worry about coming over here. I’ve got it all handled.” 

You smile and your body relaxes, “Okay, whatever. But keep me updated, okay?” 

“Of course, I’ll talk to you later. Love you!” “Love you too.” 

Even though you're technically the older sibling, you can’t help but feel the vast difference in maturity between the two of you. 

It’s a constant source of quiet frustration, one you rarely admit even to yourself. 

You should be the one reassuring her, should be the one keeping it together, but somehow she always seems to have this calmness about her that you can't quite match. 

You pull on your jacket, grab your purse, and scan your bookshelf for something that might help distract you. After a moment of indecision, you pull down a book you’ve read a hundred times before but always find comfort in. Maybe the familiarity of it will help you get out of your own head.

You step out the door and into the crisp air, the change of scenery instantly offering a small sense of relief. A coffee shop you frequent is just a few blocks away, and the walk there will give you time to breathe—time to let go of everything that feels too big to handle right now.

It’ll be a perfect moment of relaxation. You’ll sit down in the same seat by the window, order your favorite drink with maybe even a drizzle of caramel as a treat, and enjoy your book.

Upon entering the coffee shop, you immediately notice how packed it is. Every table is taken and you make a quick glance at the two seat table that you usually sit at and notice it is occupied by one man, but the chair in front of him is empty. 

Maybe he’ll let you occupy that extra seat. 

“Welcome in!” the teenager behind the cashier says with a practiced smile on her face. You look back at her and return a polite smile and order your preferred drink, “–and can you add some extra caramel drizzle?” 

She frowns, “Oh I’m sorry, we actually just ran out of caramel sauce.” 

What? 

What kind of coffee shop runs out of caramel sauce? 

Your shoulders slump a bit in disappointment but you pull out your wallet anyway, “That’s alright. I’ll also have a chocolate croissant, please.” 

The croissant isn’t for you, actually. It’s your peace offering, a little gesture to smooth things over with the stranger sitting at the table you usually claim. 

You’ve always thought of this table as yours, a place where you can retreat from everything and let the world feel a little quieter. But today, it’s occupied. So, you’re hoping that a warm, flaky chocolate croissant might be enough to coax the guy into letting you share the seat.

You pay for your order and the barista hands you your drink. With a coffee in one hand and a chocolate croissant in the other, you build up the courage and make your way to the stranger. 

“Excuse me, sir. Is this seat occupied? I have a tasty warm chocolate croissant I’d like to offer you if you’d let me sit here.”

You ask with a gleeful very customer service-y voice. The man has his head down, a baseball cap shielding his face and a book in his crossed-leg lap. 

Finally, he looks up, his eyes locking with yours. You open your mouth to offer a friendly smile—but it dies on your lips when you realize who’s sitting in front of you.

It’s fucking Bucky. 

“How kind of you,” he says, matching the same tone of voice. “I would happily accept your chocolate croissant. As for your seating request, maybe you can find a spot elsewhere?” 

“You’re sitting in my seat, Barnes.” You bite back, your tone making a complete 180-degree turn. 

"Is it now?" he asks, his voice smooth and amused, "I didn't realize there was a 'reserved' sign on this table."

"You’ve been here enough times to know," you say, your voice colder now, the words coming out more matter-of-fact than you intended. "This is where I always sit.”

There's a beat of silence before Bucky shifts slightly in his seat, a chuckle escaping his lips. "You're bold," he says, his eyes studying you.

You don’t budge. You know you’re not backing down this time. It’s your seat, damn it.

Bucky’s eyes flicker to yours and then to the empty chair in front of him. He extends his gloved hand to the empty chair and basically motions it’s yours . 

Reluctantly, you take the empty seat in front of him, your eyes never leaving his as you both partake in this glare stare-down. It feels like a challenge, an unspoken dare neither of you is willing to lose. His gaze is steady, piercing, the faintest hint of amusement dancing at the corner of his lips, like he already knows he’s gotten under your skin. 

You reach in your bag for your worn paperback and pull it out, your eyes finally leaving his as you open it. 

Bucky scoffs when he sees the cover of your book. Your head snaps up, brow arching in challenge, “What?”

“A romance book, really?” 

Your jaw clenches, fingers tightening around the book’s spine. So your asshole of a neighbor not only takes your preferred seat—the one spot that reliably brought you a sliver of peace—but now he’s making fun of your book choices? 

The audacity is almost laughable. 

Almost.

You were already having a not-so-pleasant morning after the talk with your sister, and you needed this moment to help relax you and get your mind off of things but this staredown and petty jabs from Bucky is slowly sending you into a spiral. 

“You seem to have a problem with everything that I do, Barnes.” 

“I just think it’s funny, considering your dating app shenanigans.” 

You rub the temples of your forehead in frustration, “Look, I’m already having a tense morning. I don’t need my arrogant neighbor drilling me about my book choices now.” 

Bucky gives you a look, and it’s a mixture of wanting to continue this banter or letting it go. 

He runs his gloved hand through his hair and his gaze drops back to his book, “Alright, fine.” 

Wait, he’s not fighting it? Where is his witty comeback?

Your shoulders slump slightly and you raise an eyebrow in suspicion, “Fine?” you repeat after him. 

“Yeah, fine. I’ll stop,” Bucky says to you and eyes your croissant, “But I still want that croissant.” 

You can’t help but let a reluctant smile creep up as you slide the croissant that rests on a napkin over to him. 

For a few precious minutes, you allow yourself to enjoy the silence. You return to your book and try to put your focus on that, but a part of you is uneasy. 

Your gaze keeps flicking up, stealing glances at him, at the way his brows knit together in concentration as he reads, his jaw relaxing, shoulders no longer tensed in that defensive posture you’ve grown so used to seeing. 

Why is he suddenly being so…civil and nice? Actually, calling him ‘nice’ is a stretch—a huge stretch—but he’s definitely being less snarky.

Less aggravating.

And you don’t know what to make of it.

“You’re not… scheming anything, are you?” you question him suspiciously.

“No,” he replies curtly. 

His eyes flick up from his book, locking onto yours when he catches you staring. “You’re more tense than usual this morning. I can push your buttons any other time, but not right now.” 

With his words lingering in the air, your body completely relaxes and you look at him in surprise. You don’t realize your mouth is hanging until he calls you out

“—but if you prefer me teasing you instead-”

 “Just shut up and eat your damn croissant!” 

Bucky smirks and lifts his coffee cup up to his lips and… is that caramel drizzle?

Your eyes narrow at his drink, “You usually get your coffee black.” 

He shrugs and sets his cup down, “I guess I wanted to try something sweeter, figured I would try their caramel drizzle.” 

So, this is how he wants to play?

Chapter Text

The sounds of constant footsteps and the shuffling of boxes are echoing off the walls of your hallway and apartment staircase. A glance at the clock makes you groan—it's six-thirty in the morning.

The last tenant who lived down the hall was an elderly woman. She was kind, quiet, and kept to herself. You knew she missed her family who lived across the country, and eventually, she made the big decision to move back to be with them. You envied her. You wished it was easy for you to do the same.

Now, a month later, it looks like her vacant apartment is finally getting a new occupant. You have grown used to the peaceful silence, but a small part of you is eager with the idea of meeting someone new—maybe even making a friend!

You secretly hoped it would be a woman, or at least someone around your age this time... 

Cracking your apartment door open just enough to peek through, you spot a couple of packed boxes sitting in the hallway. 

Turning your head slightly to the right, you catch sight of a man, his frame almost too large for the narrow stairway and tight hallway walls, awkwardly navigating his way up with another box in tow.

“Hey, you must be my new neighbor,” you let out a small chuckle and open your door wider, stepping out, “Do you need any help?” 

The man just looks up at you and lets out a grunt, “I’m good,” 

Okay….

The man puts his last box down and approaches his apartment door with the new keys in his hand. He tries to unlock the door but he seems to be struggling with it. 

“Dammit,” he mutters under his breath, trying to shove and twist the key in to no avail. 

You approach him, “There’s always an issue with this doorknob. The landlord always forgets to lubricate it-” you take the key from his hands and shove the key in the hole, “The elderly lady who used to live here had issues, so she would often call me over to help her…” 

You wiggle the key a few times before finally unlocking it and the door springs open.

“There,” you give him a polite smile. 

The man doesn’t even acknowledge you or thank you, he just lets out another huff and turns around, grabbing one of his boxes. 

You furrow your brows, “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” 

“I got it,” he immediately replies back. You sigh and run a hand through your hair. 

Maybe this guy just isn’t fond of the idea of strangers touching his stuff. 

You just shrug in response. You can take a hint or two.  

You begin to make your way back to your apartment, “Okay, well. If you need anything I’m just down the hall.” 

Before you completely disappear into your apartment you turn and give him your name accompanied by another polite smile. 

He pauses for a bit before replying. 

“Bucky,” he finally says as he brings in the last box inside his apartment before closing the door without another word. 

—

A few hours had passed since Bucky moved in. You remembered how, when you first settled into your complex, the elderly woman next door had welcomed you with a batch of freshly baked cookies. It was a thoughtful gesture that genuinely made you feel at home.

Reflecting on your initial encounter with your new neighbor, you realized that while things hadn’t exactly started off badly, they weren’t off to the best start either. 

Feeling a bit more generous than usual, you decided to bake some homemade cookies as a peace offering, hoping to ease any lingering tension—no matter how one-sided it might be.

Once you finished baking, you couldn’t help but notice that your cookies didn’t look or taste nearly as good as the older lady’s. 

Still, they were homemade, and it was the thought that counted. 

You placed them in a Tupperware container and headed down the hall to your neighbor’s door, knocking softly.

You looked down at your cookies, already having second thoughts. 

What if he’s allergic? 

Is this pushing it? But neighbors usually do this when new people move in, so what’s the crime? The worst he can do is decline them. 

After what felt like an eternity of standing outside his apartment door, it finally swung open. Bucky stood there, his expression just as broody—and perhaps even more sour—than when you first met him that morning.

When he didn’t bother with a greeting, you cleared your throat to break the awkward silence. 

Forcing a smile, you held out the Tupperware toward him. “I made cookies! They’re, uh... house-welcoming cookies... or, well, apartment-welcoming cookies.”

You internally facepalmed at yourself. 

Bucky’s eyes flicker from you, to the tupperware, and back to you. His face is still unamused. Jesus, what kind of shit morning did this guy have? 

“I don’t eat that kind of stuff,” Bucky said flatly.

You frowned, eyebrows knitting together, “You don’t eat cookies?”

His expression didn’t budge, “No.”

You slowly retreat the tupperware back towards you, “I… see.” You’re not sure where to go from here. You hadn’t expected this at all. 

In your mind, he was supposed to take the cookies, maybe smile or even say ‘thank you,’ and just like that, you’d be on your way to becoming acquaintances.

His unamused face and short answers leave no room for conversation, so you open your mouth to try and salvage this very painfully awkward situation– 

“Are we done here?” he asked bluntly.

His tone caught you off guard. Stunned, you could only manage a shrug, “I guess so—”

Before you could finish, he shut the door in your face.

—

It was later that evening that you received a call from your sister. 

Just like the old lady who used to live down the hall, you lived across the country from your own family. You had a life here. A good job, maybe not that many friends, and no partner, but who's to say you aren’t happy? 

You and your sister checked in a few times a week over the phone. These days, the conversations revolved mostly around your mother and her illness.

The diagnosis had come swiftly, brutally—stage three cancer.  

Your sister always shared the updates in an upbeat tone, her words carefully chosen, “Mom’s feeling a bit better today,” she would say, or the usual “The doctors are trying a new approach that seems promising.”

But deep down you knew that it was all just a facade to try not to steer you away from finally living your life. 

After the grim phone call with your sister, you desperately needed to distract yourself. 

You opened the fridge and found a cheap bottle of wine that you never finished. You pulled the bottle out and decided to play some tunes to drown out the endless pessimistic thoughts.

Screwing the wine bottle open and turning your speaker on, you decided to play Crazy by Aerosmith. 

The harmonica immediately starts blaring through your speakers as you take a sip of your wine. 

You try to distract yourself from the thoughts of your sick mom and to your sister who is probably barely keeping it together. 

The thoughts make you squeeze your eyes shut as you continue drinking straight out of the wine bottle. 

Two or three songs later, just as you were beginning to feel the numbness set in, a loud, aggressive knock echoed from your front door.

“Open up!” you hear a muffled voice on the other side of the door. 

You squint your eyes– because squinting your eyes always aids in listening– and slowly turn the music down so you can hear better. 

Is that Bucky?  

You’ve been used to having the floor to yourself for a month so you didn’t think to remember that you had a new neighbor just a few steps down from you. 

After a pause, the demanding voice rings out again. “I said, open up!” Bucky repeats, his fists knocking on the door again impatiently. 

“I’m coming!” you say, putting your bottle of wine down as you make your way through the door. 

You open the door and you come face to face with your neighbor. Bucky has his arms crossed and a scowl on his face but you return his brooding stance with a polite neighborly smile.

“Oh, good evening-” 

“Can you shut off that horrible music? I’m trying to get some sleep,” Bucky cut you off, his tone sharp and impatient.

You recoil at his choice of words. Horrible? You didn’t mind turning down the music for his sake, but insulting your music taste felt like a personal attack.

“Horrible?” you repeat, your voice dripping in sarcasm. 

Bucky shrugged, rubbing his temple as if dealing with you was a headache. “It doesn’t matter. Just lower it down.”

Your encounters with this man had been nothing short of miserable.

First, you’d offered to help him move his boxes, and he flat-out refused. Fine, you could respect his boundaries.

Then, you helped him unlock his apartment when he was struggling, and he didn’t even bother to say thank you or meet your gaze.

After that, you tried to be neighborly by baking him homemade cookies, only for him to reject them and slam the door in your face.

And now, here he was, complaining about your music.

On any other day, maybe you would’ve let it slide. Maybe.

But not tonight. Not after that upsetting phone call with your sister. The little annoyances were stacking up, and this was the final straw.

Your eyebrow twitched, and your fists clenched at your sides,

“Look, asshole,” you snapped, “I’ve been nice to you since this morning. I’ve offered to help you move in, I’ve helped you unlock your damn door, even baked you welcome cookies, and now you come in here throwing blows at my door demanding me to lower my music and on top of that, call it horrible? Horrible!? You think Aerosmith is horrible!?” 

Your voice is getting louder after each point.

You’re so unbelievably upset and you don’t know if it's the wine that is making you act this way or if it's just the pure sheer anger that you have pent up. Maybe it’s a mixture of both. 

“I’ll turn it down for you, because I’m nice. And maybe, just maybe, you can learn to take a few notes on how to be a nice and respectful neighbor.”  

You don’t even realize how close you’re standing next to him as you spit–not literally– angrily in his face. 

Bucky just stared at you, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open in shock. He looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came out. Not that you were planning to stick around and listen anyway.

This time, you’re the one that slams the door in his face. 

—

Bucky stood on the other side of your door, dumbfounded and stunned. He hadn’t expected that outburst. If anything, he thought you’d keep up that annoyingly forced polite smile you’d worn since this morning.

To be honest, Bucky was having a pretty shitty week himself. He used to share an apartment with his friend, Sam Wilson. But now that Sam was finally getting serious about his relationship, he’d sat Bucky down and explained that it was time they each found their own place.

And now, here he was—stuck in this dump.

This new apartment is much smaller and more cramped. And Sam took all the furniture. Which was fair, because Bucky didn’t buy any.

It felt like a breakup—a bromance breakup, but Bucky would never admit that out loud.

That was why he’d been so tense since this morning. He needed to find a new apartment fast. 

Sam had told him he could stay until he found a place, but Bucky’s pride wouldn’t allow him to overstay his welcome. So, he packed up his few belongings and left, even if it meant landing in this cramped up dump.

He knew he was being a dick to you. “Fuck, I should apologize to her,” he told himself after the cookie incident, but he never did. He was hoping that his encounters with you were kept at a minimum after that interaction.

So as he’s standing here, face to face with your closed door, he knows he’s going to be in one hell of a ride. 

He drags his feet back to his apartment and is already considering sending a text message to Sam to ask him if he could move back in but he doesn’t. He won’t, his pride is too strong. 

Instead, he grabs his notebook off his nightstand. It was an old keepsake that once belonged to his best friend, Steve– a notebook that he used to check and try out the things that were popular in this modern day and age.

Bucky flips to his most recent page and writes in sloppy handwriting, Aerosmith. 

Chapter Text

It was a new day, and as you were leaving your apartment to go grocery shopping, you heard what sounded like glass shattering in the apartment down the hall from you. 

You paused but quickly shook it off. It was very rare that Bucky would make any startling noises in his apartment, but you decided to ignore it for now. 

Bucky can deal with whatever he’s dealing with. It was best to mind your own business. It was not like he ever needed your help anyway. 

You locked your door and turned toward the staircase when another loud crash came from his apartment.

“Shit!” you heard Bucky yell, his frustration clear even through the walls.

Curiosity got the best of you. 

You took cautious steps toward his door, pressing your ear against it. You could hear him muttering angrily to himself, though his words were too muffled to make out. He definitely sounded upset.

Meow!

You blink.

Meeoow!  

Wait. Is that a cat? Bucky has a cat? 

Without even realizing it, you pressed your ear harder against the door, shamelessly eavesdropping. You probably looked like a total stalker, but for some reason, you needed to know if your arrogant neighbor actually had a soft spot for cats.

You heard footsteps approaching, and your heart skipped a beat as you realized Bucky was heading for the door.

You quickly retreated, spinning around and straightening your posture, desperately trying to look casual and not like you were just eavesdropping. But the door swung open fast, catching you off guard.

You turn around and you're met with Bucky’s hard gaze. 

His eyebrows were furrowed in suspicion,“The hell are you doing?”

You cleared your throat, awkwardly fidgeting with the sling bag over your shoulder. Your mind scrambled for an excuse—anything that didn’t make you sound like a total creep.

“I-I was, uh. I heard noises, like glass shattering and I… got worried,” you made sure to mumble that last bit. 

“You got worried?” he repeats after you, making it evident that he heard you very clearly despite your best efforts to downplay it. 

In his hand, he has a trash bag of what looks to be broken glass as you can see the shards protruding out of it. 

Bucky sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a small white cat slinked out from behind him. The fluffy feline weaved between his feet, her soft tail curling around his leg as she purred affectionately against his leg.

Your eyes widen at the sight. 

You looked down at the cat, her innocent blue eyes blinking up at you sweetly, then back up at Bucky, who looked as grumpy and exhausted as ever—like he hadn’t slept in days.

“This isn’t your cat, is it?” you ask with a slight mockery tone in your voice. 

Bucky shot you an almost offended look, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, “I mean, you just don’t seem like the type to own a cat. A dog, maybe—but definitely not a cat dad.”

The white cat slowly makes her way towards you and starts rubbing her head against your leg. 

Your heart melted instantly. Unable to resist, you let out a tiny squeal and knelt down, scratching her behind the ear, “Aren’t you just the cutest little thing?” you cooed.

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “Of course she likes you,” he muttered, his voice dripping with irritation.

You shot him an amused look as he continued, “I found her the other day hiding by the trash bins outside our complex. Felt bad for her, so I brought her in,” 

He gestured to the garbage bag full of broken glass. 

“She’s been breaking my shit ever since. I pick up a stray, and she’s already being spoiled rotten. Didn’t start warming up to me until I gave her wet food, but of course, she likes you immediately.”

You noticed the slight twitch in his right eye as he spoke, clearly annoyed, and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter. 

“Maybe she doesn’t like you because you’re always so grumpy,” you teased. 

You looked down at the little furball and started squishing her cheeks, grinning as she purred in response. “Aren’t you just the sweetest little girl—uh, what’s her name?”

“Alpine,” Bucky mumbles. 

Your grin widened as you went back to squishing her fluffy cheeks. “Little Alpine, you don’t like your daddy because he’s always so mean and grumpy, isn’t he?” you cooed in a baby voice.

Bucky scowled, his jaw tightening. “I’m not grumpy,” he grumbled.

Alpine meowed up at you, her big eyes gleaming, and you couldn’t help but smile. You glanced up at Bucky, who stood there, brooding as usual, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket. 

You did a double take.

A flip phone? You wanted so badly to make a snarky comment, but you choose not to say anything when you see the expression on his face go sour, so you continue petting Alpine. 

Bucky let out a long, tired sigh and snapped the phone shut. “A friend needs me for work,” he muttered.

You nodded, giving Alpine one last pet before standing up. But Bucky didn’t move. 

He looked at you, his jaw working like he was trying to chew through his pride. “And Alpine is going to be alone,” he said slowly.

You raise an eyebrow. Where is he going with this? 

Bucky’s shoulders tensed, his eyes flicking away before he forced himself to continue, “...and I’d rather not have my apartment blown to bits—”

Your eyes widened in realization. 

Oh, God. Is he going to ask you for a favor ? To take care of his cat? This is amazing!

The day has finally come where Bucky Barnes, your arch nemesis, your annoying as hell neighbor, is finally crawling to you– needing your help. 

You couldn’t help the wicked grin spreading across your face, and Bucky could tell. 

He still refused to look directly at you, his jaw clenched and his eyes fixed somewhere off to the side. 

His free hand awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, and you could practically feel his discomfort radiating off him.

Oh, you’re going to have so much fun with this.

You feigned indifference, casually adjusting the strap of your shoulder bag as you turned away. “Well, I’ll take that as my cue to leave—” 

You barely took a step before his voice rang out, sharp and desperate, “Wait!”

Luckily your back is turned to him, because you’re smiling like the devil. You quickly compose yourself and turn around slowly, teasing him. 

“Yes?” you asked, your tone so sweet it could give someone a cavity.

Bucky’s face was a storm of frustration and reluctance, his eyes finally flicking up to meet yours before darting away again. 

“Well, I… I’d rather not have her be alone in my apartment,” he started, his voice gruff. “And I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for—”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow as you waited for him to finish. You could practically see him wrestling with his pride. 

This was pure gold.

“And I would look for a cat sitter,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper, “but it’d be impossible to find one at this very minute...”

He still refused to look at you, his jaw tight as he stood there, visibly fighting against his own stubbornness. 

Meanwhile, Alpine sat between the two of you, completely oblivious to the tension, licking her paw without a care in the world.

You took a step closer, your face twisting into an exaggerated look of pity. 

“Bucky,” you said slowly, drawing out his name, “use your words.”

You can see Bucky’s shoulder tense up and he shoots you a glare, and it’s taking everything in you to not laugh. 

This is mean, you think, but seeing him stammering like this instead of using his snarky remarks is just pure comedy. 

He groans, knowing that he can’t waste anymore time here, “I need you to take care of Alpine for me while I’m gone.” 

You tilt your head, thoroughly enjoying the sight of Bucky Barnes on the verge of losing his temper—all because he needed your help. 

You let out a dramatic hum, tapping your chin as if you were deep in thought. 

“Now, are you asking or demanding me, Barnes?”

His jaw clenched, and his eyebrows twitched in clear annoyance.

He took a slow, controlled breath before finally forcing out the words, “Will you take care of Alpine for me while I’m gone?” His voice was tight, barely masking his impatience.

“Maybe if you say please.” 

He groans, “Please?” Bucky says impatiently. 

You bring a finger to your chin and pretend to ponder for a moment, “Let me think on that.” 

Bucky threw his arms up, the garbage bag of broken glassware swinging dangerously. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered under his breath, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

You bit back a laugh, watching the way his face contorted between frustration and resignation. It was almost too easy. “Alright, alright, relax. I’ll watch her for you,” you finally agreed, a playful grin on your lips.

He raises an eyebrow at you in suspicion, “Really?”

You leaned down, giving Alpine a scratch behind her ear before picking her up, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she doesn’t learn any of your bad manners.”

Bucky shot you a glare, his cheeks faintly pink. “Just... don’t spoil her more than she already is, ”he mumbled, “I probably won’t be home until later, give or take.” 

His eyes flicker from the watch on his wrist and then to you, “I should probably get your number so you can update me on Alpine.” 

He says it outloud like it was meant to be a personal thought. 

You raise an eyebrow curiously, cradling Alpine in your arms like a baby, “You want my number?” 

“It’s not that I want it, but I should get it. That way if there’s an emergency you can contact me.” he says. 

This time Bucky speaks with ease, as if he’s rehearsed this line once or twice. It’s a drastic difference from how he was stammering earlier. 

“Okay, that’s fair,” you shrug. 

Bucky pulls out his flip phone and flips it open. “Alright, what’s your number?” 

You look at his flip phone and this time you actually laugh out loud. “Oh, God! I still can’t get over the fact that you have a flip phone-“ 

Bucky grunts, “Just give me your damn number.” 

You stifle your laughter, rocking Alpine in your arms like a baby. “I mean, I’ll give it to you, but I have to ask—how do you even text on that thing? Do you have to press the buttons, like, three times just to get a single letter?”

Bucky exhales sharply, his patience wearing thin. “Yes. I do. And it works just fine. So, are you going to give it to me or not?”

You smirk, biting back another comment. “Alright, grandpa,” you rattle off the digits, watching as Bucky painstakingly types them in with an intensity that suggests he’s fighting for his life with that ancient texting system.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket and starts making his way towards the staircase, “By the way, it’s probably best that you stay in my apartment. As much as I hate the idea of you staying over, Alpine will get stressed if she’s in a new environment.” 

“Really? But she was a stray. Shouldn’t she be used to roaming around?” you question.

Bucky simply shrugs and hands you his key, “I can’t read a cat’s mind.” 

Before you can argue, he brushes past you and jogs down the stairs, suddenly in a hurry.

“I’ll be back later tonight. And don’t fucking touch anything! ” he calls out, his voice echoing through the stairwell.

You glance down at Alpine, who blinks up at you with her big blue eyes. “Well, guess it’s just you and me, Alpine.”

You enter Bucky’s apartment and you stop at the front, taking in your surroundings. Bucky has been your neighbor for six months and you’re just realizing now that this was your very first time seeing the inside of his apartment. 

And, well… it is underwhelming– almost depressingly so. 

The living room consists of a worn-out couch (courtesy of Alpine’s claws) that barely looks big enough for two people, a small side table stacked with a few books, and a TV. 

The walls are completely empty, devoid of any decor or personal touches. The kitchen, aside from a few unwashed dishes in the sink, is just as unremarkable.

Your eyes flick to the floor, where remnants of shattered dishware still linger from Alpine’s earlier rampage. 

A small part of you is tempted to sneak into his bedroom for any sign of personality, but you resist. That would be crossing a line—no matter how curious you are.

You gently set Alpine down, watching as she leisurely strolls to the corner of the living room before curling up on a flattened cardboard box. Your gaze drifts to the brand-new, high-quality cat bed sitting right beside it—completely untouched. The thing looks more expensive than Bucky’s own couch.

You stifle a laugh. Man, you really do love this feline.

Unable to resist, you pull out your phone and snap a quick picture of Alpine snoozing on the cardboard, the overpriced cat bed sitting uselessly beside her. Grinning like an idiot, you send the image to Bucky.

Me: I hope your ancient flip phone can still accept images. 

[IMAGE ATTACHED]

[11:32 AM]

A moment later, your phone buzzes.

Bucky: I unfortunately can. Call her a bad girl for me.

[11:40 AM]

—

You fell asleep on Bucky’s cramped couch. Ever since Bucky entrusted you with Alpine, the babysitting duty has been surprisingly calm. Based on how he described his experience, you expected the worst. 

There were a few times you had to pry her off the kitchen cabinets and stop her from scratching up his couch. You even thought about gifting her a cat tree. But other than that, it wasn’t too bad.

You just spent most of the day catching up on work on your laptop, binge watching shows on his TV, or reading your own books.

The hours went by and it’s already nine o’clock in the evening. 

Your phone dings with a message, but you’re too tired to get up and check on it.

About ten minutes later, the sound of the door unlocking roused you, followed by the unmistakable scent of hamburgers wafting through the apartment. You blinked awake, glancing up to see Bucky standing over you, looking utterly worn out and sporting a few fresh scratches. 

In one hand, he held a bag of fast food.

“Hope you like burgers,” he says gruffly, nodding toward your legs as a silent request for you to move so he could sit. “I sent you a text—wasn’t sure if you got it.”

You retract your legs and sit up, “I fell asleep,” you say groggily, “And yeah, burgers are good.”

Bucky sinks down on the couch next to you and lets out a long, tired, and heavy sigh. He reaches one hand inside the bag and hands you a burger that’s wrapped up in tinfoil. 

As you take it, your gaze drifts over his appearance—his bottom lip is scratched, and his right knuckles are bruised with dried blood. His left hand remains covered with a glove, just as it always is.

After your first encounter with Bucky, you did shamelessly Google him up and you pieced two and two together, that he was James Buchanan Barnes, the ex Winter Soldier.

You never brought it up to him, though. You figured someone like him had enough on his plate and you felt like it wasn’t your business nor position to question his past. You were just his neighbor, after all.

Your eyes are still fixated on his minor injuries as you grab the burger and Bucky notices. 

Clearing his throat, he shifts his focus to Alpine, who’s perched on the windowsill, people watching, “How was she?” he asks.

“She was actually fine,” you reply, taking a bite of your burger. “I don’t know what kind of horrors you went through, but she seems to love me.” Your tone is teasing, meant to lighten the mood.

To your surprise, a small, tired smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “That’s good,” he murmurs.

There’s a quiet tension in the room. You consider asking how his day went or if he’s okay, but you hesitate. You remember that day at the coffee shop, when he’d noticed you weren’t yourself—but instead of prying, he let you be. You decide that you should just do the same for him.

That day, you silently admitted you had a smudge of respect for him.

And now, here you are—sitting on his couch, in his apartment, eating a burger he bought for you. Was this a temporary truce?

“Are you… alright?” you murmur, eyes still fixed on your burger. It’s a quiet question, hesitant but genuine.

Bucky glances at you, his eyes widening slightly, caught off guard. “Yeah, just work stuff,” he replies, keeping it vague. He doesn’t elaborate, and you decide not to push.

Then, unexpectedly, he asks, “…Are you alright?”

You pause mid-chew, your eyes lifting to meet him. For a moment, the room falls into silence as the two of you simply hold each other’s gaze.

“I’m okay, why do you ask?” 

Bucky shrugs. “Last time I saw you, you looked like you were on the brink of bursting into tears,” he says bluntly.

“Oh, you mean at the coffee shop? When you took my seat?” You add the last part teasingly, hoping to lighten the mood.

He scoffs playfully. “Like I said, it didn’t have your name on it.”

You laugh, but Bucky gives you a look—like he’s not buying the deflection, like he’s waiting for the real answer.

You swallow feeling a bit nervous now, “My mom has cancer. Stage three, and it’s not getting any better,” you lower your burger and look up at the ceiling, trying to avoid meeting his gaze again.

“I check in with my sister every week over the phone, and so far, it’s not looking good,” you continue. Your voice is steady, but there’s a weight behind it, “but I’m trying to stay optimistic.”

Bucky nods, taking in every word. Normally, this is the part where people start apologizing, offering sympathy, telling you how strong you are. You nod, you smile, you pretend their words help.

But instead he just says, “Funny that you say you’re optimistic—because you’re the grumpiest person I know.”

It’s unexpected, and for some reason, it reassures you more than any sympathy ever could.

With an exaggerated gasp, you place a hand over your heart, “Grumpiest person? Me? Have you ever looked in the mirror, Barnes?”

Bucky mirrors your exaggerated offense before rolling his eyes, “I have, and all I see is a handsome man.”

As you guys finish your burgers and after some idle bickering, you look up at the clock that rests right above Bucky’s TV and notice the time– ten-fifteen in the evening. 

You guys were talking for an hour and fifteen minutes. 

Realizing how late it is, you stand and stretch, “Well, it’s late. I should go to sleep but in my own bed this time and not some flimsy couch,” you straighten yourself and look at Bucky with a smirk, “I would thank you for the burgers, but I won’t.” 

You walk over to Alpine, who’s still curled up on her beloved cardboard box, and give her one last affectionate pet, “I miss you already, my sweet Alpie.”

“ Alpie ? You already gave her a nickname?” Bucky scoffs as he gets up with you, grabbing the wrappers from the fast food you guys consumed. “Just so you know, this probably won’t be the last time I get called in for missions—uh, work stuff. So, you might as well get used to seeing Alpine.”

And just like that, taking care of Alpine in Bucky’s apartment becomes a weekly routine.

Chapter Text

“Wait, so you’re taking care of his cat now?” your sister asks over the phone. You switch to speaker mode, setting your phone down.

It’s been about two weeks since you started looking after Alpine, and now that she’s familiar with your scent, you’ve gotten into the habit of bringing her back and forth between your apartment and Bucky’s whenever it’s convenient. Today, she’s lounging comfortably in your place.

“Yeah, this whole babysitting gig is making me want a cat of my own,” you admit, scratching Alpine’s ears. “Aren’t you a good girl, little Alpie?” you coo, earning a soft purr from her as she nestles into your lap.

You can hear your sister giggling on the other end, “So… you and this Bucky guy, are you two dating?” 

“Dating? No. Hell no,” you quickly dismiss the idea, “we don’t even get along. I don’t ever see us becoming a ‘thing.’” 

“Okay, okay. How about that one guy you went out on a date with? Adam? Was that his name?” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, never spoke to him again. Actually, I took your advice for once and deleted the dating apps.”

She makes a loud over exaggerated gasp on the other line, “Wow! The older sister is finally listening to the young one, huh?” she teases before her tone softens, “but seriously—I’m happy for you.”

You respond with a quiet hum, absentmindedly stroking Alpine’s fur. 

When you shift your legs to sit up properly, Alpine meows in protest before reluctantly moving. The rustling from your side of the call doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Let me guess,” your sister says with a knowing sigh, “you want to know how Mom’s doing?” her voice carries a light teasing tone, but you hear the weight in her words.

Before you could answer, she continues, “She seems to be doing better mentally, actually. She’s been more enthusiastic these past few days. But physically… it’s getting worse,” she says, choosing her words carefully but also being truthful.

You squeeze your eyes shut, momentarily disconnecting from reality. The silence stretches, heavy and unspoken, until your sister’s voice pulls you back, “You still there?” 

“Yeah,” you murmur, “I’m here.”

She exhales sharply, “I already know what you’re thinking. You want to come by and visit us,” there’s a brief pause, “and honestly, I’m not going to stop you this time if you do.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

That was all you needed to hear. That slight nudge from your sister to encourage you to visit.

“How’s next month?” you ask cautiously.

Your sister chuckles, trying to add some lightness to the conversation, but there’s still that unmistakable weight behind it. “That soon?”

“Well… I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too,” her voice softens, “If you can make the time, then yeah. Come home.”

You hear the sound of heavy footsteps approaching your door, followed by a firm knock. “It’s me,” Bucky’s gruff voice comes from the other side.

Your sister gasps through the phone, excitement bubbling in her tone. “Is that him? Wait—turn on FaceTime! Let me see—” “Okay, gotta go, bye!” you cut her off quickly, ending the call before she can protest.

You make your way over to your door and swing it open, only to be met with Bucky’s usual stoic expression. But this time, his face is bruised and bloodied, a fresh cut marking the side of his cheek.

“Oh, God…” you mutter. You don’t even realize that your eyes are locked onto his injuries for a beat too long.

Bucky exhales through his nose, shifting his weight. “Can I come in?” his gaze flickers past you, taking in your apartment as he waits for your answer.

“Yeah,” you say as you open the door wider for him to enter. Bucky takes in his surroundings and sits down on your far-better-and-more-comfortable-than-his couch and lets out another tired sigh, rubbing his tired eyes with his gloved hand. 

Normally, when he returns to pick up Alpine, he’s carrying a few new injuries. And normally, you look away, pretending not to notice. It’s never felt like your place to ask. But tonight, as much as you hate to admit it, a flicker of concern tugs at you.

Before you can stop yourself, the words slip out. “What happened?”

Bucky drops his hand from his face, blinking up at you, his brows drawing together, “What?”

“It’s just…” you gesture vaguely to your own cheek, mirroring where his injuries are.

Bucky’s gaze softens, “Oh, just– work stuff.” he mumbled. 

You noticed that this was always his response on the rare occasion you would ask if he was okay. Naturally, you chose not to pry and if he wanted to speak up about it then you figured he would.

You sit down on your couch next to him, there’s space between the two of you that's big enough to fit another person, “Alpie was a good girl today, as always.” 

Bucky chuckles dryly, shaking his head, “Still can’t believe she’s only a good girl around you. I figured she would’ve picked up on your bad habits by now.”

You open your mouth to fire back, but Bucky suddenly winces, his flesh hand instinctively reaching for his scratched cheek. 

When he pulls it away, there’s fresh blood on his fingers.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Bucky! You’re bleeding!” you jump up and head straight for the bathroom. 

Pulling open the medicine cabinet, you grab a clean rag and run it under cool water before hurrying back.

Bucky sits there on your couch, jaw clenched, muttering, “I’m fine,” but you don’t buy it for a second.

Without a word, you press the damp cloth to his cheek, carefully wiping away the blood. Your frown deepens as you take in the damage.

You try your best to clean the bloodied scratch running from his cheek to just past his eyebrow, but Bucky refuses to meet your gaze. His head is tilted away, making it impossible to get a proper look.

Frustrated, you furrow your brows and grip his chin, tugging his face toward you forcefully.

“Jesus, I’m fine,” he mutters, irritation lacing his voice, his eyes still refusing to meet yours.

Your annoyance is flaring up. How could he come home nearly every night in a roughed up shape and not take care of himself? You don’t know what he does, and you’re not quite sure if you want to know at this point. But the least he can do is look after himself and not get himself killed. 

Bucky huffs but doesn’t resist this time, letting you dab at the wound with a damp cloth. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and up close, you can see the exhaustion in his features—the deep-set lines between his brows, the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders remain stiff even as he sits on your couch.

As you quietly and carefully clean his wound, his eyes slowly meet your face. He examines you as your eyes are concentrated on his wound, but then your eyes meet his. For a brief moment, neither of you look away. 

The air shifts, heavy with something… tense and unspoken, until you finally clear your throat and focus your eyes elsewhere on his face.

“You don’t take care of yourself,” you murmur, the words once again slipping out before you could process it.

Bucky’s gaze rehardens and he lets out a  scoff, “And you do?”

Your grip tightens slightly on his chin before you realize it, and you pull your hand away, setting the cloth down, “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Bucky shrugs, “The guys you meet on dating apps, not seeing your family–” 

"Excuse me?" you snap, your voice edged with anger. 

You hadn’t expected him to start picking apart your life. 

You could brush off his teasing about your dating habits because that was a common jab from him— but bringing up your family? That crossed a line, whether it was his intention or not. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, unfazed by your reaction, "I’m just saying, you’re not exactly taking care of yourself either." 

It’s clear he hadn’t expected to strike a nerve.

You stand up in frustration, marching to the kitchen sink and running the washcloth under the water, wringing out the blood.

“I deleted the dating apps,” you mutter quietly and Bucky hears it– he’s just choosing not to comment, “And I’m visiting my family next month.” You continue. 

You feel his gaze on your back as you continue to clean the cloth. 

His voice is surprised when he actually responds at the mention of you leaving, "You are?"

"Yeah, so I do take care of myself, for your information," you retort, your tone sharp and petty.

You slap the wet rag against your sink, turning around and crossing your arms in frustration. You are glaring daggers at him, “So, are you going to pick up Alpine and leave?” you question impatiently. 

Bucky blinks, momentarily caught off guard by the hostility. 

He actually hadn’t meant to push you this far. He wasn’t trying to take a cheap shot at your family— he just thought you should take better care of yourself, prioritize the things that actually mattered. Maybe he hadn’t worded it right.

"Yeah…" he mutters, rising to his feet with a groan, his body still aching from his mission.

He clicks his tongue and makes a pst pst sound to Alpine, who is loafing comfortably on your window sill. 

Alpine reacts by looking at Bucky, but then she turns away back to dozing off at who knows what. 

“Come here, girl.” Bucky calls out in a gentler tone, trying to get Alpine’s attention but she just continues to simply loaf, paying no mind. 

Despite your lingering irritation with Bucky, you can’t help but stifle a laugh at the sight of him being blatantly dismissed by his own damn cat.

“Alpie,” you call out instead. Immediately, her ears perk up, her head turning toward you with full attention. You smirk and gesture towards Bucky, “Go to your dad.”

Bucky scoffs, “Yeah, like that’s actually gonna—”

Alpine hops off your window sill and makes her way slowly to Bucky and sits in front of him, looking up at him with her big blue innocent eyes. 

Bucky looks at you with a look that’s half surprised and half annoyed, “So, what? You’re her Mom now, or something?” 

You’re standing there smugly with your arms crossed. Your shrug feigns innocence and decide to play dumb, “Hm, I’m not sure. All I know is that she likes me way more than she likes you.” 

Bucky scowls as he picks up Alpine and heads towards your door. His flesh hand reaches for the doorknob and he pauses for a moment. 

He gives you a glance and opens his mouth– like he’s about to say something.

“I’m…” his voice trails off, a brief pause stretching between you. Then, as if deciding against whatever was on his mind, he clears his throat. “I… uh, goodnight,” he mutters instead, pulling your door open and stepping out, Alpine snug in his arms as he disappears into the hallway.

You let out a frustrated groan and rub your face. You make your way tiredly back to the couch and grab your phone where you left it. 

You open it up and see pending messages from your sister after you hung up on her: 

Little sis: No way you hung up on me!!! 😡

[10:01 PM]

Me: Sorry, Bucky went to pick up his cat. 

[10:32 PM]

Your sister replies almost instantly. 

Little sis: I know, and I wanted to see him!! How cute is he? handsome? Give me the deets. 

[10:32 PM]

You grimace at your sister’s text before setting your phone down with a sigh. 

Bucky? Cute? Not a chance. 

He was frustrating, sharp-tongued, and downright difficult at times. 

Half the time, you couldn’t tell if he was being intentionally rude or if his social skills were just that bad. You had never seen him interact with anyone else besides you—never had guests over, barely mentioned anyone in his life. 

The only person you knew of was someone named Sam, whom he occasionally called for work. That was it. He was guarded, always keeping to himself, his mood permanently set to brooding with that ever-present scowl.

But then, your mind drifts back to earlier—to him sitting on your couch, shoulders tense, face worn with exhaustion. 

His usual gruff expression had been there, but behind it, his blue eyes held something deeper. Pain. And when your gaze briefly met his as you tended to his wounds, there had been something else flickering beneath the surface. 

A quiet vulnerability, like longing. 

You refuse to even entertain the thought of him being handsome—because, undeniably, he was. That was the worst part. It was unfair, really. Someone so infuriating doesn’t deserve to look that good.

You let out another groan and rub your tired eyes again to snap yourself out of these unwanted thoughts. You pick up your phone again and type out a response: 

Me: He’s alright. 

[10:36 PM]

Little sis: 🤨

[10:37 PM]

You’re exhausted. You’ve spent the entire day tidying up your apartment, catching up on work, and taking care of Alpine. Now, you have to plan out your flight and travel plans to visit your family across the country, and on top of that, you just had to end the night with your insufferable neighbor. 

You’ll figure out the flight details tomorrow. So for now, you leave your phone on the couch and make your way to your bedroom, falling asleep as soon as you hit the bed. 

Meanwhile, your phone dings from the living room. 

Bucky: Thanks for watching Alpine again today. 

[10:57 PM]

Bucky: Also, I’m 76rry. About what I said.

[11:05 PM]

Bucky: Meant to sa9y s6rry.

[11:08 PM]

—

Bucky sits in his apartment, his brow furrowed in frustration as he stares down at his flip phone. 

“Goddammit…” he mutters under his breath.

His fingers fumble with the keys, pressing the 7 button four times for the 'S' and the 6 button three times for the 'O.' But then, he notices a 9 slipped in between the word ‘say,’ and now he has to start over.

This damn flip phone.

Chapter Text

The morning trickles in and you’re staring at your text chat with Bucky. Honestly, you’re still irritated about last night’s interaction, but it’s hard to stay mad when he’s struggling to text like an old man on that outdated flip phone.

You can already picture it— his large hands awkwardly fumbling over the tiny buttons, pressing the same one multiple times just to get a single letter. The thought makes you chuckle to yourself.

Giggling to yourself, you decide to reply to his sad attempt at an apology: 

Me: If you want me to continue taking care of Alpie for you, I’m gonna need more than a “s6rry”

[10:46 AM]

You set your phone aside and open your laptop, scrolling through flight options for your trip home next month.

It’s been a year since you last visited home, and the last time you saw them, everyone was happy and healthy. You never intended to stay away this long, but life got in the way. 

Work kept piling up, responsibilities pulled you in different directions, and your family, especially your sister, reassured you that it was okay to focus on yourself for a while.

But now that your Mom is getting worse, the guilt has been eating at you for days and your sister finally gave you that little nudge to come visit. 

You find a good flight for a reasonable price and text your sister the details, but then a knock on your door echoes through your apartment.

Your attention shifts from your phone to the door. You weren’t expecting anyone.

"Who is it?" you call out, rising from the couch and making your way over.

You look through your peephole and see Bucky standing there with a coffee cup in his hand. You weren’t supposed to take care of Alpine today, you thought. But you opened the door for him anyway. 

Bucky barely glances at you, his posture stiff as he extends the coffee cup in your direction.

“Well… hello to you, too,” you mutter. You eye the cup, then shift your gaze back to him, brows knitting together in confusion.

“What’s this?” you question. 

He shrugs, holding the cup out a little further like he’s waiting for you to grab it, “It’s coffee.”

You arch a brow, “I see that, but why?” 

Bucky shoots you a look that practically says,  Are you serious?

With a sigh, he pulls the cup back slightly, “For screwing up yesterday. I shouldn’t have brought up your family. Consider this my peace offering.”

You blink at him, caught off guard. 

Sure, you were irritated with him— but you were always irritated with him. His nagging comments were nothing new. What was new, however, was him standing here, making an actual effort to apologize. You figured the extent of his apologies was that sad attempt of a text last night.

"Alright, well, if you’re not gonna take it—" Bucky shrugs when you don’t reach for the cup and casually lifts it toward his lips, "guess I’ll just drink it myself. Shame, too, it even has caramel drizzle—"

“Okay, okay! I’ll take it!” You snatch the cup from his hands before he can take a sip. He knows the extra caramel drizzle is your sweet treat. 

Bucky smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction.

He doesn’t move to leave, lingering in the doorway, so you sigh and push the door open wider, “You wanna come in?”

His shoulders loosen slightly as he steps inside, making his usual path toward your couch. As he sits, his gaze drifts to your open laptop, and his expression shifts. His eyes narrow slightly as he catches sight of the flight confirmation on your screen.

“So, you’re actually leaving?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady and neutral. 

“Yeah, just visiting my family for two weeks,” you reassure him, but his expression doesn’t change.

You take a sip of the coffee, letting the caramel sweetness linger on your tongue as you watch him. His brows are furrowed and his jaw is tight.

“Two weeks?” he mutters quietly, like he’s speaking to himself if anything. You simply raise an eyebrow.

“You gonna be okay without me?” you tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

Bucky scoffs, leaning back into the couch, “Yeah, right. Alpine’s the one who’s gonna miss you, not me.” You don’t miss the way he avoids your gaze when he says it.

You twirl the coffee cup in your hand, “Hey, at least I gave you a month to find another babysitter in the meantime.” 

You make your way towards the couch and move your laptop to rest on your lap, occupying the space next to him. 

This time, you guys are sitting closer than usual. 

There’s a brief moment of pause between the two of you. You didn’t expect him to be here today, but he ended up showing up with a peace offering of your favorite drink. 

Normally, the insults would start flying out of your guys' mouth but there is a temporary truce between the two of you. 

Bucky scratches the back of his head awkwardly and he gives you a glance, “As much as Alpine will miss you, it’s a good thing you’re visiting your family. I know how much they mean to you.” 

Your fingers pause against the coffee cup, his words catching you slightly off guard. You glance at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. 

Bucky doesn’t seem like the type to acknowledge things like this or even dare to point it out, unless it's in a teasing manner. 

“Wow, that almost sounded like you care,” you tease, masking your smirk by taking a sip of your drink.

Bucky rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it. Instead, he shifts slightly, resting his forearm on his knee, “I just know you’d regret it if you didn’t go,” he says simply.

“Yeah…” you mutter quietly. 

This is… painfully awkward. 

This silence is unbearable. The tension hanging between you is thick, and you’re both feeling it. You’re almost tempted to throw a jab at him just to break it, and knowing Bucky, he’s probably thinking the same thing.

But instead, he says, “So, that guy you had a date with at the Chinese place—”

You groan instantly,“You’re still thinking about that? Seriously?”

Bucky can’t help the grin that creeps up on his face. 

He lets out a chuckle before he composes himself, “It’s just– well, I’m glad– I mean, it’s good that you also deleted those apps. It was about time.” 

Leaning back against the couch, you snap your laptop shut with a smirk that shows you’re ready for a comeback.

“You know, I’ll bring this up a million times if I have to. You always have a lot to say about my love life, but I still have never seen you around a woman that wasn’t me.” 

Your voice is teasing, but there’s curiosity beneath it.

Bucky leans back on the couch with you, crossing one leg and making himself more comfortable.

“There’s a dance to those types of things. And I feel like I haven’t danced in like…” he scrunches his face and pauses for a moment, “forever…” 

He turns to gauge your reaction, only to find you pressing your lips together in a poor attempt to suppress your laughter. 

He rolls his eyes at your ridiculous expression, “Alright, you better stop with that face.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” you wheeze between bursts of laughter. “It’s just—you looked so serious—” You dissolve into another fit of giggles.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you lose yourself in laughter, completely missing the way Bucky’s gaze softens as he watches you. And you definitely miss the small smile that lingers on his face before he shakes his head.

“Whatever,” he mutters. 

Bucky gets a ding on his phone and he retrieves his flip phone from his pocket. 

Oh man. Just when you thought you were done laughing, the sight of that outdated relic threatens to send you into another fit. You bite your lip, trying to hold it back, but the urge to crack up is coming back fast.

“Oh, shut up,” he groans, not even looking at you as he flips the phone open and squints at the screen. 

A deep sigh leaves him as he runs a gloved hand through his hair. “I don’t know why he just doesn’t call me… He knows damn well I take forever to text back…” he grumbles.

You assume the mysterious ‘he’ is none other than his one and only friend— Sam.

As Bucky starts typing, you watch in amusement as his lower lip juts out in frustration, his fingers awkwardly navigating the ancient keyboard. 

The sheer focus on his face is almost too much to handle. 

You remember your sister’s text last night, when she asked if Bucky was cute or handsome.

At the time, you scoffed at the idea of him being cute. But now, as you sit here watching this painfully handsome neighbor of yours struggle with his ancient flip phone, brows furrowed, lower lip in a pout… 

You hate to admit it, and you never will outloud– but he’s pretty cute, actually.

"I know that look on your face," Bucky mutters, still focused on his phone, his fingers carefully pressing each button, "You’re judging me."

His words snap you out of your thoughts. 

He has no idea that, in reality, you were just thinking about how annoyingly cute he looks right now— not that you'd ever admit it.

“Wow,” you reply dryly, “Read me like a book.” 

Bucky flashes a smug grin, clearly pleased with himself for misreading you so confidently.

Dammit. He’s actually ridiculously adorable. 

Bucky finally sends his text, flipping his phone shut with a snap before stuffing it back into his pocket. 

His eyes meet yours. “Are you doing anything today?”

You shake your head, “Nothing planned,” today was a Saturday, your day off. “Why do you ask?” 

He glances away, almost like he’s second-guessing himself, “I have a friend who wants to meet you,” he says, direct as ever.

“Is it that Sam guy?” you ask him.

Bucky raises a brow, “How’d you know?”

You shrug casually, “He’s the only friend you have.” 

Bucky sits up straight looking thoroughly offended. He opens his mouth to argue but quickly realizes he has no comeback. Instead, he just closes his mouth with a scowl, muttering something under his breath.

He sinks back into the couch and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket. 

“He and his girlfriend want to grab lunch and catch up outside of work. Mentioned wanting to meet you,” he says, keeping his tone as casual as possible.

You blink at him, still puzzled. Why would Sam want to meet you? Does that mean Bucky talks about you? He doesn’t mention Sam often— only in passing when you ask about his day, but that’s about it.

For some reason, the thought of Bucky bringing you up to his one and only friend is… oddly nice. But then again, knowing him, it’s probably just to complain about how annoying his neighbor is.

But meeting Sam doesn’t sound like a bad idea. You have nothing else planned for today, and this gives you the opportunity to get a glimpse of Bucky’s life other than the usual neighborly duties. 

You shrug, “Sure, why not?” 

Bucky looks at you a bit puzzled. It’s like he didn’t expect you to agree. “Alright, well, he wants to meet at a restaurant  in about an hour and a half… so…” 

He gets up from your couch and straightens himself, “I’ll let you get ready. Be out in an hour.” he says bluntly and straightforwardly before exiting your apartment.

—

As you both step outside the apartment complex, Bucky comes to a stop in front of his motorcycle parked out front.

This time, he’s holding two helmets.

You raise an eyebrow in amusement, “So you do have a spare helmet.”

Remembering a few weeks ago, he gave you a ride back home on his motorcycle for the first time after your horrible date with Adam. He didn’t have a spare helmet, and this time he does. 

Bucky just shrugs and steps toward you, carefully placing the spare helmet on your head and fastening the strap. You don’t protest, but the gesture catches you off guard. 

Even more surprising? He doesn’t make some smart remark about you not being able to do it yourself this time.

"After giving you a ride, I figured I might as well grab an extra one— just in case," he says, securing the helmet on you. He gives it a firm pat, causing it to wobble and shake slightly and you playfully swat his hand away.

He settles onto his motorcycle, inching forward to make room for you. You climb up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. 

“Let me guess– so you can go around giving other people rides?” you ask. 

You can feel the vibrations of Bucky’s chuckle as you wrap your arms around him, “Yes, that is the exact and only reason,” he says sarcastically. 

After about twelve minutes of riding on his motorcycle, you both make it to the designated restaurant to meet Sam. 

The restaurant has the cozy charm of a classic American diner. 

As you approach the entrance, Bucky suddenly steps ahead and pulls the door open for you. The gesture catches you off guard… since when is he ever this polite?

You give him a suspicious look and cross your arms, “You didn’t tell Sam I was your girlfriend, did you?” 

Bucky’s face slightly heats up, “What? Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. Why would you even ask that?” 

You shrug and enter, “You’re opening the door for me. You never do that.” 

He clicks his tongue and trails after you, “Great. Now I know to never open doors for you.” 

As you step inside, your eyes scan the diner in search of this “Sam” guy and his girlfriend. It doesn’t take long to spot a well-built, handsome man sitting alone in an empty booth, waving enthusiastically to get your guys’ attention.

“Bucky!” he calls out. This must be Sam. 

Bucky perks up and heads over to his booth and naturally you follow him. 

"Hey," Bucky greets, stopping beside the table before gesturing toward you. “This is the very obnoxious and annoying neighbor you wanted to meet."

Sam chuckles and extends a hand. You shake it, offering a polite smile.

"Nice to meet you, Sam." 

"Nice to finally meet you, too," he replies, flashing a big and toothy grin.

Sliding into the booth, you settle in while Bucky takes the seat beside you. Glancing around, you note the absence of Sam’s girlfriend.

"I thought your girlfriend was coming too?" you ask curiously, tilting your head.

Sam takes a sip of his water, “Oh, I forgot to mention. Sharon won’t be coming today. She’s uh, dealing with government stuff,” he waves his hand dismissively as if ‘government stuff’ was a casual everyday thing the average person experiences.

Again, you have no idea what Bucky and Sam do, and it’s not your business. Much less his girlfriend’s business, so you just nod in acknowledgement. 

"Alright, then. Let me sit next to you—" Bucky starts to slide out of the seat he’s sharing with you, but Sam quickly extends a hand, stopping him.

“Oh, no no no. No can do—” Sam shakes his head, manspreading on his side of the booth even more, “I’m comfortable here, you stay right there.” 

Bucky scowls but stays put, throwing an annoyed glare at Sam, who pointedly ignores him and turns to you with a big grin.

"So, does Buck talk about me?" he asks you. 

You shake your head, "Not really. He’s very… tight-lipped. I didn’t even know he was capable of having a friend."

Sam bursts out into laughter at your comment and you follow suit with a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah. I like this one already,” Sam says with a grin. 

Bucky sits there with a permanent scowl on his face and mutters ‘ why did I even bother?’ under his breath while shaking his head. 

"What about me?" you ask suddenly, raising an eyebrow while taking a sip of water. "Does Bucky talk about me?"

You throw a quick glance at Bucky to gauge a reaction from him but he has his hands together fiddling with his fingers on the table while he looks around the diner, looking everywhere but at you.

Sam lets out a low whistle, “Too much, sometimes.” 

A second later, Sam winces, and gasps out a small "ow," and throws a glare at Bucky— who, judging by his blank expression, probably just kicked him under the table.

You can’t help but laugh, “Probably all bad stuff.” 

Sam tilts his head in amusement,“Actually—”

"Yup, all bad stuff, as you can imagine," Bucky immediately cuts in before Sam can say anything else. His eyes dart around the diner, brows furrowed, "Where the hell is our waiter?" he mutters, clearly desperate to change the subject.

Unfortunately for him, Sam isn’t that easy to derail, "You're taking care of his cat, I’ve heard. So, are you guys like, mom and dad now?"

Sam has the brightest smile on his face as he asks this. He points a finger between you and Bucky, and your body tenses up and try to shake the blush that’s appearing on your cheeks.

“Sam…” Bucky grits between his teeth as his glare pierces directly through Sam’s soul. 

“I… I wouldn’t call myself Alpine’s mom…” you say awkwardly. 

Sam doesn’t notice the tension in the air. Actually, he probably does— he’s just choosing to ignore it, “Really? Because Bucky calls you-” 

“Shut the hell up, Sam!” Bucky suddenly barks out.

Like as if God himself answered Bucky’s prayers, the waitress finally arrives. 

“Are you folks ready to order?” the waitress perks up, pulling out her notepad and pencil.

All three of you give your orders and the waitress lets you know it’ll be right out before she walks away to tend to the other tables.

“Anyway, what was I saying?” Sam says and Bucky interjects immediately, “Nothing, you were saying nothing.” 

Sam finally lets it go, sparing Bucky from further teasing. You’re still not sure how these two even became friends. 

They seem like complete opposites.

Bucky is grumpy, uptight, and seems to have no grasp of social cues. He always looks like he hasn’t slept in days and has a sarcastic remark ready for every situation. Meanwhile, Sam is the exact opposite. He was very easygoing, effortlessly social, and constantly beaming like a ray of sunshine.

You guess opposites really do attract.

As you guys conversed over lunch, Sam gave you the rundown and explained he and Bucky shared an apartment together, but once his now girlfriend Sharon came back to the States through her pardon, he eventually started a relationship and wanted to settle down. 

Unfortunately for Bucky, Sam essentially kicked him out of the apartment and told him to find his own place. 

You admit you felt a little bad for Bucky when Sam kicked him out, but clearly, things worked out for him in the end.

Eventually, all three of you finish lunch. Sam insists on paying the bill, and now you’re all standing outside the restaurant, exchanging goodbyes.

"Well, it was really nice meeting you," Sam says, pulling you into a polite side hug. "We should do this again sometime. Bucky rarely leaves his apartment outside of work, and he also rarely replies to my texts. So maybe if I ask him to bring you along, he’ll actually show up."

You raise your brows in amusement but decide not to comment. Instead, you glance at Bucky, curious about his reaction. 

He’s standing off to the side, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, absentmindedly kicking a pebble on the sidewalk.

“And next time, maybe Sharon could come,” Sam continues.

You smile at the thought. You really like Sam—he’s kind, easygoing, and respectful. His girlfriend Sharon is probably just as kind as him, "That would be great. Just let me know, and I’ll be there."

Sam steps up to Bucky, giving him a quick, brotherly hug with a firm pat on the back.

"See you, man," Bucky mutters.

"Catch y’all later," Sam calls out, waving as he heads off across the street.

As he disappears off into the distance, you decide to address the elephant in the room that Sam left behind. 

“So, you’d be more inclined to go out if I tag along?” you ask with a hint of tease in your voice. 

Bucky scrunches up his face, “That’s not true, he’s just saying shit.” 

You glance at him, and sure enough, there’s a faint flush creeping up his neck. But before you can call him out on it, he quickly looks away, pretending to focus on something else.

At lunch, Sam mentioned that Bucky had a bad staring problem— so why is it that he struggles to meet your eyes but not anyone else’s?

"And if I told you I’d be happy to come," you continue, enjoying how flustered he looks, "would you invite me?"

You don’t just want to tease him— you’re genuinely curious about his answer. A part of you wants to know how he really feels.

He exhales, scratching the back of his head. "I would," he admits, "But don’t gloat about it."

"He also implied that you talk about me a lot," you point out, tilting your head. "And from what I’m getting based on his reaction, it wasn’t all that bad."

This time, Bucky actually looks at you. His brows are furrowed, but there’s a softness in his eyes that catches you off guard.

"Does that make you happy?" he asks.

The sudden confidence in his voice surprises you, but before you can respond, he elaborates, "Does it make you happy that I don’t talk all that bad about you?" his tone is still gruff, but there’s something genuine beneath it.

Now you’re the one shifting your weight. You swallow, suddenly nervous. "I… guess? I don’t know, I didn’t expect it."

A small smile tugs at the corner of Bucky’s lips. "I don’t actually hate you—"

"Really?" 

"—that much," he finishes with a smirk.

You roll your eyes and playfully punch his arm. He feigns hurt, clutching his bicep like you actually did some damage. The two of you laugh, the tension melting away.

But there’s still one more thing lingering in your mind.

"So… you consider me Alpine’s mom?" you ask carefully, watching him for a reaction.

You can see his stance stiffen as he replies, "Well, you're the only woman who takes care of her, aren't you?"

For some reason, although it might’ve not meant much, you feel a surge of pride and warmth knowing that you’re the only woman in Bucky’s life that is close enough to take care of his cat. 

Maybe the only woman in Bucky’s life right now, too.

But you can’t jump to conclusions. After all, you’re just his neighbor. It’s convenient for him.

“Speaking of Alpine, we should probably head back home. She wakes up around in the afternoon,” Bucky says, looking down at the watch on his flesh wrist. 

You both get on his motorcycle. He straps your helmet on, as usual, and the drive back to the apartment complex is quiet, minus the sounds of the bustling streets and city around you.

You don’t realize it, but your grip on Bucky’s waist tightens more than usual. Bucky, on the other hand, definitely notices, but doesn’t mention it

As you both tread up the staircase to your shared floor, the walk up is silent. It was a complete contrast from how you two were bickering back and forth on the night he gave you a ride back on your date. 

When you both finally make it the fifth floor, you catch your breath and turn to look him to say goodbye, “Alright, well, thanks for introducing me to Sam. It was fun.” 

Bucky looks at you, but doesn’t say anything. He just lets out a soft hum in acknowledgement. 

For a moment, you both just stand there, staring at each other, neither of you moving. The silence between you thickens, tension filling the air. 

After a brief pause, you clear your throat and gesture to your apartment door. "Anyways, I should—"

But before you can finish, Bucky steps forward quickly, his hands gently cupping your face as he presses his lips to yours.

You’re caught off guard, your eyes wide in shock at his sudden and unexpected gesture. But your body relaxes into his touch just as quickly as it came, and you close your eyes, savoring the kiss.

The kiss deepens, growing more urgent, mostly driven by Bucky. It feels pent-up, desperate— like he’s been holding back for far too long. Your hands move to the back of his head instinctively, lightly tugging on his hair.

You feel him groan softly against your mouth, and the sound sends a thrill through you, deep to your core.

You want more, but Bucky needs more. 

His hands fall to your waist, gripping you like a lifeline, pulling your body even closer to his—

Meeow!  

A glass shatter from his apartment. 

Bucky quickly pulls away, and so do you, both of you suddenly breathless, avoiding each other's gaze. Instinctively, you step back, creating space between you.

"Sorry, I—" Bucky starts to mutter, running a hand through his hair, clearly flustered.

"No, don't be. I’m— I... I’m sorry—" You stammer, your words coming out in an incoherent rush. But before you can finish your apology, another sound of glass shattering echoes from his apartment.

"I… I gotta check on Alpine," Bucky says, turning away quickly, heading for his door in haste.

"Right, I should… go, too." You mutter, turning toward your own door and unlocking it.

Both of you enter your respective apartment rooms and give each other one last glance down the hall before shutting the door on each other. 

Chapter Text

It’s been a day since your kiss with Bucky. 

Today, you’re supposed to be taking care of Alpine. You look at the clock and it’s already half past ten in the morning and he still hasn’t shown up. 

You consider walking down the hall, knocking on his door, and asking what the plan is. But the thought of facing him makes your stomach twist.

Although you both haven’t spoken nor seen each other since the kiss, there is definitely heaven tension between the two of you. 

A part of you wants to talk about it, wants to know where you two stand– but another part wants you to remain silent and tuck those feelings away for safekeeping.

Maybe–deep down, you’re terrified to know if he regrets it. And you’re not ready to take that risk.

So instead of doing the logical thing and talking to Bucky, you’re on the phone with your sister again.

“Wait, wait, wait! He kissed you!?” your sister screeches through the phone, so loud that you have to pull it slightly away from your ear.

“Yeah, he did… and we haven’t talked since.” Your voice softens, and without realizing it, a sad look creeps into your eyes. “Do you think he regrets it?”

“What!? Don’t be silly! Any guy would be lucky to kiss you,” your sister says. 

You snort in response. Of course she’d say that– she’s just trying to be nice. “Oh, cut the crap already. This is serious.” 

“I am being serious,” she argues, shuffling around on the other end of the line. “Honestly? I’m surprised he didn’t kiss you sooner.”

Her words make you pause. The corners of your lips tug into a frown. 

It hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours, but it gave you enough time to think about how you really felt about Bucky. 

From the day that he moved here, he was a complete asshole to you. Your initial interactions with him were filled with constant bickering, and it seemed like he made it his personal mission to get under your skin sometimes. But lately… it's like something shifted. 

He’s been softer with you. Not just tolerating you, but noticing you. 

Acknowledging the little things. 

Apologizing. 

Even going so far as to introduce you to his one and only friend.

And then there were the small details. From when he practically rescued you on your shitty date, the way he made it a habit to strap you into a helmet without saying anything, How he bought an extra helmet, presumably just for you.

He knows your coffee order and your favorite seat at the coffee shop like the back of his hand. 

You notice the tension of his body releasing when you open the door for him everytime he comes back to pick up Alpine after work. 

How he comes back scratched and bruised, yet his gaze softens the moment he sees you, like you are the sight for sore eyes.

How he kissed you— not hesitantly, not cautiously, but with raw, unfiltered emotion. Like he had been holding it back for so long. Like he needed to. 

How he kissed you like that, and yet he can’t even send a simple sorry text without completely botching it.

Oh, God. 

Do you like Bucky? 

“Hellooo?” your sister’s voice pulls you back to reality.

You blink, shaking your head. “I’m here.”

“Uh-huh, sure you are,” she says, clearly unconvinced.

You hesitate before admitting, “I don’t know… I think I might like him.”

She bursts into laughter. “ Might? One day, you’re ranting about what an unbearable jerk he is, and now you’re over there playing ‘does he like me or not’ like some lovesick teenager.”

You groan, pulling the covers over your head, “Feelings are complicated.”

“Why don’t you just talk to him?” she asked. 

You chew on your lip anxiously. 

Sure, you could talk to him, but the thought of finding out whether he regretted it or not terrifies you more than you'd like to admit. 

The possibility of that kind of rejection isn’t something you’re willing to face. Especially when he still hasn’t shown up to drop off Alpine. Maybe he’s avoiding you on purpose.

“I don’t know,” you can only mutter quietly. 

Your sister chimes in, “Well, you’ll be here in… let’s see… two weeks ! So, you better sort out those emotions before then. Otherwise, you’ll be sitting on that plane, torturing yourself over what could’ve been.”

Her playful tone doesn’t mask the truth behind her words. 

You sigh, rubbing your palm over your closed eyes, silently resenting how your younger sister is somehow handling this more maturely than you.

After a little more casual conversation, you both hang up.

An hour has passed, and there’s still no sign of Bucky or Alpine.

You try to close your eyes, to force yourself to sleep despite spending the entire morning bedrotting— but it’s no use. You’re just too restless.

You remember the spare key Bucky gave you. It was his way of letting you in whenever he was at work so you could take care of Alpine.

With a sigh, you finally drag yourself out of bed, grab the key, and make your way down the hall to his apartment.

“Bucky?” you call out, knocking firmly on the door. Arms crossed, you wait for a response. 

Nothing.

“I thought I was supposed to take care of Alpine today?” you call out again but you are met with silence. 

He could’ve at least texted you and let you know there was a change of plans, unless he was actually just avoiding you altogether. 

You try to push those thoughts aside. Maybe something came up, and he just forgot to let you know. 

With a disappointed exhale, you turn back around to your apartment until you hear a sudden crash from his apartment. 

“Bucky!?” you suddenly yell out, pressing your ear against his door. “Is everything okay in there?” 

Another crash, and then a meow. 

He left Alpine alone? 

Groaning, you fish the spare key from your pajama pocket and jam it into the lock. As usual, the stubborn landlord forgot to fix Bucky’s locks and the keyhole refuses to cooperate, making you fumble with a few frustrating tries. Meanwhile, the sound of shattering dishes from inside pushes you to move faster.

Finally, the door swings open, and the sight before you makes your jaw drop.

Alpine perched on the kitchen counter, knocking ceramic mugs and plates onto the floor like a little menace.

“Alpine!” you scold, rushing over to scoop her up. “Bad girl!”

She settles into your arms, purring as if she didn’t just wreak havoc moments ago. 

But as you scan the apartment, a new realization settles in— Bucky is nowhere to be found.

“Bucky?” you call again, but the silence confirms it. He’s not here.

With a sigh, you pull out your phone with your free hand and type out a quick message.

Me: Alpine was wreaking havoc in your apartment. I used the spare key to get in and I’ll be taking care of her at my place. 

[11:58 AM]

You send a text to him and pocket your phone. You set Alpine down on the floor, scold her again, and then she makes her way to her cardboard box bed that's nestled in the corner of his apartment. 

Running a hand through your hair, you take in the damage. Shards of ceramic and glass scattered across the floor. As you carefully begin to clean up, your mind drifts back as to why bucky didn’t check in with you? 

Why didn’t he at least let you know he’d be gone?

And then, your thoughts inevitably circle back to the kiss.

A sudden ache in your heart tugs at you at the idea of Bucky avoiding you completely over a kiss. 

You want to so badly confront him about it, but at the same time, there might’ve been an emergency for whatever job he’s doing which resulted in leaving Alpine alone. 

After you finally finish cleaning Alpine’s mess in his apartment, you get a text from him. 

Bucky: Thanks. I’ll be back later tonight.

[12:24 PM]

Your eyes narrow at his short and curt text. But you choose not to dwell too much about it, it’s not like he is known to text with much enthusiasm to begin with.

—

It’s been a few hours since you retrieved Alpine from Bucky’s apartment. You’ve spent the day doing the usual— working, cleaning, cooking, and mindlessly binge watching shows. 

And yet, despite the distractions, you keep checking your phone. More often than usual. You’re trying to convince yourself that this is just your habit, but deep down you’re hoping to find Bucky’s name pop on your screen.

This is bad, you think. You should be excited. In less than two weeks, you’ll finally be going home, seeing your family, getting a break from everything. 

That should be your focus. And yet, all your thoughts seem to revolve around Bucky.

Then your phone dings. Speak of the devil. 

Bucky: Hey, will be running late tonight

[6:34 PM]

And then another ding. 

Bucky: How is Alpine doing? 

[6:35 PM]

Your chest tightens. He’s checking in on Alpine, but not on you. Not once has he asked how you’ve been. Not once has he acknowledged the kiss.

You hesitate, your fingers hovering over the screen.

Is it unfair to feel this way? To feel even the slightest bit disappointed? He’s just being a responsible pet owner, nothing more. Of course, he’d ask about Alpine. That’s normal. But what about you?

Does he even wonder how you’re doing?

After spending all of last night and today consumed by thoughts of him—questioning where you stand, if he regrets it, if anything between you has shifted… you can’t help but wish he’d ask.

If there were any motivation or hopes to talk and bring it up to him– it’s all slowly sinking away. It’s stupid having this one sided tension that could probably be resolved in one question, but your pride is getting the best of you. 

Instead, you snap a picture of Alpine laying on your lap and type out a response. 

Me: She’s doing good. Here’s a picture.  

[IMAGE ATTACHED]

[6:38 PM]

A few minutes later, a reply from Bucky. 

Bucky: That’s my girl. 

[6:44 PM]

You scoff lightly at his response and then the corners of your lips tug into a smirk. Figures. You’d never stand a chance against a man and his cat.

—

You had taken a nap for about three hours on your couch. As you stir awake, your eyes land on Alpine, comfortably perched on the windowsill, watching the city lights flicker in the distance.

Glancing at the clock, you see it’s nine fifty-four in the evening. 

Instinctively, you check your phone and notice a missed text from Bucky. A slight panic flutters in your chest as you open it.

Bucky: Will be home in 10. 

[9:32 PM]

A quick comparison of the timestamps tells you one thing— he’s running late.

“Alpie, c’mere, girl.” you pat your thigh as you beckon to Alpine.

She stretches lazily, letting out a yawn before slowly padding over to you. With a swift motion, you scoop her up in your arms and make your way down the hall to Bucky’s apartment.

You’re exhausted and just want an uninterrupted night’s sleep in your own bed. Besides, Alpine seems mellow tonight—too sleepy to cause any trouble. You doubt she’ll be knocking over any dishes this time. And with Bucky expected home soon, it only makes sense to bring her back now.

Slipping your spare key into the lock, you enter his apartment, flicking on the light before setting Alpine down. 

She immediately trots over to her prized possession— her slightly flattened cardboard box bed– and settles in.

You exhale, ready to turn back toward your own apartment, but hesitation tugs at you.

Alpine might seem calm for now, but she’s proven time and time again just how unpredictable she can be. 

One moment, she’s peacefully staring out the window, and the next, she’s causing absolute chaos.

With a small sigh, you decide to wait a few more minutes… just in case.

Sinking onto Bucky’s couch, you pull out your phone and shoot him a quick text.

Me: Home anytime soon?  

[10:02 PM]

Thirty more minutes had passed, and you didn’t realize it but you had taken another nap on his couch. Snapping yourself awake and straightening yourself, you turn to look at Alpine who is sleeping peacefully on her piece of cardboard. 

Running a hand through your hair, you decide to get up. She’s asleep, so danger is in the clear for now. 

As you’re about to make your way to the front of his door, you take one last look around his apartment. 

It’s still empty and very sad looking. Your eyes trail down the dimly lit hallway, where two doors stand closed—one leading to the bathroom, the other to his bedroom.

You check your phone. Still nothing from Bucky. 

Tucking your phone in your pocket, curiosity gets the best of you. 

Quietly, you make your way down the hall, your footsteps light against the floor. You barely spare the bathroom a glance, drawn instead to the other door— the one leading to his space.

Pushing it open, you step inside.

The room is simple, yet undeniably his. It’s a contrast from how his living room looked. It was still simple, but it had some personality.

The dark blue sheets and pillows are unmade, a chaotic mess sprawled across the mattress. Your gaze shifts to the bedside table, where a stack of books is piled haphazardly. 

At the very top, a red notebook catches your attention.

You pick it up, and at first glance you immediately know it is a journal. Yeah, you’re peeking into his bedroom without his permission– but snooping in his personal journal was going way too far, so you set the notebook down.

You continue looking around his room, and you see a small vintage-looking CD player with various CDs stacked ontop of each other– old and new– on his dark wood drawers. You browse through them. 

Most of them are remastered editions of music from the ‘40s, but one in particular catches your eye. 

An Aerosmith CD. 

Your lips part slightly in surprise.

You remember the first day you met him. He had come up to your door, angry, and insulting your music choice. And now, he has a copy of an Aerosmith CD sitting in his room. 

Did he start listening to them because of you?

The thought sends a warmth through your chest, an unexpected but welcome feeling. For all the ways Bucky Barnes is difficult to read, this— this … feels like a small, undeniable piece of proof.

You feel known . You feel seen .

Oh, no. There’s no denying it now. You are undeniably , and maybe even hopelessly in love with Bucky Barnes.

You’re sitting there, grinning like an idiot at his CD collection when a familiar, gruff voice cuts through the air.

“What are you doing?” 

You spin around so fast, you nearly drop the CD in your hand. Hastily, you set it back down as your eyes land on Bucky, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, staring at you with narrowed eyes.

“Oh! Bucky— I… uh…” you scramble for an excuse, your mind racing as he watches you, unamused.

“Let me guess, window shopping?” he questions, pushing off the doorframe and taking a step towards you. 

Instinctively, you take a step back into his drawers. Your heart is pounding so loud in your chest, he can probably hear it. 

Bucky takes another step closer to you, his blue eyes switching from yours, to the Aerosmith CD you were looking at, and then back at you. 

Then— he smirks.

You immediately cross your arms, already on the defensive. You don’t know what he’s thinking. Is he about to bring up the kiss? Acknowledge it in some way? Or is he going to act like it never happened, slipping right back into his usual snarky remarks?

You can’t take this tension anymore, so you clear your throat and speak up first. “You came home late,” the room is dark, but you examine his features, “And this time you didn’t come home beat up and bloodied.” 

The only light in the room is the soft glow of the night lamp on his bedside table, casting shadows across his face. 

It’s hard to make out the finer details of his expression, but you can feel the intensity in the air.

Bucky takes a step closer to you, and then another one. He gets closer, and you see that look in his eyes that you recognize. A very soft— almost vulnerable look.

The way he looks at you is like you are a sight for sore eyes.

Your breath catches in your throat as you swallow nervously, unsure of what to say next, or if you should say anything at all. He hasn’t responded to you yet, but his gaze holds so much longing.

What catches you off guard is his next move. Bucky raises his hand up with the intention to reach out to you, to touch you. When he sees that you’re not pulling away, his rough hand touches your soft cheeks, gently caressing your soft skin under his touch. 

He shuts his eyes for a moment, breathing out a shaky sigh, as though he’s been waiting to do this all day.

“Bucky…?” you whisper quietly, vulnerability in your voice.

“It’s just… nice to see you,” he says, his voice rough, yet soft, almost like he’s afraid of saying too much.

His actions are so soft and vulnerable, as if the entire day of silence and distance never happened. You feel a knot in your stomach— an urge to ask about the kiss, about what it meant, about what’s going on between you two… but you’re scared.

Scared that bringing it up might break the fragile moment you’re sharing now. But still, you feel you should bring it up. 

You raise your hand to rest your palm gently over his hand, still resting on your cheek. You let your fingers curl slightly, feeling the roughness of his skin against yours. 

“About last night…” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure of how to continue, but needing to say something.

Bucky opens his eyes at your touch. Your soft and smaller hands against his. His eyebrows are knitted, and he takes another step closer to you. “Yes, we still need to finish,”

Before you can respond, Bucky closes the rest of the distance between you, his body leaning in, his breath warm against your skin, “If… you’d let me?” he continues. 

His gaze flickers from your eyes, to your hand resting on his, to your lips as he waits for your response. You don’t know what to say, but the thumping of your heart is loud enough to speak for itself. 

Bucky slowly leans in, giving you all the time you need to pull away, and once you don’t, he presses his lips against yours once more. 

This time, it’s softer, steady, and patient. You melt into it, feeling the warmth of his touch, the tenderness in the way he kisses you, as if he's savoring every moment.

Bucky’s hand slowly slips down to your waist, his touch gentle at first, but as his lips press harder against yours, you feel a shift. His flesh hand tightens slightly around your waist, pulling you closer to him, and the sensation catches you off guard, making you gasp.

He takes that opportunity and slips his tongue in. The kiss grows hungrier, more frantic, and you can’t help but respond, your body instinctively leaning into his. 

Without breaking the kiss, Bucky takes a step back, guiding you gently toward the bed. His lips never leave yours, and you can feel his warm breath against your skin as he leads you backwards. 

You stumble slightly, caught in the rhythm of his movements, but his hand on your back keeps you steady. When your knees hit the edge of the bed, Bucky pauses for a moment, his eyes locking with yours, dark with desire and something else, something deeper. 

He doesn’t need to say anything, his gaze speaking volumes as he slowly sits down, pulling you onto his lap without breaking the kiss. You straddle him and your hands slide into his hair with a slight tug. He groans at that and the kiss gets even more desperate. 

With his hands around your waist, he grabs you off his lap and pushes your back down to the bed with urgency. He helps you out of your pajama pants so you’re left with just your shirt. His hips are nestled between your legs. 

He pulls away from your mouth and begins to trail down your chin, and starts biting and sucking on your neck, leaving a trail of marks to show you belong to him.

He pulls away from your neck with heavy breathing and removes one hand off your waist and slowly drags it down to your hip and to your thigh, gently prying your leg farther apart so he has more space to rest between you. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, his voice low and coarse, “Once we start, I can’t stop.” 

You look up at him, the dim warm light of his lamp emitting on your soft features. Bucky has to physically tear his gaze away from you, to hold back so he doesn’t do something you’ll both regret.

“I don’t want you to stop.” You mutter softly, your gaze never left his.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut as he hovers over you, “I’m warning you right now, once it happens I won’t be able to control myself,” he lets out a low exhale, “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.” 

Your hand touches his cheek, slowly tugging him to face you again. He opens his eyes and looks at you, and every thread he’s hanging onto is snapping.

“I said, I don’t want you to stop.” 

With that, Bucky leans in again and kisses you with even more desperation. It’s wet, sloppy, and hungry. You feel your core tightening and the dampness in between your legs. 

You need this so bad, but Bucky moves like he needs it way more. 

His metal hand tugs on your pajama shirt with urgency. Before you can even attempt to take it off, he rips it right off. One simple tug tears away the fabric in a swift movement, the ripping sound of the cloth piercing through the air.

“Can’t… wait anymore, I’m sorry.” He mutters desperately. 

Before you can say anything, he moves his head down to your chest and takes in one nipple bud in his mouth. His cool tongue grazes over it and he begins sucking on it with desperation. His flesh hand is softly tugging and rubbing on the other one in a frantic circle.

You instinctively arch your head back, “Bucky…” you moan out. You’re not even touching him, but the sound of your voice is enough to make him groan out in pleasure.

“Please, I need more,” you beg. 

You can feel his smirk against your boobs.

“Yeah? How bad do you need it? Tell me.” He says in a low and rough voice, his tongue teasing against your hardened nipple.

You groan in sexual frustration. Of course, he’d be teasing you right now.

“I need it so bad, Bucky. I really really need you.” 

Bucky’s flesh hand moves from your nipple and slides down between your thighs. His fingers gently palm against your damped panties. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he pushes your panties to the side and inserts one finger, slowly and testing. When he sees how compliant and warm you are to his entry, he inserts another one and quickened his pace. 

He watches as you arch your back, your hand tugging on his hair and the other tugging on the bed sheets. You gasp and pant, “Bucky, please. More, I need more.” 

Bucky looks at you with a careful gaze, his mouth slightly parted as he’s hypnotized watching you take so much pleasure in just his fingers alone. He’s aching against his dark jeans and he desperately needs to release, to set himself free. 

As you continue to moan and writhe under him, he realizes now he can’t take it anymore. The last thread that was holding him steady finally snapped. He removed his fingers from your tight cunt and you let out a gasp at the sudden emptiness. 

You look down and see him unbuckling his belt and unzipping himself. He pulls himself out of his confines and gives himself a slow and steady stroke. You’re watching him in awe, using your elbows to prop yourself up to get a better look.

He was long, hard, and thick. It was definitely a sight, and it was so frustrating to think that your insanely infuriating yet equally as attractive neighbor was packing like this all along. 

“Careful, doll,” he mutters, continuing to stroke his length. “If you keep your mouth open like that, you’re inviting me to use it.” 

You didn’t even realize you had your mouth hung open in surprise, so when he calls you out on it you instinctively close your lips and swallow nervously. But his threat sends you a deep thrill to your core. 

Bucky slowly pulls your panties off, a complete contrast of how he ripped your shirt wide open. You kind of wished he would do the same for your underwear.

He begins to hover over you, using his metal arm to steady himself. His other hand holds his cock against your wet folds. Rubbing his aching and leaking tip against your entrance, he looks at you, his blue eyes dark and inviting. 

“Remember, I can’t stop once I start.” He warns. 

“Just put it in already, please.” You beg desperately, growing impatient. Your hands reach to his back to keep yourself stable. 

You can hear him let out a low chuckle as he slowly pushes himself into you. 

The tip of his leaking cock finally enters your warm body. As he slowly sinks in deeper, he lets out a small shudder and throws his head back. It’s like he’s still trying to hold himself back. 

You moan with him, “Oh, Bucky..!” your hands palming his wide and muscular back, inviting him deeper. When you notice he’s still hesitant, you wrap your legs around his hips and apply pressure to urge him against you. 

With that, he completely sinks into you and lets out a rough gasp, “Fuck… you’re–” he swallows as one hand moves from your thigh to your hip, gripping it, “You’re so fucking tight, God. I needed this, I need you.” 

He slowly starts to move his hips, his body now resting on top of yours, his hot breath tickling your neck in between wet kisses and suckling. 

“Shit, doll. You’re taking it so good–” Bucky moans into your neck, giving your hip a tight squeeze before bringing it up to your bare breast, palming it with need.

“I was thinking about you all day, your lips, your body… your taste… how you would– fuck – feel, with me inside you–” 

He’s a babbling and moaning mess. 

You can’t help but let out a seductive chuckle in between your moans and pants, “God, I needed you so bad, too. Please, please keep fucking me like this, it feels so good.” 

He groans at your words, his hand moving from your hard nipple to your hair, giving it a harsh tug that makes you moan out in a mixture of pleasure and pain, 

“You don’t know how bad I’ve wanted to do this,” he pants, “To go down the hall, break down your door, and fuck you for pissing me off so much.” 

Bucky continues sucking and kissing your neck, marking you as his own. 

“Sometimes you make me want to fuck that snarky mouth of yours, to kiss you, and then hold you gently, then– fuck, baby …” he throws his head back, not finishing his sentence. 

His hard and relentless cock is pistoning in and out of you. The wet sounds of your mixed pleasures and the bed creaking echoing in the room. 

He’s so desperate for you, fucking you with absolute need and desire, and you’re taking in every thrust with the utmost pleasure and satisfaction. He’s fucking you so hard and good, the bed just might break. 

Bucky continues taking you erratically, and you feel yourself getting close to the edge. 

“Bucky, please, please don’t stop,” you beg desperately. You look up at him with your soft and half lidded eyes. Bucky looks down at you, and lets out a low snarl at the sight. 

You’re helpless and bare underneath him, taking in every inch of him. He finally has you where he wants you. He’s dreamed about this very moment. 

At the sight, he quickened his pace, wanting nothing more than to be able to give you the satisfaction of coming undone all over his cock. 

“Beg for it,” he demands, “Beg for me , doll. Tell me how much you wanted me to fuck you like this.” 

He punctuates his words with rough thrusts. The sounds of your guys’ bare skins slapping with wetness. 

“Please, please!” You gasp out as his speed heightens, “Fuck. Bucky, I need you, I always needed you. To fuck me, just like-- just like this.” you babble incoherently. 

Bucky smirks, that annoyingly handsome stupid grin he always does when he’s about to tease you. 

“You’re such a good doll for me,” he says breathily. He feels you getting tighter around him, your wet walls coming down on him. He knows you’re close, and he feels it too. 

“Fuck, baby. I’m going to cum soon–” he gasps, his hands desperately feeling all of you. From your hair, to your neck, to your breasts. Everywhere. 

You bring your legs tighter around him, squeezing him in. “I’m gonna cum, Bucky!” you pant, feeling helpless, wet. Your tight cunt clenched around him, giving into the pleasure he’s providing you. 

You gasp out as he continues fucking you through your orgasm, the pleasure is unbearable.

“Ohh, shit– doll, I’m gonna– ” he yells out. His metal hand instinctively goes back to your hair, giving it a final and harsh tug as he hilts himself into you deeper, releasing all of him inside of you. 

He continues riding out his orgasm, his hips grinding against yours as he comes to a slow. He stays hilted inside of you, his body pressing into yours and giving you soft kisses on your sweaty neck. 

You’re both laying there, panting with him on top of you as he trails his kisses upwards from your neck, to your jaw, to your cheeks. 

He stops right before your lips and pushes a strand of your hair drenched in sweat away from your face.

“You’re beautiful,” he says sweetly before leaning in, giving you a soft kiss that you return with equal earnestness. 

He pulls away and lays next to you, becoming the big spoon as he pulls you close against his clothed chest, your gaze wanders off. The post-sex high is coming down. 

What the hell did you two just do? 

Chapter Text

As the morning sun creeps through Bucky’s dark blinds, your eyes flutter open. 

The memories of last night— everything that transpired between you and Bucky— come rushing back.

A shiver runs through you at the thought. Gently lifting the blanket, you realize you’re still bare beneath the sheets. His metal arm rests loosely around your waist, its cool touch sending another shiver down your spine.

Turning your head slightly, you take in the sight of Bucky sleeping peacefully beside you. A soft warmth spreads through your chest, wrapping around you like a quiet embrace. 

You feel happy that he didn’t leave. You nestle down on the bed, your warm hand gently caressing the stubble on his chin and then to his cheek. 

He stirs in his sleep, his eyes fluttering open at the sensation of your touch. A small, drowsy smile tugs at his lips as he gazes at you through half-lidded eyes.

“You stayed,” he murmurs, his voice laced with sleep.

The metal hand that once rested on your hip slowly moves upward, hesitating just before it reaches your cheek. He pauses, searching your eyes, his blue gaze soft and unguarded. 

Then, with a gentle touch, he brushes his bionic fingers against your skin, his movements both tentative and tender.

You hum at his touch and his tired smile grows wider, “I was afraid you’d be gone in the morning.” He says. 

You let out a tired chuckle. “Where could I have gone? I live right down the hall.” 

He laughs in response, and for once, it doesn’t sound like the usual irritation of your back-and-forth banter. It’s softer, and melodic to your ears.

There is tense silence between the two of you as you both stare longingly in each other’s eyes, his cold metal fingers still lingering on your cheek. 

Your mind races with unspoken questions. You want to know where you stand, what this means for the two of you. 

After last night, rejection seems impossible—doesn’t it? If he won’t bring it up, then maybe you should.

“Hey, Bucky—” you barely get the words out before his phone starts ringing on the nightstand.

Perfect timing.

Bucky instinctively turns to it, flipping it open with a glance at the screen. Probably Sam. He gives you a silent look that says I gotta take this and presses his phone to his ear.

“What?” he says impatiently to the phone.

The muffled voice from the other line confirms that it is indeed Sam. 

He lets out a few grunts, seasoned with the occasional “Mhm” and “Yeah.” With a tired sigh, he flips his phone shut and sets it back on the nightstand.

He meets your gaze with a slight frown, “Sorry, I have to go. Work-” 

“Work stuff, yeah, I figured,” you cut in, trying to sound indifferent, but the disappointment in your voice is more obvious than you’d like.

Bucky notices the hint of disappointment in your voice but decides not to comment. Instead, he silently gets up from the bed and begins pulling on his clothes.

You turn away, giving him a moment of privacy. “Will you be home late, again?” you ask before you can stop yourself. 

He ponders for a moment and scratches the stubble on his chin, “I’m not sure.” 

Great. Now you sound like a clingy girlfriend, except you guys don’t even have a title yet. 

In fact, you guys haven’t talked about any of this. One thing just led to another with no communication, and now it’s starting to eat at you a little bit knowing he’ll be gone again today— meaning the opportunity to talk is delayed yet again. 

You feel like you should bring it up, so that way at least he knows that you want to talk about it. 

“When you get back, I’d like to talk. About us,” you say calmly, clutching the blanket to your bare chest.

Bucky zips up his jeans and looks at you, his expression unreadable. “Okay, sure.”

For a brief moment, you think he might kiss you goodbye, but he doesn’t. Instead, he simply grabs his jacket from the floor, slips it on, and walks out the door, leaving as if nothing had happened at all.

You lay back down on his bed, staring at the ceiling, willing yourself not to overthink. 

But it’s impossible. Not when you’re here, wrapped up in his space, lying bare in his bed, surrounded by everything Bucky.  

His scent lingers on the sheets, making it even harder to push your thoughts aside.

By the time he gets back, you already know exactly what you want to ask him. Where you two stand, what this relationship even is, what he actually does for work, and who the people he works with really are.

But the waiting is unbearable. You can’t take it anymore. 

Frustration wells up inside you, and with a groan, you drag your hands down your face before suddenly sitting up.  

You quickly redress in a sudden urgency, make your way to Alpine, scoop her up in your arms and trot down your apartment. 

When you get back to your apartment, finally away from Bucky’s smell, you set Alpine down and fill her bowl– a bowl that you got specifically for her when you started taking care of her. 

In the meantime, while you wait for Bucky, you decide to give the one person you know you could count on a call. 

Your sister. 

Slumping down on your couch, you pull your phone from the pocket of your pajama pants and scroll through your contacts until you find your sister’s name.

It only rings two, maybe three times before she picks up.

Before she can even say hello, you start rambling immediately in a rush, “You would never believe what just happened.” 

There’s a brief pause on the other end, and you’re not sure if it's the connection or if your sister is hesitating to speak. 

“What happened?” she mutters, her voice shaky. 

You notice this immediately. 

Suddenly, all thoughts related to Bucky were pushed aside and you sat up straight, gripping your phone. The only thing you care about now is making sure your sister is okay. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your voice firm with concern. “Is everything okay?”

She pauses again, but you can hear her shaky breath through the phone.

“Tell me.” you demand, your patience wearing thin when she doesn’t respond. 

Your sister inhales sharply before speaking in a small and timid voice, “It’s… mom,” she stops again, like she’s waiting to hear your reaction. 

A cold chill creeps down your spine. The way she’s dragging this out is suffocating. You can’t take it anymore.

“Just fucking tell me already!” you snap, your frustration boiling over.

“It’s at stage four,” she blurts out suddenly. Then, she speaks in a quieter tone and sounds like she's on the verge of holding back tears, “Her cancer… it’s at stage four.” 

The moment those words hit, everything around you comes to a sudden halt. 

A strange buzzing fills your ears, drowning out the world. It’s like you’ve been pulled into a different reality. One that’s cold, gray, and suffocatingly quiet.

You always knew she wasn’t getting better. But after hearing she had been doing better mentally , you let yourself believe that maybe , her body would soon follow.

You can only begin to imagine the heartache she’s going through.

Finally reaching a good mental space after everything— only to be hit with news like this . How do you even begin to process that? How does someone find the strength to recover from something so cruel?

Suddenly, you’re snapped back to reality, and you feel tears forming in your eyes. Everything has just been so mentally exhausting. 

“I’m flying over there,” you say firmly, pushing up from the couch and heading straight for your closet.

The surprised tone in your sister’s voice is evident, “What? But you’re not supposed to be here for another two weeks–”  

“I know. I don’t care.” Your voice wavers for half a second, but you push through it, trying to sound steady, strong. Yanking your suitcase from the corner, you throw it open and start tossing in clothes without a second thought. You don’t even bother folding it or organizing it, you just need to get it done. “I should’ve been there months ago.”

She sighs on the other end. “I know, but… can you even get the time off? And what about that babysitting thing… with Bucky’s cat?”

Pausing for a moment at the mention of his name. You look out your door and see Alpine grooming herself down the hall. 

“I’ll figure it out. I’m getting my flight changed to today and I’ll text you the details, I need to finish packing.” 

You can feel the tension through the phone. You can feel her reluctance, the way she knows you’re not in the right headspace for this. But this isn’t just anything.

This is Mom .

So, she understands.

“Alright. Text me.” she says softly, “Will you be okay?” 

No. You won’t be okay. After hearing this, nothing will be okay. 

“Yeah,” you lie right through your teeth. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Then, you both hang up. 

You look down at your phone. You’re considering sending a text to Bucky, or wait until he’s home to let him know that he’s going to need to find a last minute babysitter for Alpine. 

After how abruptly he left this morning, you felt like you shouldn’t bother him further. You’ll just tell him when he gets home. 

—

After packing your bags, emailing work about your unexpected time off, and rescheduling your flight to the next available one, which was later this afternoon, you realize you have no idea when Bucky will be home. 

With only two hours before you need to leave for the airport, you decide to send him a quick text.

Me: Something came up. I’m going to the airport in two hours to fly back home. 

[2:33 PM]

Me: Not sure when you’ll be home, but Alpine will be alone for a while. 

[2:34 PM]

You don’t expect an immediate reply, so when his response comes almost instantly, it catches you off guard.

Bucky: Call me.

[2:35 PM]

Letting out a sigh, you tap on his contact and press the call button. The phone rings three times before he picks up.

“You’re leaving?” he says immediately, not sparing you a chance for a greeting. 

“I am,” you reply, rubbing the space between your eyebrows. “I’m going to visit my mom.”

Silence lingers on the line, like he’s searching for the right words. This is typical of him, he always seems to struggle with words. 

“I thought you still had two weeks,” he said curiously, a hint of concern lacing in his voice. 

When he realizes you’re not responding, he continues speaking. 

“I’m sorry,” he says after a pause. “I…I wish I could be there for you.” His words are unexpectedly sympathetic, catching you off guard. 

In the background, you hear a man’s voice. Sam’s, you recognized it immediately— but there’s also a woman’s voice you don’t recognize. 

Then, there’s a loud crashing noise, followed by what sounds suspiciously like gunshots. The audio from his flip phone is so bad that everything comes through as a jumbled mess.

“Buck!” Sam’s voice cuts through the noise.

A few more muffled sounds you can’t quite place, and then Bucky’s back on the line.

“I have to go,” he says quickly, more rustling in the background, “but we’ll have that talk as soon as you get back.” He pauses. “I promise.” 

Then, the line goes dead, abruptly cutting off.

Despite everything happening, you feel oddly comforted by his words. The fact that he brought up the conversation you’d wanted to have shows he’s been thinking about it, too. You worry about him, of course, but Bucky always comes back in one piece, even if it’s sometimes with a few cuts and bruises.

You glance down at the scattered clothes in your suitcase, then up at the clock hanging above your bed. 

Time is ticking, and you have so much to do. 

—

After several hours of travel, you finally arrive at the airport, where your sister is waiting for you. 

The moment you see each other, you’re wrapped in a tight hug, tears welling up as emotions spill over. After a few minutes of tears and light conversation, you find yourself in the passenger seat of her car, heading straight to the hospital.

“Are you sure you don’t want to settle in at home first?” she asks, sparing you a quick glance while keeping both hands steady on the wheel. “Your old room is all cleaned up and ready for you.”

You shrug and look out the window, admiring the scenery of what you once called home, “I just want to see Mom.” 

She nods, “You should tell Mom about that Bucky guy. She’d love to hear you’re talking to someone new— someone you didn’t meet on a dating app for once.” 

You bite your lip. Oddly enough, Bucky hadn’t crossed your mind at all during the trip. Your thoughts had been consumed by Mom, by home, by everything waiting for you here. 

Now that she mentioned him, you feel a slight aching tug at your chest. 

“Actually… I was going to update you earlier on the phone, but…” You trail off, fiddling nervously with your fingers in your lap.

She notices the shift in your demeanor and frowns. “What happened?”

During the ride to the hospital, you give your sister the rundown. How you guys didn’t talk after the kiss, how you both slept together, the way he left abruptly. 

Her jaw practically drops as she grips the steering wheel. “Wait. You guys slept together!?” she exclaims, eyes wide in disbelief.

You rub your tired eyes with your fingers, “Yeah, I know. Sex before communication always works wonders, right?” you say sarcastically. 

Your sister grins, “What do you mean? Sex is the communication!” she teases which slightly lightens the mood. 

She pulls into the hospital parking lot, and you step out of the car, bracing yourself. Inside, you spot your dad sitting in the waiting room, exhaustion written all over his face. You wrap him in a hug, and he squeezes you back.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he says softly, then studies you for a moment. “Are you ready to see Mom?”

You’re not. Not even close. Nothing could prepare you for the weight of seeing her like this. But still, you nod and follow them down the hall.

As you step into the room, you find her lying in bed, gazing absently at the textured ceiling. But the second she hears your footsteps, her tired eyes shift to you— and suddenly, they brighten.

“Oh, my baby girl,” she breathes, already reaching for you.

“Hi, Mom,” you whisper, stepping into her arms.

— 

After what seems like an eternity catching up, you decided to bring up Bucky to her for the first time. 

You started all the way from the beginning. How you two met and got off the wrong foot, how you both were throwing jabs at each other every time you saw each other, how he adopted a cat that you helped take care of, and how you two slowly started warming up to each other. 

“Sounds like a sappy rom-com,” your sister chimes with a smirk.

When you got to the part where you both kissed and, well… slept together the day after, your Mom was overjoyed over the fact that you were finally getting some, as sad as it was to admit.

“Oh, that sounds straight out of a movie!” your mom says gleefully, agreeing with your sister. “Do you have a picture? I’d love to see the man who’s courting my daughter.”

A sudden blush creeps up your neck. “Well, he’s not exactly courting me,” you mumble, instinctively pulling out your phone and opening your camera roll— only to freeze.

You don’t have a single picture of Bucky. But you do have plenty of his cat.

Swallowing nervously, you slip your phone back into your pocket. “I… actually don’t have any pictures of him.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you can feel the silent judgment radiating from your family. Your mom, ever the optimist, simply shakes her head with a gentle smile.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s very handsome.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “He is.”

— 

After hours of laughing and more catching up, you all collectively decided to go back to the house and allowed your Mom to rest for the remainder of the night in the hospital. 

Back in your childhood bedroom, nostalgia washes over you as you take in the familiar surroundings. The years may have passed, but everything still feels the same. 

The moment you collapse onto the bed, exhaustion finally catches up with you. But one thought lingers in your mind, and that’s Bucky.

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you notice a missed text from him.

Bucky: Are you 6kay?

[3:33 PM]

You chuckle to yourself over the fact that he mistyped the O. 

Me: Could be better. 

[10:23 PM]

The moment your message sends, your phone vibrates with an incoming call from Bucky. Your heart skips a beat. Is he in trouble? Without hesitation, you answer.

“Bucky?” you say, pressing the phone to your ear. “Is everything okay? Why did you suddenly call?”

“I don’t know,” he says with tiredness in his voice, “I just wanted to hear you.” 

You scoff, but the smile creeping onto your lips betrays you. “No snarky comments today?” you tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

There’s some shuffling on his end before he replies, “Considering we had sex last night—”

“Alright, alright!” you blurt out with a laugh following after. Bucky also chuckles on the other end. 

A comfortable silence settles between you before you clear your throat. “You know… if you’re free, maybe we could have that conversation now? Over the phone?”

There’s a moment of silence from Bucky, like he’s contemplating for a moment.

“No, not today. You probably went through a lot,” he finally says, “And I would rather talk to you face to face.” 

You can’t help but roll onto your side, feeling like a teenage girl with a crush. “Can I at least ask you one thing?”

“Anything.” 

A lump forms in your throat, but you push past it. “Do… Do you actually like me?” The words feel fragile, but you need to know. “Or whatever happened last night… Was it just a one time thing?”

If this was just wishful thinking, you’d rather not waste your time holding on to something that isn’t real. You’ve already been through so much today,  you’re pretty sure you can handle the rejection. 

Another pause. 

Then, in that familiar, low voice, he asks, “Remember when I told you I don’t waste my time on people who aren’t worth it?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“I think you’re worth it.”

It wasn’t a direct ‘yes’ or ‘no’, but it was enough. Enough to send a rush of warmth through you, enough to make your heart flutter. Lying there with your eyes shut, you try, and fail, to contain the bright smile spreading across your face.

He notices your silence and speaks up again, “Sam has been bugging me to hang out again, all four of us.”

“Four of us?” you ask curiously.

“Yeah, this time his girlfriend, Sharon, is coming.” Bucky shrugs, you can hear the shuffle of it from your phone. “I think you’d like her. I don’t. I find her infuriating.” 

“Well, in that case, me and her will get along just nicely,” you say teasingly and your hear Bucky’s lighthearted scoff on the other end.

“When are you coming home?” he suddenly asks you.

Funny how the roles have reversed. This time, he’s the one asking when you’ll be back.

“In a week.” 

He hums in acknowledgment, the sound deep and thoughtful. “When you get back, I’ll tell you everything. About me, where I disappear to for most of the day… and then us .”

His words are a quiet reassurance, a promise that settles deep in your chest. And just like that, you know.

A gentle, undeniable reminder of the truth you didn’t expect to see coming.

You are in love with Bucky Barnes.

— 

It’s been a week since you left, and now you’re finally back. The taxi pulls up in front of your apartment complex, and as the driver helps you retrieve your suitcase from the trunk, something familiar catches your eye— Bucky’s motorcycle, parked in its usual spot. Two helmets are strapped to the seat.

You had texted him earlier today, but he never responded. You assumed he was just busy with work. But if his motorcycle is here…?

Shrugging off the thought, you haul your luggage up the five excruciating flights of stairs to your floor. At your door, you unlock it, push your suitcase inside, and pause.

Your family’s words replay in your mind—how happy they were that you’d found someone who made you genuinely happy. That encouragement fuels you, pushing away any lingering doubt.

With a bubbling excitement at the thought of seeing Bucky again, you step out into the hallway and approach his door. Just as you raise your fist to knock, the door swings open.

Bucky stands there. His gaze lingers on the floor before snapping up to meet yours, eyes wide in surprise. Like he hadn’t expected you to be back so soon.

And then you see her.

A woman stands just behind him, blonde curls falling to her shoulders. She’s beautiful. Stunning, even. And when your eyes meet hers, she subtly tucks herself behind the column in his kitchen, like she’s trying to hide. 

Like she’s guilty of something.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Hi,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t expect you to be back so soon,” Bucky says. He doesn't even say ‘hi’ back. His tone was unreadable.

His words barely register over the ringing in your ears. 

What? 

You told him. You told him you'd be back today. You even texted him. And he ignored you.

Now, here he is. And here she is, a random woman who you know nothing about. And suddenly, the weight of it crashes down on you all at once.

It’s a different kind of pain. Not the sharp, searing kind. No, this one is deeper, heavier. Like something inside you is caving in, crushing you from the inside out. It’s the same ache you felt when you got the news about your mom.

You don’t say anything. You don’t even know what to say, but you know what you’re feeling. And you feel hurt. Betrayed. You can’t even look Bucky in the eyes. 

You turn. Walk away.

The silence is deafening as he watches you retreat to your apartment without a word.  And then— 

SLAM!

The sound of your door slamming shut reverberates through the hallway, leaving the hurt raw and exposed.

Chapter Text

After slamming the door shut, you lean against it, pressing your back against the solid wood as you fight back tears. Your breath catches when you hear footsteps approaching.

"Come on," Bucky’s muffled voice reaches you from the other side. But he’s not speaking to you. He’s speaking to her. 

The woman he was with.

The sound of shuffling footsteps descending the stairs follows, then silence.

Deep down, you had hoped Bucky would come after you. That he would check on you, offer some kind of explanation for what you had just walked in on.

But he didn’t.

Your legs give out, and you sink to the floor, hands clutching your head as sobs finally break free.

When you last visited home, your family had been so sure, so hopeful, that you and Bucky could be something real. They urged you to take a chance, to let your guard down, to stop settling for meaningless dating app disasters.

And for a moment, you had started to believe them.

Did he really mean what he said over the phone?

The way he kissed you—so full of passion, so raw with feeling. The way he touched you, how you came together with the same intensity.

He never brought women into his apartment. Ever. Before things shifted between you, you used to tease him about it, joking that you were the only woman who ever stepped foot in his place.

Knowing that’s no longer true sends an aching sting to your heart.

And now, the idea of Alpine growing familiar with another woman that isn’t you…

You let out a frustrated groan. For some reason, that stings even more.

That conversation you had been waiting for… the one where he would finally let you in, share everything— feels further out of reach than ever.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. Right now, all you want is to get as far away from him as possible.

You don’t even tell your sister about this. You just drag yourself to your bedroom, hit the bed, and fall asleep. 

—

A few hours have passed since you drifted off, and now, soft rays of sunlight filter through your bedroom window.

Blinking awake, you reach for your phone on the nightstand. The screen lights up with a missed message from your sister— she’s happy everyone got to see you and asks if you made it home safely.

But there’s nothing from Bucky.

Your stomach sinks. Somehow, that makes you feel even worse than you did last night.

Still, you can’t afford to dwell on it. You have things to do. It’s Wednesday which is normally one of the days you take care of Alpine. But after last night? That arrangement is officially over.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffle down the hall. But as you step into the living room, your breath catches.

There’s someone lying on your couch.

Who the hell is that?

Stopping just outside your open bathroom door, your eyes land on an unplugged blow dryer resting on the sink counter. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do.

This will be your makeshift weapon. 

Gripping it by the arm like a makeshift baseball bat, you cautiously inch toward the mysterious figure sprawled across your couch. Your heart pounds as you lift your arms, preparing to strike.

Then you see him.

Bucky.

Fast asleep. On your damn couch.

Your arms drop, the blow dryer hanging uselessly at your side. For a brief moment, you consider smacking him anyway— out of sheer frustration, if nothing else.

“What the hell are you doing here!?” You screeched out so loud that he jolts awake. His eyes flutter open, instantly locking onto your looming figure.

He quickly gets up and straightens himself. 

“You’re awake,” he says, his voice rough as he scrambles to get a better look at you.

But as you stand there, taking him in, something catches you off guard. He looks terrible. Scratched up, bruised, dark circles carved under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days. Whatever the hell he’s been through, it shows.

Still, that doesn’t erase your anger. 

“Yeah, no shit,” you snap, that familiar edge creeping back into your voice. “How the hell did you even get into my apartment?”

“The super made me a copy of your key.” 

“That should be fucking illegal.” You bite back with annoyance.

Bucky drags a hand through his hair, shoving both hands into the pockets of his jeans. And then comes that look. The one that’s been testing your patience far too often. 

The look of a man who doesn’t know where to start, who’s hesitating, stalling, like he’s trying to piece his words together but never quite gets there.

You’re getting really tired of it. 

“Well?” you huff, arms crossed tightly. “Are you gonna leave or what?”

“No,” he says firmly. “We need to talk.”

Your eyebrow twitches in irritation. Now he wants to talk? After everything? When it’s already too late?

You don’t want to hear whatever excuse he’s about to make. You don’t want anything to do with him.

A sharp scoff escapes your lips, dripping with mockery. “Talk? You want to fucking talk ?”

Bucky’s face falls, and for a split second, the sadness in his expression makes your chest ache. But you refuse to let it get to you. You tear your gaze away, locking down any lingering hurt.

“I don’t want to talk to you, Bucky,” you say, your voice eerily calm. “Get out. Please.”

But he doesn’t move.

Your patience thins, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Just as you open your mouth to demand he leave again, he hesitates—then slowly reaches a hand out toward you.

“Please…” he begs desperately. 

“I said , get out!” you snap, your voice ringing through the apartment.

Bucky stiffens at your outburst, his hand retreating instantly. Silence hangs between you for a long, suffocating moment.

Then, with a slow exhale, he nods. 

“I’ll go. Because you want me to.” He steps back, but his next words send a chill down your spine.

“But I’m not leaving forever. I’ll be here. Down the hall. Waiting for you.”

And with that, he turns and walks out of your apartment, shutting the door softly on his way out.

— 

It’s been hours since your confrontation with Bucky, and you’ve spent all of them buried in bed, staring at the ceiling, letting the weight of everything sink in.

Your mind drifts to the previous tenant of the apartment down the hall, the sweet old woman, who packed up her life and moved across the country to be with her family. You used to think that was sentimental. 

Now, after visiting your own family, it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

At some point, you catch yourself scrolling through flights back home, even going as far as texting your sister to gauge her reaction.

Me: Thoughts on me moving back in? 

[7:03 PM]

Little sis: Are you crazy? 

[7:10 PM]

You exhale, your grip on your phone tightening. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it is crazy.

But staying here, near Bucky, feels impossible.

So, you start looking at apartments for rent, searching for any way to put distance between you and Bucky. Especially since your lease is still up in the air…

Your stomach growls loudly, reminding you that you’ve done nothing but wallow all day and forget to feed yourself. With a groan, you finally drag yourself out of bed and shuffle toward the fridge.

It’s empty. Of course. 

The grumbling in your stomach persists, begging to be fed. You could technically order delivery, but that would mean staying in bed even longer, and even you know you can’t keep rotting away forever. Sighing, you throw on a jacket over your pajamas, slip on your slippers, and step out of your apartment to make a quick grocery run.

As you lock your door and turn around, something catches your eye. It’s Bucky’s apartment door, propped open with a door stopper.

As much as you try to resist, curiosity gets the better of you. You lean slightly, peering inside.

Bucky is curled up on his tiny, beat-up two-seater couch, looking almost too comically large for it. Alpine is sprawled across his chest, paws kneading into him as she slow blinks at his exhausted face.

Your heart clenches.

He looks so out of place, so worn down, and yet, with Alpine nestled on top of him, there’s something strangely soft about the scene.

And then, as if she senses you, Alpine perks up.

Meow!

She leaps off Bucky and trots toward you, her tiny paws padding across the hallway floor. The ache in your chest deepens as you instinctively kneel down, running your fingers through her soft fur as she purrs into your familiar touch.

From inside, Bucky stirs. He follows Alpine’s movement, and then he sees you.

His tired eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the exhaustion, the tension, the weight of everything seems to shift.

His gaze softens. He gets up and mutters your name. At first, he moves quickly— like he’s afraid you’ll shut him out again, like he knows he only has seconds before you slip away. But as he reaches the middle of the hallway, meeting you halfway, his steps slow.

Bucky looks down at the sight of you, and his cat.

“She misses her mom,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes never leave you.

You don’t look at him. Instead, you focus on Alpine, who presses herself deeper into your palm, purring like she has no idea what’s going on between the two of you. Or maybe she does. Maybe she’s trying to fix it in the only way she knows how.

You let out a quiet hum in response, nothing more.

Bucky swallows hard, watching you, his heart tightening at how distant you feel even when you’re standing right in front of him.

He takes another cautious step forward.

“Please,” his voice wavers, the vulnerability slipping through. “Let me talk to you.”

You frown, pulling yourself to your feet. Alpine lets out a small, protesting meow at the sudden loss of your touch.

“I don’t know what to say to you,” you admit, your voice quieter than you expected.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he responds instantly, almost desperately. “Just let me explain. Let me tell you everything. Please. ”

Finally, you meet his gaze.

He looks exhausted— like the weight of the past day, maybe even longer, has drained him completely. And despite everything, despite the hurt still sitting heavy in your chest, your heart does that thing again. 

That ache. That pull.

Your eyes flick past him, to his open door. 

Then, the realization hits you. He left it open on purpose.

He kept it open all day, waiting. Hoping you’d step out, so he could have another chance to see you, to talk to you.

You let out a long sigh, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “Fine,” you say, reluctant but resigned. 

Because even though your voice carries hesitation, even though every part of you is telling you to guard yourself,  deep down, you want to let Bucky in.

You grab Alpine and cradle her in your arms like she’s a child of divorce and wordlessly step back into your apartment. Bucky lets out a sigh of relief as he follows after you. 

Now, the two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch, a large amount of space between the two of you. Alpine is curled up in your lap, purring contently as you stroke her soft fur.

Bucky watches, and you catch the way his face falls slightly… like he’s just realized he’s lost the silent battle for Alpine’s affection. If Alpine were your guys’ biological daughter, she’d definitely have a favorite parent, and it wouldn’t be him.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands fidgeting in his lap. 

“I don’t know where to start,” he mutters, his voice weighed down by uncertainty. “There’s a lot.”

“Well, you were the one that wanted to talk, right?” you say with a hint of pettiness in your voice. 

Bucky exhales heavily before diving in, starting from the very beginning. He walks you through his past in the 40s, his friendship with Steve Rogers, his horrific years under Hydra, and the therapy sessions the government forced him into after he was finally free.

None of this was exactly new to you. You did a quick Google search when you first learned his full name after he moved in— just to be sure of who exactly was living down the hall. 

But you never brought it up. Never asked questions. Never pried.

So, you let him tell it now, watching him closely, letting his words serve as confirmation.

“And the missions you’re always on?” you ask, your voice carrying a sharp edge. The frustration still lingers, but you’re at least trying to hear him out. A little bit of pettiness is the best you can manage.

Bucky rubs the back of his neck, his shoulders still tense. “Over the last few months, we were tracking down a gang that wanted to revert things back to the way things were between the Snap and the Blip,” he explains.

Your brow arches in amusement. “So that’s why you always came home looking like you got your ass handed to you?”

Bucky scoffs lightly, “Yeah, but that’s over now.” 

You tilt your head, unconvinced. “Really? Then why do you still come home looking like you’re fighting for your damn life every other day?” 

Your gaze flickers over his face, taking in the fresh bruises, the dark circles. You gesture toward him. “I mean, just look at you right now.”

Bucky scratches the stubble on his chin and gives you one of his signature stern looks. It was one of the looks that he’d always give you when you were bantering back and forth. I guess it was kind of like that– considering you just took a jab at his appearance. 

“Sam’s girlfriend, Sharon, ran off to Madripoor when she helped me, Sam, and Steve. She went against the law to save us,” Bucky looks down at the floor, like he’s reminiscing about his old friend. 

“She finally came back to the U.S. through a pardon from Sam—but she was mixed up in some serious business in Madripoor,” Bucky continues, making a face like he doesn’t know how to explain it properly.

You lean back slightly, absorbing his words. “What kind of business?”

He exhales, shaking his head. “I don’t know exactly, but whatever it was, it pissed off the wrong people. Now there are guys from Madripoor sneaking their way into the country to track her down.”

“So to put it short, we’ve been trying to resolve the issue as… discrete as possible. Without getting too much of the government involved, otherwise it’d be bad for her. She could get sent back,” Bucky explains. 

You hum, tilting your head as you watch him. “This Sharon girl seems like serious business.”

You try to sound indifferent, but curiosity tugs at your tone, and Bucky catches it.

“Sam’s been keeping the government distracted… doing all his stupid ' Mr. America’ press stuff while I’ve been handling things on my end, getting these guys off her back,” Bucky explains, complete with sarcastic air quotes.

You nod in amusement, “That’s some pretty hardcore shit.” you put a finger to your chin as you ponder for a moment, “You seem to really be breaking your back for Sam’s girlfriend.” You say with a hint of suspicion in your voice.

Bucky just shrugs. “I didn’t want to, but Sam begged me. He told me that if it was you, I would want him to do the same— and it's true."

The same ache and pull feeling tugs in your heart again at his words.

“Now, for my next point.” His eyes search yours, cautious, like he’s preparing for an explosion. “The woman you saw last night?”

Immediately, your body tenses. Your arms tighten around Alpine, your eyebrows furrowing as that familiar wave of defensiveness creeps in.

“That woman,” he says carefully, watching your reaction, “was Sharon.”

You jaw slightly drops. 

That was Sharon ? Not some random woman he was sleeping with while you were out of town?

You blink, processing, but the words aren’t fully sinking in. “You’re telling me,” you say slowly, “that the woman I saw in your apartment last night— who I thought you were hooking up with— was actually Sharon?”

Bucky gives a small nod, his lips pressing into a firm line, “Yeah.”

"W-well, if that was Sharon, then why did she look so damn suspicious when you opened the door? She was hiding, for fuck’s sake!" you snap, arms crossing tightly over your chest.

Bucky shrugs, completely unfazed. "I told you. There are people looking for her. She thought you were one of them— someone from the government, maybe. She didn’t want to take the risk of being seen."

Your confidence wavers. Guilt starts creeping in, but you push it down, searching for another hole in his story, another question to pry apart, anything to prove that he’s lying.

But before you can say anything, Bucky smirks.

"Are you jealous?" His tone is teasing, familiar, laced with that playful charm he always used on you that you happen to be annoyed of.

Your face instantly heats up. "J-jealous!?" you stutter, voice pitching higher than you’d like.

Bucky chuckles, leaning back into your couch like he owns the damn place, completely enjoying himself.

You clear your throat, shifting uncomfortably as you avoid his gaze. Instead, you focus on Alpine, now curled up and sound asleep on your couch, blissfully unaware of the tension in the room.

“How could I not be?” you mutter quietly. “You kissed me… we slept together…”

Your voice trails off, and Bucky picks up on the shift in your demeanor immediately. His teasing smirk fades, replaced with something softer, more serious.

He scoots closer, closing the distance between you two on the couch.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he starts, his voice low, “the night I saw you with that guy at the Chinese restaurant, the way he was tugging on you, I wanted to punch him in the fucking face.”

You blink, caught off guard by the blunt confession. And then, you laugh.

Bucky wasn’t joking. He looked dead serious.

“You should’ve,” you said, still laughing. “He was an asshole.”

“I should’ve,” Bucky admits, his voice tinged with regret. “But… you weren’t mine.”

His words send a jolt through you, warmth spreading through your chest.

Then, as if trying to lighten the moment, he adds, “Plus, I probably would’ve ended up in jail.”

That does it. You can’t hold back your laughter anymore. It bubbles out of you, unexpected and genuine.

And Bucky soaks it in. The sound of your laughter sends something fluttering in his chest. His lips tug into a soft smile, one that he doesn’t bother hiding.

But then, his expression shifts, more serious now.

He wipes the sweat off his flesh hand onto his dark jeans before meeting your gaze head-on.

“Now, onto my next and final point,” he says firmly. His blue eyes search yours, as if trying to read your every thought. “I want to be with you. Whatever this is between us— whether it’s serious, casual, a one-night stand— I don’t care. I just need you.”

His voice is raw, filled with so much earnestness that it leaves you speechless.

And before you can even think of a response, he keeps going. His words spilling out, not willing to give you a second to pull away.

Bucky’s voice is steady, but there’s an urgency behind it, like he’s been holding these words in for too long.

“When you left for that week, I didn’t realize just how badly I needed you,” he admits, his gaze never leaving yours. 

“To come back home to after getting my ass kicked all day, to see you with Alpine, to have you clean up my cuts and scratches.” His lips quirk up for just a second. “To just sit here, with you, on your comfortable couch.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

He leans forward slightly, his hands running through his hair in frustration, as if he’s trying to find the right words but they’re never enough.

“You asked me if I liked you over the phone,” he continues, his voice dropping to something softer. “But I wanted to wait, to tell you in person— because… to ‘like’ you? ‘Like ’ is too small of a word. It doesn’t even come close.”

Your heart pounds.

Then, finally, he says it.  

The words that display what you’ve been feeling forever, but refuse to say it outloud.

Instead, and unexpectedly, Bucky is the one that says it first. 

“I love you.”

Chapter Text

"Sorry, Buck. But you know how it is," Sam says as he sits across from Bucky at the dining table.

Bucky shifts in his seat, clearly not thrilled about being kicked out to make room for Sam’s girlfriend, Sharon.

"Yeah, I get it," Bucky huffs, but the disappointment on his face is obvious.

Sam narrows his eyes, "Are you sure?"

"Oh Christ, Sam. Stop talking to him like he’s not a hundred years old," Sharon chimes in as she walks in from the kitchen, settling onto the expensive couch Sam paid for.

Bucky shoots her an annoyed look before turning back to Sam with his usual tired expression. "Are you sure you want to live with her instead? She’s kind of awful."

"I heard that," Sharon calls out from the living room.

Sam lets out a chuckle and shakes his head. He reaches over the dining table and throws a gentle pat to Bucky’s shoulder. 

"When you find a lady of your own someday, you’ll understand," Sam says with a smirk.

"Highly doubt he ever will," Sharon quips, half-joking.

"I heard that!" Bucky shouts back, making Sam laugh even harder.

"Anyway, you're more than welcome to stay for as long as you need until you find your own place," Sam says, giving Bucky a smug look. Then, his voice drops with implication, "As long as you don’t mind the noise at night—"

"Jesus, I’ll find my own place. Besides, I’ve already been looking," Bucky replies with an equally smug expression, even though he in fact, hasn’t looked at a single listing.

His pride is just too strong.

"Oh yeah?" Sam raises an eyebrow, clearly a little surprised. "That’s great, man! Let’s just hope you don’t get cranky neighbors."

Bucky just lets out a scoff. 

“And in case you do end up with a kind neighbor— just remember, Bucky. People can be nice.” Sam reminds him. 

— 

Two months later, Bucky found an apartment listing that was within his price range. He didn’t bother doing a tour first before he applied. He was eager to get out of here, because that very same night Sam told him to essentially get out, they were having sex in the room next door. 

It was unbearable. And when they weren’t being obnoxiously loud in bed, they were all over each other in the apartment, constantly mushy and affectionate. Bucky had enough.

Now, he’s standing in a cramped apartment complex at six in the morning, surrounded by walls that have probably seen better days. 

The hallway is so narrow that only two apartment units fit on each floor, facing directly across from each other.

He hasn’t seen his neighbor yet, considering how early in the morning it is. But he hopes that they’re quiet and kept to themselves. 

An old, quiet, retired old man would be preferable. Maybe even ideal.

Hauling up boxes one by one through the tiny staircase, he huffs in irritation. The five flights of stairs aren’t an issue for his stamina, but with no elevator in this ancient building, the whole moving out process is just tedious and getting on his nerves.

By the time he reaches the top for the third trip, he’s already close to losing his patience. Just as he exhales sharply and adjusts the box in his arms, the apartment door across from his swings open.

For the first time, he comes face to face with his mysterious neighbor.

Then, there you are. You’re standing there with your bed hair and pajamas. You looked like you had just woken up.

You were absolutely breathtaking. 

"Hey, you must be my new neighbor," you say with a small chuckle, opening the door wider and stepping out. "Do you need any help?"

Bucky feels his breath hitch.

You? You were his neighbor? And you actually seemed... nice. 

He wasn’t expecting that. He had assumed some quiet, elderly man lived across the hall, considering how ancient this building was. But now, staring at you, he realizes how wildly wrong he was— not that he’s complaining.

Still, despite how effortlessly beautiful you are, there’s no point in dwelling on any silly or unrealistic thoughts. He just wants to finish unpacking and finally get some sleep.

"I'm good," he mutters curtly, though it comes out rougher than he intended.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his keys and attempts to unlock his door. It doesn’t budge. He tries again. Nothing.

Frustration bubbles up as he mutters a string of curses under his breath, feeling like an idiot for not being able to get his own damn door open.

Then, he hears you. A soft giggle.

Before he can process it, you gently take the keys from his hands, and he instantly goes still. Your fingers barely brush his, but it’s enough to make him pause.

“There’s always an issue with this doorknob. The landlord always forgets to lubricate it-” you take the key from his hands and shove the key in the hole, “The elderly lady who used to live here had issues, so she would often call me over to help her…” 

Fantastic. Bucky just stands there while you finally get the door open. He feels helpless. 

"Are you sure you don’t need help?" you ask, eyes filled with genuine concern, like you actually pity his rough start.

“I got it,” His pride won’t let him accept. He waves you off dismissively, unwilling to let you struggle with the weight of his boxes. They’re too heavy for you, anyway.

Without hesitation, he hauls up one box, then another, moving with an effortless speed that barely seems human. Not a drop of sweat, not even the slightest sign of struggle. 

He glances up after setting down the second box, but by then, your back is already turned, retreating into your apartment.

Just as you're about to disappear inside, you toss your name over your shoulder.

And Bucky swears it’s the most beautiful name he’s ever heard.

Later, as he unpacks his measly three boxes—mostly clothes, an old CD player with a handful of discs, and some motorcycle gear— he takes in his empty apartment. 

Bare walls, bare floors, a single lightbulb flickering overhead. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

Sam had kept all the damn furniture. "I paid for it!" Sam had said before sending him off.

Maybe he should start with a couch?

That afternoon, Bucky heads to the flea market and picks out the cheapest, least offensive-looking couch he can find. Couch first. Bed later.

Most people would do it the other way around, but Bucky isn’t most people. He’s slept on the ground more times than he can count. A mattress can wait, he’ll live.

It was later that afternoon you presented him with freshly baked ‘welcome home’ cookies. 

You were at his door with a big smile on your face, pushing the tupperware of cookies in his direction. 

Bucky swallowed, avoiding your gaze. He didn’t mean to be rude. He just… wasn’t used to this. People being nice to him for no reason. People giving without expecting something in return. For so long, he’d been met with suspicion, fear, or obligation.

And if they weren’t afraid of him, they wanted something from him.

“I don’t eat that kind of stuff,” Bucky said flatly as he dismissed you. 

The once bright smile you had on your face slowly turns into confusion. When he sees that you’re taken back and doesn’t say anything, he wants nothing more than to just retreat in his own comfortable space. 

“Are we done here?” he asked bluntly, maybe even more blunt than he’d like.

His tone caught you off guard. Stunned, you could only manage a shrug, “I guess so—”

Before you could finish, that was when he shut the door in your face. The moment it clicked shut, guilt settled in his chest, but unease quickly overshadowed it. 

You were too kind. Too warm. Too welcoming. 

It didn’t make sense, people didn’t act that way without a reason. There had to be some kind of catch.

It was just too good to be true.

It was later that night, and Bucky was sleeping on the floor with a pillow and a blanket. He didn’t even bother attempting to sleep on his couch, it was too small. 

As he tossed and turned on the hardwood, the nightmares came. Flashes of his past. Missions he couldn’t forget. Faces he hadn’t made amends with. Shadows of the Winter Soldier still lurking in the corners of his mind—

That kinda loving, 

makes me wanna pull down the shade, yeah!

He snaps awake, in a cold sweat and immediate irritation. His eyes squint at the sound of loud music vibrating from the hallway to his own apartment walls. 

That kinda loving, yeah. 

Now I'm never, never, never gonna be the same– 

Oh, hell no. 

His neighbor was playing loud music at one o’clock in the fucking morning. ‘ What the hell was her problem?’ He thinks to himself. 

If he hadn’t found a single flaw in you before, then he sure as hell did now.

Yanking the thin blanket off himself, Bucky threw on his shirt and stormed down the hall. His footsteps were heavy, his frustration mounting with every beat of that goddamn song.

He pounded his fist against your door, “Open up!” 

He waits a moment, sparing you with the opportunity to open the door. When you don’t, and the music continues to blare, he tries again. 

His jaw clenched, and he knocked even harder. “I said, open up!”

Finally, he heard movement inside, followed by your voice, “I’m coming!” 

The music lowered. Thank God, but his patience was already gone.

You open the door with the usual happy-go-lucky smile you plastered on since this morning. It’s like you were completely oblivious to this situation. Either that, or you were just being ignorant. 

“Oh, good evening-” you start, but before you continue, Bucky just wants to get what he has to say out of his chest and retreat back to his lonely and cold apartment.

“Can you shut off that horrible music? I’m trying to get some sleep.” 

The moment the words leave his mouth, he sees the shift in your expression and instantly regrets it. You flinch, probably caught off guard by his harsh tone. But there’s no taking it back now. 

Besides, he expects you to just brush it off with that annoyingly sweet smile of yours and carry on with your night like nothing happened—

“Horrible?’ you say, your voice laced with sass that takes Bucky by surprise.

He simply shrugs, feeling tense, “It doesn’t matter. Just lower it down.”

And that’s when he sees it, your patience finally snapping like a lit fuse. Your posture stiffens, your eyes blaze, and he swears the frizz in your hair intensifies with your frustration.

“Look, asshole,” you snapped, “I’ve been nice to you since this morning. I’ve offered to help you move in, I’ve helped you unlock your damn door–” 

You’re slurring on your words. Were you drinking? You probably were, because he could smell the cheap wine in your apartment and from your hot breath as you stood close to him. 

Too close.

But he doesn’t pull away. 

“–even baked you welcome cookies, and now you come in here throwing blows at my door demanding me–”  you continue yelling at him, and Bucky just stands there, taking every bit of it. 

You look so angry. Your eyebrows are furrowed, and… he glances down at you.

Your pajama shirt.

No bra.

His jaw tightens as he forces himself to look anywhere else, to focus on something— anything else. But then you step in closer, pressing into his space. 

Do you even realize how close you are? What you’re doing to him just by standing there?

“–to lower my music and on top of that, call it horrible? Horrible! ? You think Aerosmith is horrible!?” You finally finish, chest rising and falling with the force of your anger. 

Bucky exhales slowly, staring at you, his mind caught somewhere between frustration and something far more sensual.

There was no denying it— you were beautiful. But when you were mad? You were hot. 

Hot in a way that was downright intoxicating.

Almost aggravatingly so. 

When you see that he doesn’t respond to you, you continue speaking. “I’ll turn it down for you, because I’m nice. And maybe, just maybe, you can learn to take a few notes on how to be a nice and respectful neighbor.” 

Then, that’s when you shut the door in his face. 

And he’s standing there. Annoyed, exhausted, and… inexplicably turned on.

—

Six months had passed since Bucky moved in, and every interaction with you had been far from pleasant.

But there was this one time—about a week after the loud music incident, when you showed up at his door with two of the same coffees in your hands. 

Looking at the clear cups, they both were an iced drink, drizzled with caramel along the sides.

He had no idea why you were bringing him another sweet treat, but according to you, it was your way of "apologizing for shutting the door in his face."

Bucky didn’t take it. 

It was far too sweet for his taste; he preferred his coffee black. And deep down, he still had that nagging feeling in his chest that you were only being nice to him because you wanted something in return.

He remembers that day well. You stood there, pouting like a child who had been denied, muttering, "Why do I even bother?" under your breath before storming off toward your apartment.

As much as he hated to admit it, seeing how easily he got under your skin and the way you reacted to him simply being... well, him, was oddly endearing. 

He was used to people treading carefully around him, either out of fear or to try to get on the ‘Winter Soldier’s’ good side.

But not you. You were just being yourself.

Around seven thirty in the evening, Bucky was lounging with his CD player, listening to the very same Aerosmith album he’d bought not long after demanding you turn it off the first day he moved. 

Then, he heard the familiar sound of shuffling from the hallway. 

A knowing smirk tugged at his lips. He figured it was you, likely heading out on yet another date with one of those guys from those ridiculous dating apps. 

It was becoming a regular thing, and without fail, every time he caught you leaving or returning from one of those disastrous dates, he made it his personal mission to tease you.

At first, he thought nothing of it. But the longer he lived next door, and the more he got to know you through your constant back-and-forth banter, an unsettling weight started to settle in his chest. 

The thought of you going on these dates gnawed at him in a way he refused to address.

Still, he opened his door with the perfect excuse in mind: a supposed ride on his motorcycle, just to “accidentally” run into you.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, that frustratingly attractive smirk on his face as he leaned lazily against the doorframe.

There you were. 

Though you weren’t dressed extravagantly for a date, you looked effortlessly beautiful. Your makeup was applied just right, and your hair was neatly styled. 

Bucky hated how easily the sight of you made his chest tighten.

"None of your business," you say, crossing your arms as you shoot Bucky that glare he’s all too familiar with, and that he secretly loves.

"With the pace you're going at with these dates, it's only a matter of time before you meet a complete psycho," Bucky says. Although his tone has a joking edge to it, there is a hint of a truthful warning behind it. 

"I'm already paying the price of having one as my neighbor," you retort sharply.

Clever. He won’t admit it, though.

When you begin to descend down the stairs, Bucky can’t ignore that worry feeling in his chest. He feels like he should stop you, tell you to just stay home because it’s already late. 

But instead, all that comes out is a gruff, "Don't get kidnapped," from the top of the staircase in which you respond by giving him the finger. 

As an hour goes by, his stomach rumbles as he sits on his still very-shitty couch. 

With a sigh, he reaches for his flip phone on the side table. The contact list is as short as ever — Sam, Sharon, his therapist, and the number for the Chinese restaurant a few blocks away. He dials in his usual order, waits about fifteen minutes, then grabs his motorcycle helmet by the door. 

A night ride for takeout. It's something, at least. So he wasn’t technically making something up to bump into you.

But when Bucky arrived, he didn’t expect to see you standing at the front entrance. And he definitely didn’t expect to see some average-looking guy gripping your arm a little too tightly.

Bucky’s hands clenched around the handlebars, his leather gloves threatening to split at the seams. His helmet hid his face, but beneath it, his jaw was set, and his brows furrowed with restrained anger.

He cut the headlights and shut his eyes for a moment, inhaling slowly through his nose. 

Calm, Bucky. Stay calm.

Slowly removing his helmet, his cold blue eyes flicker to you, your date, then back at you. 

“Well, isn’t this a coincidence,” he says with his voice lacing with sarcasm. 

Bucky may sound sarcastic, but deep down he wants to go over there and punch him in his punk face. 

When this guy that you’re with sees Bucky, his grip on you loosens and you retract your arm away. 

“He’s my neighbor, he’ll give me a ride back home.” You ended up saying to your date. Bucky can’t help but smile at your words. 

He would be happy to give you a ride, always. Whenever you needed it. 

But in your eyes, his smile was just another one of his overbearingly confident smug smirks. 

When that asshole you were with finally leaves, Bucky says “I’m going to pick up my order. If you were serious about needing a ride home, I’ll take you.” 

Only this time, his tone was serious and steady with no hint of sarcasm. You definitely noticed this. 

When he enters the restaurant, he watches you from the window. Your arms are wrapped around yourself protectively as you absentmindedly kick at a pebble. 

The woman behind the cash register, who’d grown familiar with both of you from your frequent visits, flashed Bucky a knowing smile.

"Your girlfriend was here with a guy," she said, shaking her head. "A bad one. And not nearly as handsome as you."

Bucky let out a low chuckle, though he shook his head in amusement.

"How many times do I have to tell you? She’s not my girlfriend," he replied, pulling his wallet from his jacket. "And I highly doubt she thinks I’m handsome."

She raises an eyebrow, taking his cash and punching in numbers on the register. “I don’t know about that. When I mentioned you, her eyes lit up.” 

Bucky’s heart ached. 

“She did?” he says as he looks at you again from the window. When he sees you turn around to look at him, meeting his gaze with your warm eyes, his heart pulls. 

With a dramatic roll of her eyes, the cashier slid his change across the counter along with the bag of food. Bucky cleared his throat, gripping the bag a little tighter.

"You don’t actually call me her boyfriend when you talk to her, do you?" he tried to sound indifferent, but the curiosity in his voice betrayed him.

She clicked her tongue impatiently, scribbling something on a notepad. "Last time I called you her boyfriend, she said she wouldn’t leave me a tip."

Bucky couldn’t help but grin. Of course, you did.

When Bucky makes his way out the restaurant, he sees you curiously eyeing his bike and the corners of his lips tug up into a smile. But he drops it as soon as you turn around to look at him. 

Bucky hands you his helmet, and when he realizes you don’t know how to put it on, he beckons you to come close. “C’mere. Let me help you.” 

You shuffled a little closer, the air thick with an unspoken tension. 

Bucky moved slowly, carefully positioning the helmet over your head. He wanted to look into your eyes, but you avoided his gaze, focusing anywhere but on him. Through the visor, though, he caught a glimpse— you looked so fragile. 

His gloved fingers brushed against your skin as he tightened the strap beneath your chin. Not too tight, but firm enough to keep it secure. 

Because God forbid anything were to happen to you.

The ride back home was nothing like he imagined. That was the night were your arms were wrapped around him for the first time. You both breezed through the city lights, and he would look in his rearview mirrors to try and steal a glance at you. 

Sure, you were holding on because your safety depended on it. But Bucky liked to think it meant something more. 

Dammit . He shouldn’t waste his time on thoughts like these. It wasn’t like him. But the memory of your arms wrapped around him, the warmth of your touch lingering…  It was impossible to shake.

Bucky told himself it was practical, that just in case, maybe you’d need a ride again someday. No harm in being prepared.

So, the next day, he bought a helmet.

Just for you.

—

Bucky was riding back home on his motorcycle after meeting with Sam. 

Earlier that day, Sam had called him about a lead. Some thugs from Madripoor, still tangled in unfinished business with Sharon from her time there, had raided their apartment. Fortunately, no one got hurt, but the situation was escalating. 

Luckily, they made it out alright, but things were getting serious. 

At the red light, Bucky put his feet down to steady himself while he waited for the light to turn green. 

He adjusted his leather gloves when he heard the sound of trash cans toppling over echoing down a dark alleyway, followed by the sharp cries of a cat.

He turned his head toward the noise. Under the dim glow of a flickering streetlight, he spotted a frail, filthy white cat rummaging through the garbage, desperately searching for food.

Bucky feels his heart ache at the sight, and he can’t bring himself to tear his gaze away. 

The light eventually turns green, and with the nature of this city’s traffic flow, people are immediately honking at him to move. 

Instead, Bucky steered his bike toward the alleyway and parked it on the nearby sidewalk. He pulled off his helmet, setting it down on the seat.

"Hey, you," he called out to the feline with a low voice.

The cat didn’t react, too busy rummaging through the trash. Bucky took a cautious step closer, slowly extending his gloved metal hand. In an instant, the cat’s spine arched, a sharp hiss escaping her as her fur bristled.

Bucky sighed. He lowered himself to one knee, withdrawing his metal arm and offering his flesh one instead. 

The cat's sharp gaze followed his every movement, her tail lowering slightly as her posture eased.

"Easy," he murmured as she slowly approached.

She takes a few cautious sniffs at his gloved hand, and then, to his surprise, she rubbed her head against his gloved fingers.

He’d never considered himself an animal person— especially not a cat person. But something about her, scrappy and stubborn, resonated with him.

Guilt would eat at him if he left her in this dirty alleyway. 

Carefully, he scooped her up, tucking her into his jacket. The cat settled without a fuss, her purring vibrations warming against his chest. He zipped up his jacket just enough to keep her snug.

As they rode back to his apartment, Bucky had already decided.

He would call her Alpine. She was a perfect little thing. 

They got back to his apartment and he immediately regretted his words. She made herself comfortable. Too comfortable. 

His already battered apartment now looked like a warzone. Broken ceramic mugs littered the kitchen floor, shards scattered everywhere. The side table lay overturned, and somehow, his couch, which had already seen better days, bore even deeper claw marks. 

He hadn’t thought it could look worse. Alpine proved him wrong. The worst part? The sheer chaos she caused didn’t seem to bother her one bit. She sat proudly in the middle of the wreckage, her fluffy tail flicking as she innocently licked her paw.

He was surprised that you hadn’t woken up due to all the ruckus, because if you did and went to check up on him and saw this mess…

He could only imagine the look on your face. Amused, maybe even smug. You’d probably tease him mercilessly. 

The thought of you thinking he couldn’t even handle a cat? Absolutely unbearable.

Two days had passed, and in that time, Bucky had caved. He fed Alpine proper wet cat food and even bought her a brand-new bed to sleep on— though she still preferred the cardboard box that it came with.

But this morning, she was already up to her usual antics.

“Shit!” he yelled out amidst all the chaos, the sound of something crashing echoing through the apartment. 

The noise eventually fell on your own ears.

With a frustrated sigh, he grabbed the trash bag filled with the remnants of his once-intact dishware and swung the door open.

What he didn’t expect was to see you.

You were frozen in the hallway, mid-step, like a kid caught red-handed. You were definitely eavesdropping, but you were playing it off as if you were just casually strolling by. 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he had to fight back the smug grin threatening to break free.

“The hell are you doing?” 

“I-I was, uh. I heard noises, like glass shattering and I… got worried,” you made sure to mumble that last bit, thinking that Bucky wouldn’t hear. But he did, and he made sure to let you know that.

"You got worried?" Bucky repeats, the smugness tugging harder at the corners of his mouth.

Before he can take the teasing further, Alpine makes her grand entrance, slinking between his legs with an air of feline confidence. Your eyes instantly light up, wide with adoration as you crouch down to greet her.

Bucky watches in silence, his teasing forgotten. The way your fingers trace gently over Alpine's fur, and the soft smile spreading across your face…

And of course, Alpine took a liking to you almost immediately. 

Bucky tries not to dwell on the warmth in his chest. But as he stands there, he can’t shake the thought that everything about this moment feels… right. Like Alpine’s chosen her mom, and for a fleeting second, the idea doesn’t terrify him.

The buzz of his phone snaps him from his thoughts. He blinks, pulling it from his pocket and flipping it open. 

Sam: Got another lead. Come meet us ASAP 

[10:54 AM]

Bucky let out a tired exhale and shut his phone. He knew what this meant— he’d be gone for who knows how long— meaning his cat would be stuck in his apartment. 

Alone. Wreaking havoc. 

But then he looks down at you.

He has no choice. He has to ask for your help.

When Bucky is stuttering to get the words out, you have that gleam in your eye, the barely-contained amusement and ready to commence your teasing— it’s infuriatingly adorable.

“Bucky,” you said slowly, drawing out his name, “use your words.” 

The low, teasing lilt in your voice sends a wave of heat straight through him. His shoulders tense, but it doesn’t stop the shiver that runs down his spine. 

Or the very inconvenient tightening in his pants that follows.

He shifts slightly in his stance. Eventually, you give him your number and he saves you as a contact. Unlike his other contact names that’s simply just the first name like ‘Sam’ or ‘Sharon’, he gives your contact name something… different, and unique.  

New Contact Added:

My Annoyingly Hot Neighbor. 

—

Having you take care of Alpine became part of your guys’ weekly routine. Bucky even gave you a spare key to his apartment so you could check in anytime.

At first, he hesitated. That gnawing feeling in his gut never fully disappeared. 

He couldn’t shake the belief that if he let you get too close, you’d eventually reveal your true colors. After all, no one was kind just for the sake of it. 

There was always something lurking beneath the surface.

When he finally told you his full name, he braced himself for the inevitable shift— the realization that he was The Winter Soldier. But the months passed, and you never once brought it up. 

No questions. No judgment. You never pried.

You treated him the same as you always had.

The first night you took care of Alpine, Bucky came to you with burgers as a ‘thank you’ and as you guys ate and talked on your couch. 

That’s when you opened up. You spoke about your family— your sister, your mother’s illness, the weight of it all clear in your voice.

And as Bucky listened, one thought consumed him. ‘ How can someone so pure, so beautiful, carry something so heartbreaking?’

He didn’t know the right words to comfort you. But every time you spoke of your struggles, he fought the overwhelming urge to wrap you in his arms and hold you close.

After that first night, the conversation naturally died down. Bucky knew it was only a matter of time before the questions turned to him. 

Sooner or later, you’d ask about his past. And when that moment came, he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to face it. 

So instead of giving you the chance, he scooped up Alpine, mumbled a rushed goodnight, and left.

Two weeks later, he came home to pick up Alpine, bloodied and bruised. 

His flesh knuckles were raw, and the dull ache in his ribs told him he’d probably cracked something. When you opened the door for him, he saw the horror in your eyes that you tried to conceal. 

When you took care of him, cleaning up his cuts on your couch, he thought, ‘If she’s going to be here, taking care of me like this, then I wouldn’t mind getting beat up every damn day.’

Bucky was starting to fall for you really hard, and he didn’t even realize it.

When he upset you that night, making a stupid comment about your dating app shenanigans and not seeing your family— he felt so guilty. 

You kicked him out, and he went down the hall back into his apartment with Alpine. He didn’t know what to do.  

Just like how you leaned on your sister for comfort, Bucky had his own person to turn to— Sam.

Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and dialed. After three rings, Sam picked up.

“Buck?” concern laced his voice, “What happened? Are you okay?”

Bucky sighed, rubbing his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “I fucked up, Sam.”

That only made Sam more worried. “What the hell happened? Are you hurt? I’m coming over—”

“I pissed her off,” Bucky interrupted, his voice low.

“What?” Sam sounds confused now. 

“I said something that upset her—”

“Hold on,” Sam cuts him off, his voice sharp. “I thought you had a damn lead, Buck! You scared me to death.”

Bucky shakes his head, even though Sam can’t see him. “No lead. But still. I need your help.”

Sam sighs, the irritation clear, “You’re lucky I like you,” he grumbles. “Look, it’s simple. Just go up to her, flash one of those handsome smirks you always do— are you doing it?”

“What? No.” Bucky frowns.

“Do it. Go stand in front of a mirror and smile.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Ah ah ah,” Sam cuts him off again, his voice smug. “You asked for my help, and now you’re gonna get it.”

Bucky groans, tossing his head back dramatically. He stomps his way to the bathroom, the only mirror in his apartment. Alpine watches him from the corner, her tail flicking in amusement, as if she’s judging him.

“Are you smiling yet?” Sam teases through the phone.

Bucky scowls at his reflection. He pulls the phone slightly away and reluctantly forces a smile. The result is… awful. Bloodied scratches mark his cheeks, his eyes are hollow and tired.

And that strained grin? It looks more like a grimace.

“Yep,” he mutters, his tone laced with annoyance.

“Alright, now keep that smile in mind,” Sam continues, his voice full of amusement. “This is what you’re gonna say, and repeat after me: ‘I’m sorry for being an asshole.’”

Bucky drops the forced grin, his voice flat as he parrots back, “I’m sorry for being an asshole.”

“I shouldn’t have said what I said.” 

“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” Bucky echoes, already regretting this.

“And I’m sorry for the raging erection I get every time you yell at me—”

“What the hell, Sam?!” Bucky practically barks into the phone. Sam bursts out laughing, the kind of laugh that’s far too pleased with itself.

“Alright, alright. I’m serious now,” Sam chuckles. “You wanna apologize? Then make it your own. Say something sincere. But remember, Buck, you gotta stop pushing people away who are genuinely trying to be nice. You remember what I told you before I kicked your ass out?”

Bucky exhales, his voice quieter. “Yeah. People can be nice.”

“Right. People can be nice.” Sam repeats after him, satisfied.

The words linger in the air for a moment before Sam speaks up again. “So, when am I finally gonna meet this girl you keep talking to me about—”

The call ends abruptly as Bucky flips his phone shut.

Now, he’s pacing back and forth in his living room, the words still swirling in his head. Every scenario he imagines seems worse than the last. 

He glances over at Alpine, who’s comfortably curled up in her cardboard box, giving him her classic side-eye.

Even she looks unimpressed.

Several agonizing minutes later, Bucky finally gives up and pulls out his flip phone. Screw it. Texting is easier.

Bucky: Thanks for watching Alpine again today. 

[10:57 PM]

Bucky: Also, I’m 76rry. About what I said.

[11:05 PM]

Bucky frowns. Damn flip phone.

Bucky: Meant to sa9y s6rry.

[11:08 PM]

Great. Just great. 

—

Bucky was sitting on your couch after he came by with a coffee as a more formal peace offering after his failed attempt with a texted apology the night before. 

You guys conversed for a moment, and eventually the conversation died down and you both sat in silence. Every time the silence happened, the absence of your usual back-and-forth banter left the room feeling awkward and thick with tension.

Bucky hated it.

He wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence. Something that didn’t involve teasing or the dry remarks you two usually exchanged. But the fear of making things even more uncomfortable kept him quiet. 

After some time of idle banter to fill the silence, Bucky’s phone dings. He pulls his phone from his pocket, the small flip screen lighting up with a text from Sam.

Sam: Let’s grab lunch. It’s been a while since we sat down and hung out instead of getting shot at all day.

[11:46 AM]

Another text quickly followed.

Sam: Oh, and bring your neighbor. I want to meet her. I bet you’re talking to her right now, you horny ass.

[11:46 AM]

Bucky: Please don’t embarrass me. 

[11:48 AM]

All three of you met up at a diner a few blocks away, and despite his warning, Sam embarrassed him. 

Bucky never thought he’d see the day where his neighbor and his only friend would be in the same room together. At the end of the day, it went well, but Bucky was praying for the interaction to be over. 

Sam teased and practically outed Bucky the entire time. 

Now, you know he talks about you. Good things about you. 

Now you know he refers to you as “Alpine’s Mom” even though he never directly called you that himself. 

But as much as Bucky wanted to throttle Sam, a part of him had to be grateful. Because without all that relentless teasing, he wouldn’t be standing here now. 

In the hallway, with you, with the uncontrollable desire to kiss you. 

He could tell you felt it too. The air between you was thick with anticipation. 

For someone with a so-called “bad staring problem,” Bucky was suddenly struggling to meet your gaze. But now, there was no turning away.

His blue eyes locked onto yours, filled with longing. The words were right there, lingering on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to say something. Anything. 

He wanted to tell you exactly how he felt.

Bucky wants to spill everything— how you’re not just his annoyingly stubborn neighbor, how every snarky comment you throw his way makes him want to grab you and kiss you senseless, how he loves the way your cheeks flush when he fires back with his own witty remarks.

He wants to tell you the truth. That he loves you. Plain and simple.

But his thoughts are snapped when you clear your throat and gesture to your apartment door. "Anyways, I should—" you begin. 

But Bucky doesn't want you to go. So he steps forward, closing the distance. He cups your face gently, his rough fingers brushing along your skin, and kisses you.

The moment your lips meet, a chill runs down his spine. It’s unlike anything he’s felt in decades. He’s never let anyone this close, not since the 1940s.

And even then, it never felt like this. This was real. This was you.

Bucky continues kissing you, pulling you in deeper and never wanting to let go. For him, he’s in heaven, and he wonders if you felt the same way too. 

But it was clear you did when you started kissing him back and tugging on his hair. Every doubt that he felt suddenly disappeared at your touch. Instinctively, he groaned against your mouth at the pull— 

Meeow! 

A glass shatter from his apartment.

That was when Alpine’s destructive habits came in. The sound of her destroying his apartment echoing from his room to the hallway. 

A part of him regrets adopting Alpine just for the sole purpose of interrupting this moment. 

But he couldn’t be too mad at her, considering Alpine was the one that brought you two closer to him and his heart.

"Sorry, I—" Bucky starts to mutter, running a hand through his hair, clearly flustered.

"No, don't be. I’m— I... I’m sorry—" You start to stammer back. 

A pang of worry settled in Bucky’s chest. He didn’t want to apologize. He wasn’t sorry. He didn’t even know why he said it. Was it to be respectful? 

Every second of that kiss had been real. He meant it— and he’d do it again without hesitation. But hearing you apologize back? That was enough to make doubt creep back in. Or were you trying to be respectful, too?

Before he could say anything else, Alpine's antics continued in the background, another crash sealing the awkwardness. With a pathetic excuse, Bucky hurriedly retreated to his apartment, shutting the door behind him.

Leaning against it, he let out a long, frustrated sigh, dragging his hand down his face. Then, he turned to face the culprit.

Alpine sat proudly amidst the aftermath, her tail flicking lazily as if she hadn't just ruined his night.

"You couldn’t have found a worse time to go on another rampage, huh?" Bucky scolded, crossing his arms as he glared down at her. "Your mom and I were having a moment."

Meow! Alpine blinked up at him, her wide blue eyes radiating innocence.

Bucky groans, “You’re lucky you’re cute.” 

—

The morning after you and Bucky had sex, he woke to find it had been the best night of his life. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, his sleep had been peaceful— no nightmares, no restless tossing. Just warmth, comfort, and you.

He half-expected to wake up to an empty bed, the echoes of the night before lingering only in memory. But as his eyes fluttered open, the golden sunlight filtered through his windows, illuminating the most beautiful sight.

You were still there.

If he had the power to stop time, he would have frozen this moment, savoring it for eternity. But reality, as always, had other plans.

While he was basking in your soft touch, his phone rang. He answered, and it was a call from Sam. 

Normally, Bucky wouldn’t have thought twice about telling him to screw off. But the unfinished business with the Madripoor thugs made that impossible.

"Bucky, we need you," Sam’s voice came through, strained and urgent. Even from where you lay, curled beneath the sheets, Bucky knew you could probably hear the tension in Sam’s words. "A group of those bastards found Sharon while I was stuck at the press event. I need you to stay with her until I can get there."

Bucky didn’t want to stress you out, so he made sure to keep his replies vague with “Mhm” “Yeah” and “Okay”. 

When he snapped his phone shut, he looked at you and the expression that you had on your face made his heart ache. He was so happy that you stayed the night with him, and now he’s the one leaving you . 

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. “I have to go. Work—”

“Work stuff, yeah, I figured.” You immediately cut in, the disappointment in your voice was heavy.

Bucky’s heart sank. He wanted to reach for you, to pull you close and bury his face in your neck, pretending for just a little longer that the world outside didn’t exist. But he couldn’t. Not today.

He had a mission. It was his duty. Things were getting serious, and at any moment something bad could happen. 

So, he left you alone in his bed while he went off to beat up some thugs.

Later that day, you told him you’d be leaving to visit your parents sooner than expected. Bucky had hoped that once the mission was over, he’d return to you and finish what you two had started. 

That would be the moment he’d finally confess everything— tell you how much he loved you.

But now he had to wait a week.

A week wasn’t long in the grand scheme of things. He’d already waited months, skirting around his feelings, pretending that the longing in his chest didn’t exist. 

Still, after the taste of your lips and the warmth of your body, a week felt like an eternity.

Days passed. Bucky, Sam, and Sharon were holed up in an abandoned building, lying low while they tracked the movements of the Madripoor thugs. 

The room was dim and dusty, the air thick with tension. Sam and Sharon were slouched on a tattered couch, but Bucky couldn’t sit still. He paced back and forth, restless thoughts of you occupying his mind.

"Jesus Christ, Buck," Sam finally snapped, his frustration evident. "Why don’t you just text her or give her a call?"

Sharon smirked, barely glancing up to look at Bucky. "Yeah, I’m sure ‘Alpine’s Mom’ would love to hear from you."

“I can’t just disturb her. She’s going through a time with her family.” Bucky says, but there’s doubt in his voice. 

He missed you. Really missed you. 

Every time he stumbled back into his apartment, bloodied and bruised, there was no one there to patch him up. Alpine had fully trashed his place with no one watching her for half the day, leaving his once semi-orderly home in complete disarray. 

But it wasn’t just the mess. It was the emptiness. Without you, the days felt wrong. Still, he wanted to give you the space you needed.

"I feel bad for this girl," Sharon chimed in, breaking the silence.

Bucky narrowed his eyes. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Sharon gave a half-hearted shrug, barely masking her amusement. "If I were going through something like that, I’d want my boyfriend to be there for me."

Bucky could only scoff in response. Was Sharon being serious right now? 

The only reason he was tangled up in this mess was to help her out. If it weren’t for Sam dragging him into it, he wouldn’t be here— stuck in a run-down building, arguing.

No, he’d be with you. Maybe he would’ve even gotten on that plane with you.

"Are we all forgetting that I’m only here because of you guys?” Bucky quips, frustration evident in his voice.

Sam, ever the peacemaker, tries to lighten the mood. “Oh, come on, Buck. Don’t be like that. We’d do the same for you.”

Bucky grits his teeth knowing Sam’s right.

“Besides,” Bucky mutters, almost defensively, “she’s not even my girlfriend.”

“Ouch,” Sharon retorts, raising an eyebrow. “That’s even worse.”

A few more days passed, and the end of the week had finally arrived. You had sent Bucky a text earlier that morning:

My Annoyingly Hot Neighbor: Coming home today! I hope you’re still ready to have that talk.

[9:12 AM]

Bucky’s large hands hovered over the tiny keypad on his flip phone. He wanted to respond, but his thoughts raced. Before he could type out a reply, his phone buzzed again— this time, an unexpected call from Sam.

“What is it now?” Bucky grumbled as he pressed his phone to his ear.

“I need you to stay with Sharon today,” Sam’s voice came through, tense and urgent.

“I thought that was the plan?” Bucky questioned, confused.

“I know, but I really need you to keep an eye on her,” Sam said firmly. “I overheard some chatter. There's another group tied to Madripoor. The government's keeping a close watch on them. If they find Sharon—”

Bucky could hear the edge of panic in Sam’s voice. Usually, Sam was the one to stay calm, so his concern made Bucky’s stomach tighten.

“Alright, alright,” Bucky cut in, his voice steady. “I’ll pick her up. Tell her I’m on the way.”

“Thank you , Bucky.” 

He sighed, flipping the phone shut. 

One more thing to take care of before he could finally see you.

Since that call, Bucky had been watching over Sharon all day. It felt more like a babysitting duty than anything else. Sharon was more than capable of defending herself, but in their line of work, it was always best to expect the unexpected.

Hours dragged on, and Sharon was visibly on edge. Now she was the one pacing around his apartment. 

Bucky understood her anxiety— being tracked down by shady criminals from Madripoor would make anyone restless. Still, the tension in the air was suffocating, and he was getting annoyed with her pacing.

And Bucky wasn’t one to let an opportunity for a little sarcasm go to waste.

“You know, Sharon,” he begins, “If I was having a rough time, I would want my boyfriend to check up on me.” His voice dripped with amusement as he threw her own words back at her.

“Oh, shut up,” Sharon shot back, rolling her eyes. “Speaking of which, where the hell is Sam? He was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.”

Bucky shrugged, “Probably tied up with some press interviews. He’ll call when he’s ready.”

“We should see him now.”

“And risk leading the government right to you?” Bucky countered, his tone firm. “No way. We can’t risk that.”

But Sharon’s nerves were unraveling fast. Her jaw clenched, her arms crossed tightly.

“He’s fine, Sharon,” Bucky tried again, attempting to soothe her.

“No!” she snapped. “We need to see him. Now.”

Bucky sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. He could see there was no reasoning with her. “Fine.”

Just as he pulled the door of his apartment open, ready to lead the way, his heart nearly stopped.

You were standing there.

Crap.

He’d forgotten to text you back. 

Amidst the chaos, the sudden call from Sam, and his reluctant mission babysitting Sharon, it completely slipped his mind. 

Guilt twisted in his chest as your eyes flicked to him, then behind him, before settling back on his face.

For a brief moment, Bucky forgot everything else. The mission, Sharon’s impatient demands, even the looming threat of Madripoor thugs.

Because right now, you were here.

“Hi,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“I didn’t expect you to be back so soon,” Bucky says. It’s true— you’d texted him earlier that morning, and it’s barely afternoon. But in reality, he’d probably just lost track of time amidst all the chaos.

But something shifts. The look on your face changes, twisting into something like pain. You squeeze your eyes shut, and for a moment, Bucky’s hand slips from the doorknob, instinctively reaching toward you.

Before he can touch you, you’ve already turned away, your footsteps heavy as you stomp down the hall without a glance back. Then, the sharp slam of your apartment door echoes through the corridor.

Bucky freezes. The shock of it washes over him, leaving him rooted in place. He replays the scene in his mind, the ache in your expression gnawing at him. 

What the hell just happened? 

Did he miss something? 

Was it because he didn’t text you back?

“Shit,” he thinks to himself. “That was probably it.” 

As he’s standing there in shock, taking in everything that just happened, Sharon comes out of her hiding spot from the column of his kitchen. 

He was completely oblivious over the idea that you might’ve been upset seeing another woman hiding in his apartment.

“Crap,” she exhales, her voice breathy. “I thought it was one of those damn thugs.” 

She looks at Bucky, the tension in her face reflecting her own nerves. But Bucky barely registers her words. His thoughts are consumed by the image of you…  the hurt in your eyes, the way you walked away without looking back. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Sharon says, her tone softening. “But we need to go. Sam needs us.”

His jaw tightens. He doesn’t respond immediately, just gives a small nod. The guilt and frustration settle heavy in his chest, but there’s no time to dwell on it. Not now.

As they make their way down the hallway, Bucky slows when they reach your door. He hesitates, the urge to knock nearly overpowering. He wants to explain, to apologize, to say something. 

But he can’t. Not yet.

“Come on,” he finally says, his voice low as he casts one last glance at your door. Then, turning to Sharon, he adds, “Let’s go.”

With that, they head down the staircase. But even as Bucky moves forward, his mind remains firmly behind. 

With you.

—

“I love you.” Bucky says to you. 

You don’t respond right away. Your eyes are wide, lips parted in shock. He loves you?

When the silence stretches a little too long, he reaches for your hands, his cool metal one sending a familiar shiver through you.

He cradles them gently, bringing your knuckles to his lips as he presses soft kisses. The warmth of his breath lingers against your skin.

“I love you…” he says again, as if you didn’t hear him the first time. “Please, say something…” he says, his voice going quiet and almost desperate. 

You search his face, his blue eyes usually guarded but now softer, vulnerable. The furrow of his brows and the way he holds you so tenderly tugs at your heart. 

You can feel how much this moment means to him.

“I love you, Bucky,” you finally say, your voice trembling with sincerity.

Just like that, the tension in his shoulders melts away. His chest rises and falls with a shaky breath, and a smile, a real genuine smile, breaks across his face.

“You do?” He asks, as though he needs to hear it again to believe it.

“With all my heart.”

His grin grows wider, full of relief and joy. He kisses your knuckles once more, savoring the feel of you before his flesh hand moves to your cheek. His thumb brushes against your skin with an aching tenderness.

“This isn’t some prank, right? Is this where you start throwing insults at me?” he teases, though the laughter in his voice can’t hide the feeling of lingering uncertainty.

You gasp in playful offense, placing a hand over your chest, “What? You think I’d be that cruel?”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, and you can’t help but smile in return. Your hand moves to cover his, the one still cradling your cheek. 

Slowly, you lean forward, your foreheads meeting as your eyes flutter closed.

“I can be nice, Bucky,” you murmur, your voice laced with affection.

Bucky’s smile softens. He closes his eyes, his breath mingling with yours. “Right. People can be nice. You can be nice,” he whispers, as though reminding himself.

You’re not entirely sure what he means, but you don’t ask. Instead, you savor the moment.

“I love you, Bucky,” you say again, each word carrying the weight of your feelings.

He shudders, as if he’s hearing it again for the first time. Alpine purrs softly, nestled between you two.

Everything he’s ever needed, everything he’s ever wanted, is right here.

“I love you,” he whispers back, his voice trembling with emotion. “More than anything.”

Chapter Text

“Hold on — so you two are dating?” Sam asks, his words slightly muffled by the breadstick he’s shoving into his mouth.

Bucky, of course, has been the unfortunate subject of Sam’s relentless teasing. Ever since he confessed his feelings for you—and you admitted you felt the same—Sam has been on a mission to bother him about it.

And now here you all are, at Sam’s request, gathered at a small pizza parlor just a few blocks from your apartment.

It’s you, Bucky, Sam, and Sharon, crammed into a booth with a sticky table and the smell of melted cheese lingering in the air.

Alpine, safely tucked inside her cat carrier beside you, is blissfully unaware of the chaos. Bucky wasn’t willing to risk leaving her alone at home, especially with her destructive tendencies. 

Thankfully, the little fluffball is fast asleep, her soft snores occasionally escaping the carrier.

“Yeah, we are,” Bucky answers, his voice steady but there is a hint of nervousness. 

Then he turns to you, and the moment his blue eyes meet yours, your heart flutters. He’s looking at you with pure adoration, almost like a puppy waiting for reassurance.

“We are dating, right?” he asks softly, like he’s still half-expecting you to take it back.

Sam and Sharon hears this, and they both let out a snicker. 

“Yes, Bucky. We’re dating,” you confirm, a warm smile tugging at your lips.

Bucky’s own grin grows naturally in response, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that softens his usual hardened expression.

“Damn,” Sam comments, eyeing Bucky like he’s just witnessed a rare phenomenon. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him genuinely smile like that.”

Sharon hums in agreement, nodding as she picks at her slice of pizza. “Yeah, he’s usually all broody and glaring. Did you know we used to call him the bionic staring machine—”

“Sam, can you get your girlfriend to shut the hell up?” Bucky says, the smile on his face disappearing in an instant.

The three of you laugh, the sound light and easy. You’re almost surprised at how well you’ve gotten along with Sharon. 

After that awkward first encounter when you thought she and Bucky were up to something in his apartment, you had your doubts. But once Bucky explained everything, the tension eased, and Sharon turned out to be an easy friend to have around.

Besides, it’s clear as day that she and Sam are happily in love.

The waitress drops the bill on the table with a practiced smile before heading off. Without missing a beat, Sam snatches it up, holding it in the air like a prized trophy.

“Don’t worry, guys. I got this,” he announces smugly.

“Wow, two times in a row?” You raise a brow, genuinely surprised. “Are you sure, Sam?”

Bucky leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he mutters, “Don’t feel bad. If he’s doing it twice, it means he wants something.”

You stifle a laugh, but Sam catches the exchange and rolls his eyes dramatically, “Don’t say stuff like that, Buck.”

He hands his card to the waitress with a pointed look, but when she leaves, something shifts in his demeanor. 

Sam glances at Sharon, and in an instant, they exchange a wordless conversation. There’s a slight nod, a flash of encouragement from her, and Sam straightens in his seat.

He clears his throat, his fingers tapping anxiously against the edge of the table, “So, uh— I…” he falters, then exhales sharply. “Alright, listen to me and don’t laugh, alright?”

Sam’s eyes flick between you and Bucky, and despite the request, a knowing grin tugs at the corners of Bucky’s mouth but he tries to suppress it.

Whatever this is, it’s going to be interesting.

Bucky’s eyes narrow as he waits for Sam to finish, “What is it?”

Sam leans in a little closer, crossing his arms with a dramatic sigh. 

“Alright, listen up,” he starts, his voice dropping a little lower. “You remember how those Madri-fucks broke into our apartment?”

Bucky doesn’t respond verbally, but his signature brooding stare intensifies.

“So, the landlord… he got really upset. And when I say really, I mean really. Came up to me the other day and said, ‘Look, I know you’re Captain America and all, but we can’t have you residing here anymore. It’ll scare the other tenants.’” Sam says, the words coming out with a mix of disbelief and frustration. 

Sharon, sitting next to him, just nods, her lips pressed into a thin line of agreement.

“Oh,” Bucky teases, his head tilting with that familiar smirk. “This is gonna be good.”

Sam shoots him an exasperated look but presses on, “So, Sharon and I need a place to stay—”

“HAH!” Bucky bursts out suddenly, the sound catching everyone off guard. You flinch slightly, thrown off by the sudden outburst. “I knew you’d come crawling back!”

You immediately let out a resigned sigh, placing your hand on Bucky’s leg to calm him down. 

Bucky stiffens at the touch, but his attention shifts to you, the edge in his expression softening. “Let’s hear them out, Bucky.”

“Fine.” he mutters begrudgingly, slinking back into his seat.

Sam and Sharon exchange a glance, clearly taken aback by how easily you were able to get Bucky to comply.

“Oh, so when I’m giving you orders, you barely acknowledge my existence, but when she tells you something once, you give in just like that?” Sam says with obvious offense.

You can’t help but smile at his words, feeling the weight of how far you and Bucky had come since your early days of stubbornness and tension. You never would’ve imagined, back then, that you two would end up like this— so comfortable, and Bucky so… obedient.

Bucky just shrugs casually, “You know how it is.”

Turning your attention back to Sam and Sharon, you ask, genuinely concerned, “You guys need a place to stay?”

Sam visibly relaxes, his shoulders sinking as he lets out a relieved breath. “Yeah, especially after I busted my ass in those press interviews to keep Sharon out of sight. I can’t afford to beef with the landlords. It’ll cause a scene.”

You give Bucky a glance and shrug, “You can stay at my place,” you suggest. “And they can rent out yours for a while until they’re steady.”

Bucky’s face immediately scrunches up in mild protest, his instinctive disapproval showing. The thought of Sam and Sharon living right down the hall doesn’t exactly thrill him. But then, he mulls it over. 

You can visibly see the cogwheels in his head turning. 

If Sam moves into his apartment, it’ll finally be fully furnished. No more empty spaces or mismatched odds and ends. And if he plays his cards right, maybe Sam will even leave behind some of the furniture when he eventually moves out.

But the best part? The excuse to be near you. All the time. 

He knew that you two eventually would move in together as the relationship progressed, but knowing that it’s happening sooner than later gives him a sudden surge of excitement, but he doesn’t make it visible.

Bucky’s shoulders loosen, the tension in his jaw easing. With a small nod, he relents, “Alright. I guess it wouldn’t be too bad.”

Sam smirks, clearly satisfied with the outcome. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

—

When Sam and Sharon moved into his apartment, Bucky and Alpine officially settled into yours.

The first few days were blissful. You both got along well, enjoying the honeymoon phase of your relationship. And, being a fairly new couple, you spent plenty of time tangled up in each other sexually, making up for all those months of pent-up frustration and longing. 

Now that there were no more barriers between you, the chemistry was undeniable.

But after a few weeks, the initial spark gave way to the realities of sharing a space.

It turns out, you and Bucky had drastically different living habits. What began as minor quirks soon evolved into small, persistent disagreements and petty back and forth arguments.

The first issue? The temperature. Bucky preferred the apartment practically freezing, which would leave you shivering under a pile of blankets. You tried to be understanding, considering his tragic past in the cold had rewired his comfort levels.

“Bucky,” you’d murmur, bundled up like a human burrito. “It’s freezing. Can we please turn the heat up?”

He’d frown slightly, his blue eyes softening. “But I’m used to the cold.”

And just like that, his unintentional puppy-eyed expression had you caving. “Fine. I’ll get used to it,” you’d sigh, trying to ignore the fact that your nose hairs were practically icicles.

Then came the Alpine situation. 

You may have gone a little overboard, spoiling her with an ever-growing collection of cat toys and cozy beds. But how could you resist? She was your little princess. The problem? Alpine had zero interest in her extravagant gifts.

You’d dangle a toy shaped like a mouse on a string, hoping for a spark of excitement. She’d merely blink at it, utterly unimpressed. Meanwhile, the floor was a minefield of colorful catnip mice and feathery wands which were all abandoned.

With all the toys scattered around everywhere, Bucky gradually got annoyed having to constantly clean up after your guys’ mess. 

“Does she really need this many toys?” Bucky grumbled one day, scooping up yet another neglected plushie.

“She’ll warm up to them,” you said nonchalantly, scratching Alpine’s ears as she lounged in your lap, perfectly content.

Bucky shot you a pointed side-eye. 

On top of the mess, his own adopted feline daughter choosing you to be her preferred human sets him off. 

Since the move, she barely spared him a glance, preferring to curl up with you instead. 

What once amused him now gnawed at his pride.

“It’s been a few days already, I don’t think she’s giving in anytime soon.” As he says that, he picks up a cat toy shaped like a fish, only for Alpine to respond with a disapproving hiss, clearly upset that her dad is messing with her stuff.

Bucky's eyebrow twitches in annoyance as he quickly sets the toy back down. 

Alpine immediately relaxes in your lap, satisfied with her victory. He glances at you, and the smug grin you give him says it all: I told you so.

Over time, the minor bickering and harmless disagreements escalated into full-blown, childish arguments. 

You had almost forgotten just how stubborn Bucky could be— and how equally stubborn you were in return. 

It was easy to overlook how the two of you started off on the wrong foot, but now, that same stubbornness you both held was coming back to bite you guys in the ass. 

There were moments when both of you would throw petty jabs, never intending to truly hurt the other— but with your shared stubbornness, those small remarks often resulted in a long game of silent treatment.

Even with the tense air between you, the urge to pull each other close and shower one another with affection lingered. 

Yet, neither of you wanted to be the first to cave.

You thought Bucky, with how sweet and vulnerable he’d been when he first confessed his feelings, would be the one to give in. But much to your frustration, he didn’t. 

You recalled something Sam had once mentioned to you in passing, “Careful with him. He’s caring and has good intentions, but his pride is too damn strong.”

And now, as the tension between you and Bucky lingered, those words felt truer than ever.

If Bucky took these silly arguments even a little more seriously, maybe he would’ve been the first to cave. But the fact that he’s not, that he isn’t the one making the first move to pull you into his arms and kiss you, frustrates you to no end. 

It’s like you’re back to those days of being stubborn neighbors who could never see eye to eye. It was a contrast to how obedient he was when you had that double-date at the pizza parlor with Sam and Sharon. 

While Bucky was out on a mission with Sam and Sharon, you decided to take the opportunity of having the apartment to yourself and call your sister. 

You fill her in on everything, how you and Bucky are officially dating now, and how he’s moved into your apartment.

“Wait, you still haven’t sent a picture of him!” your sister complains over the phone. "You do have one now, right?" she adds, her voice dripping with suspicion. 

You remember the first time she and your mom asked for a photo, and you awkwardly had nothing to show.

But now after living together, you’ve gathered plenty of pictures of Bucky. Most of them are ones where you’ve caught him off guard.

"I actually do this time," you reply, quickly minimizing the call screen and sending one over.

The photo you choose is a candid shot of Bucky sprawled across your pillows, shirtless. 

His face is relaxed, cheek pressed against the pillow, dark hair tousled. His head is turned slightly toward you, lips parted just enough to reveal how deep in sleep he is. 

Thankfully, his metal arm is tucked beneath the pillow, leaving no clues for your sister to catch on to.

"Damn," she exclaims after a pause. "He’s actually pretty damn hot!" You can practically hear the sound of her jaw dropping on the other end.

Rolling your eyes, you can’t help but glance back at the photo. Despite her comment, warmth blooms in your chest. 

Bucky had told you once how he used to suffer from relentless nightmares, barely managing a full night’s rest. But since sharing a bed with you, those nightmares had begun to fade. The peaceful look on his face in the picture is proof of that.

A soft smile tugs at your lips. Even with all the petty arguments, you’re still his comfort. The person who helps him sleep through the night.

"I told you he was good-looking," you say smugly, savoring the proud moment.

“So, how has it been living with your new boyfriend?” she asks teasingly. 

You settle back onto your bed, the phone pressed to your ear. "Living with him has been... interesting," you admit, though the slight hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed.

"Interesting?" Your sister asks, amused. "What happened?"

A sigh escapes your lips, "We’ve been bickering a lot."

"Seriously? Already?" She sounds almost entertained. "But you guys just started dating!"

"I know," you groan, rubbing a hand over your face. "It’s like... we’re stuck in our old ways. We keep making the same snarky remarks and poking at each other. Even though we’re together now, that constant back-and-forth hasn’t disappeared." 

You frown deepens and you look up at the ceiling, “It’s like things haven’t changed.” 

There’s a pause before your sister’s voice returns, laced with mischief. "Yeah, but I bet the sex is amazing."

You blink, caught off guard. "What?"

"Think about it," she says, her tone practically smug. "All that unresolved tension, the constant arguing— that’s perfect fuel for some seriously intense make-up sex. Angry sex is hot , trust me. I’ve seen it in movies."

You groan, rubbing your temples. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

Your sister only cackles, the sound so loud it practically makes your phone vibrate. "I’m just messing with you! But seriously, why don’t you just talk to him about it?"

"What? No. He should be the one coming to me ."

"Oh my god," she groans dramatically. "You two are impossible. I bet he’s saying the exact same thing to his friends right now."

You roll your eyes, but her words linger.

Bucky never struck you as the type to openly share his feelings. He’s always been guarded, like he’s carrying the weight of his past alone. The idea of him bottling up his emotions, with no outlet to vent or complain, gnaws at you. 

Guilt creeps in, twisting your heart.

Suddenly, the thought of wrapping him in your arms, shielding him from every bad emotion, becomes overwhelming. You just want to hold him, to soothe away whatever frustration he’s feeling, even if he’s still the stubborn idiot who refuses to make the first move.

But, true to your stubborn nature, you push those thoughts aside, even though every part of you wants to be the one to smother him with kisses.

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, how’s Mom—"

"She’s fine, happier than ever. Especially now that you're finally in a relationship!" Your sister’s voice is so full of happiness that you can’t help but believe her.

The thought of your mom being happy for you brings a genuine smile to your face, easing some of the tension in your chest. 

You feel a little lighter, knowing that things are good on that front.

Eventually, you both end the call and now you’re left alone with your thoughts in your bedroom, aside from Alpine doing her usual bird-and-people-watching-on-the-window bit. 

You roll onto your side, pulling the pillow Bucky usually sleeps on close to your chest. You press your nose against it, closing your eyes as you breathe in deeply.

The scent is unmistakable. 

It smells just like him. 

And in that moment, you realize how much you miss him, despite everything.

—

Meanwhile, Bucky was out on a mission with Sam and Sharon, they were stationed outside a building, tracking down a lead on what should be the last gang of Madripoor thugs still after Sharon. 

Once this was taken care of, Bucky was looking forward to finally having more free time to just be at home with you, his new and loving girlfriend. 

But… 

“Except sometimes she drives me crazy!” Bucky groans, pacing back and forth and throwing his arms around as he vents about you to Sam and Sharon.

Sharon is naturally tuning him out, keeping her eyes and ears peeled for anyone who might be suspiciously lurking around. 

As Sam is leaning against the car with his arms crossed, he looks at Bucky with an indifferent look as Bucky goes on his tangent about you. 

“I love her, I really do,” Bucky continues, halting abruptly to point a finger at Sam.

“But seriously—does Alpine need that many damn toys? And don’t even get me started on Alpine!” He pauses, his frustration growing. “I spoiled that cat rotten before she showed up, yet somehow, that damn cat always picks her.”

“How unfortunate,” Sam says, his tone matching the indifference on his face.

“Why don’t you two just have an actual conversation about it?” Sharon suggests, still scanning the surroundings for any suspicious movement.

"I want her to come to me first," Bucky grumbles, crossing his arms defiantly.

Sam scoffs, his disbelief evident. “Sorry, what now?”

Bucky glares at him. "What?"

Pushing himself off the car, Sam strides toward Bucky, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance. “You’re telling me you’re gonna stand there, Mr. 1940s Romance Novel, and wait for her to crawl back to you?”

Bucky just shifts in his stance and averts his gaze.

Sam raises his brows and throws Sharon a pointed look, silently asking for backup. Sharon, still surveying the area, only shrugs. “Did I miss something? Weren’t men in your day, like, ridiculously romantic? You know, serenades, handwritten letters, dancing in the kitchen? Only Forever by Bing Crosby was a whole thing back then. What happened?”

Bucky’s jaw tightens, unwilling to respond.

Realizing he’s rambling, Sam shakes his head and takes a more serious tone. 

“Look, man, pride’s not gonna get you anywhere. You wanna make it work with her? Then talk to her. I mean, how are you two still bickering like kids when you’re supposed to be in the honeymoon phase?”

Bucky remains silent, but his thoughts betray him. Deep down, he knows Sam is right. All those petty arguments…  they were exhausting. 

But what was more exhausting was pretending not to miss the way you’d curl up next to him on the couch, or how your laugh would make everything else disappear.

Especially when you both eye-fuck each other from across the room. 

He’ll get frustrated when he has to constantly clean up after you, but a part of his tough facade breaks when he sees you bend over to pick something up, and your pajama shorts hike up higher than they should… 

Before Bucky can linger too long on those thoughts, Sharon straightens abruptly, her gaze locking on a distant figure. “They’re here. Let’s move.”

Sam claps a hand on Bucky’s shoulder with a grin, “Time to put that energy to good use, lover boy.”

— 

You had drifted off for a nap while waiting for Bucky to return home. Even though he was away on a mission, you'd found comfort in the fact that he was being more transparent about his whereabouts. 

Knowing what he was up to, even when it involved dangerous tasks, it eased your mind a little.

While you were still curled up in bed, Bucky had wrapped up his mission with Sam and Sharon. 

Since the two of them now lived just down the hall, it would’ve made sense for them all to ride home together. But Bucky, of course, opted to take his motorcycle instead, making a few stops along the way before returning to you.

The walls in this apartment complex were thin, so the sounds of heavy footsteps echoed through the stairwell, rousing you from your sleep. 

Groggy and still rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you shuffled to the front door, expecting to see Bucky standing there.

But when you opened it, Sam and Sharon were the only ones in the hall. They looked a little worse for wear. They were both clearly exhausted and a bit roughed up from the mission, but otherwise fine.

“Where’s Bucky?” You frowned, your voice low and tinged with the lingering haze of sleep. The absence of your boyfriend immediately setting off worry.

Sam turned, meeting your gaze with an indifferent shrug. His casual demeanor suggested that Bucky was fine, but that didn’t stop the unease settling in your chest.

“He said he had to do something before coming home, so went off on his bike. Not sure what he’s doing.” Sam says as he fiddles with the keys, another fallen victim trying to unlock that cursed door. “This damn lock.” He mutters to himself. 

You crossed your arms, the defensive gesture happening without much thought. 

The fact that Bucky had opted not to come straight home, without even letting you know, tugged at you. 

You didn’t want to seem clingy, but the fact remained…  you missed him. And with everything that had been going on lately, the idea of him being out alone clawed at your nerves.

“Any idea when he’d be home?” you ask Sam, who is still struggling with the lock. 

Sharon shook her head. “No clue. Sorry.”

After a moment of watching Sam curse under his breath at the cursed lock, you sighed and stepped in to help. Once the door finally gave way, you wished them both a quick goodnight before retreating to your own apartment.

Closing the door behind you, you pulled out your phone. The uncertainty twisted uncomfortably in your chest as you typed out a simple text to Bucky, hoping for a quick response.

—

Bucky glances down at his flip phone, your text glowing on the small screen.

My Annoyingly Hot Girlfriend: Hey, where are you? Is everything ok? 

[11:11 PM]

Before he can reply, the cashier's voice snaps him back to the moment.

“Your total is forty even,” she says, her tone a familiar routine but friendly.

Bucky hands over the cash, his mind still lingering on your message. Absentmindedly, he slips his phone back into his pocket, already forgetting to respond.

“And can you make the duck extra crispy? My girlfriend loves it that way.”

The words come out casually, but the cashier’s brows shoot up in surprise.

“Your girlfriend?” she repeats, her curiosity quickly giving way to delight. Then, as realization dawns, her grin widens. “Wait, she’s your girlfriend now? So if I call you her boyfriend, she'll leave me a tip again?!”

The excitement in her voice makes Bucky’s lips curl into a proud smirk.

The cashier knows you two so well from your frequent visits that she doesn't even need to ask who the girlfriend is— she already knows it's you. 

After leaving the restaurant with the bag of food in hand, Bucky tucks it into the back compartment of his bike. 

Before that, he’d made a stop to grab a bouquet of flowers for you. With no space left to store them, he zipped the flowers securely into his jacket for the ride home.

By the time he reaches the apartment complex, he’s clutching your favorite takeout in one hand and the slightly wind-tousled bouquet in the other. 

The ride wasn’t exactly kind to the petals, leaving them looking a little worse for wear, but aside from that, he feels pretty damn good about himself. It’s been decades since he’s done anything like this, a simple romantic gesture, and even longer since he’s been in a relationship. 

He can already picture your smile, the way your eyes will light up when he hands you the flowers and food.

With his metal hand carefully balancing both gifts, Bucky digs into his pocket for the spare key. He fumbles slightly, trying to get the door open. But before he can manage it, the door swings open with force.

There you are, standing in the doorway with your arms crossed, your face twisted into a scowl. The irritation in your eyes is clear, even through the haze of lingering sleep.

“Where the hell have you been?” you demand, raising a brow.

You’re face to face with Bucky, locked in what feels like yet another one of your infamous staredowns.

He looks rough. Scratched up and exhausted, maybe even worse than Sam and Sharon. The sight tugs at your heart, but the frustration still lingers. He never mentioned he’d be out late. Even Sam and Sharon had no clue where he went. 

Your gaze flickers to the things clutched in his metal hand. A slightly battered bouquet of flowers and a bag of Chinese food. 

The unmistakable smell of crispy duck wafts toward you, making your stomach betray you with a low, grumbling reminder of your hunger.

Crap.

He stayed out longer than usual just to get all of this for you. 

Now, standing there, you can feel your heart warming as you try to keep the smile threatening to spread across your face at bay.

But you won’t give in first.

Bucky notices. He sees the subtle shift in your posture, the way your shoulders soften just a bit, but your expression is resolute, almost daring him to make the first move. The message is clear: I know you went out of your way to get this for me,  but still, I’m not apologizing.

Normally, Bucky would crack a sarcastic remark to get a rise out of you, but he holds back. 

He watches you with a quiet amusement, noticing how flustered you are. He can tell you're happy with the gifts but are too stubborn to admit it. 

It’s cute. Very cute.

It’s your stubbornness that made him fall in love so hard in the first place. 

"Are you going to let me in, or should I just make myself comfortable in the hallway tonight?" he says with a teasing tone.

You snap out of your thoughts and step aside, widening the door for him to enter. As he passes by, he purposely dangles the bag of food in front of you, the scent of duck filling the air.

You roll your eyes, already knowing he's doing it on purpose. "You didn’t reply to my text," you say, crossing your arms.

Bucky’s eyebrows raise in realization. Your scowl turns into a frown when you realize he forgot. He’s a terrible texter, and with that damn flip-phone it takes him several minutes to send out a single text. 

“I… I didn’t realize.” 

He turns around and hands you the bouquet of flowers. You take them, looking down at the scattered petals that have already started to fall. 

Despite the mess, you fight the smile that's threatening to spread across your face.

You quickly turn and grab a vase, setting the flowers on the counter, your back to him as you try to hide the giddiness welling up inside you.

"I think we should talk," you say, fiddling with the petals and leaves as you focus on something, anything, other than the way your heart is warming. "About our bickering. It's starting to get really old."

You jump slightly as he unexpectedly slides his arms around your waist and rests his face against your head, inhaling deeply. His touch sends a wave of warmth through you, making it hard to stay composed. 

You’ve missed him all day, and you want to melt into his touch. 

But you’re not about to give in.

Instead, you scoff, trying your best to sound annoyed, "What are you doing, Bucky?"

Bucky takes another deep breath, inhaling your scent, and this time, he lets out a low, raspy groan. The sound of it sends a rush of warmth straight to your core, making your breath hitch for just a moment and keeps your body tense.

"I just missed you," he murmurs, his hands settling on your hips as he gently turns you to face him.

 "I'm sorry for bickering with you." He gives you a sheepish smile, his eyes softening. "Old habits die hard, right?"

Standing face to face with Bucky, your gaze lingers on the cuts scattered across his face, the disarray of his hair, and the exhaustion in his soft blue eyes. 

Seeing him like this makes your chest tighten, a wave of loving emotion washing over you.

Without thinking, your hands rise to gently caress his cheek. As your fingers make contact, Bucky’s eyes flutter closed, and he shudders, his entire body relaxing under your touch.

"Has anyone ever told you that your pride’s a little too much?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as you tenderly stroke his cheek with your thumb. "Sam warned me about you."

A soft chuckle escapes Bucky, his lips curling into a smirk, "I could say the same about you, doll."

When he opens his eyes and sees the quiet longing reflected in yours, he doesn’t hesitate. He leans in, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss.

In an instant, the tension from your bickering, the frustration of your petty arguments, all of it fades away. It’s almost laughable, how everything between you two started with feigned annoyance, both of you trying to push each other’s buttons back when you were just neighbors. 

Now, here you are, in your apartment, lost in the heat of a kiss.

Bucky’s hands find their way to your legs, lifting you effortlessly as you instinctively wrap them around his waist. The kiss shifts— faster, deeper, more urgent.

He walks you to the couch, setting you down carefully, his hands moving to work at your pajama shorts.

He pulls away just enough to press his forehead to yours, his breath warm and ragged as he tugs on the waistband of your shorts. In a low voice that’s thick with desire, he murmurs, “Sometimes, you make me just want to fuck you—”

Then… CRASH!

Both of you freeze, the unexpected noise jolting you out of the moment.

Turning toward the kitchen, you spot Alpine, lounging lazily on the counter, licking her paw as the vase that once held your flowers lies shattered on the floor.

For a moment, silence falls between you both as you take in the chaos. Bucky sighs, the sound both frustrated and amused as he looks back at you.

“We have to clean this up, Bucky,” you say with a frown, eyeing the mess on the floor.

Bucky smirks, clearly enjoying the moment. “You’re her favorite human,” he teases, his tone light and playful.

“What? But you’re the one who adopted her!” you protest, exasperated.

“Yeah, but I got beat up all day,” Bucky mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You don’t have the energy to clean this up, but you have the energy to have sex with me?” You raise an eyebrow, challenging him.

Bucky looks down at you, his eyes dark with desire as they trail over your disheveled form—your hair a mess, lips swollen and glistening from his kiss. 

He exhales, running a hand through his hair, “Fine.”

With a reluctant sigh, he pushes himself up and starts cleaning the mess.

As he bends down to pick up the shards, you can’t help but notice his ass filling his dark jeans perfectly. 

Your gaze lingers on him, and you can't resist. “Thanks for the view,” you say, your tone playful but sheepish.

Bucky straightens up suddenly, locking eyes with you, his glare sharp. “Don’t think for a second that you’re safe,” he warns, his finger pointed at you, the shards of glass held in his metal hand. 

“Because once I’m done, I’m fucking you senseless for making me clean this shit up.”

Your cheeks flush at his not-so-threatening threat. You remember your phone conversation with your sister earlier today.

Angry sex is hot. And the idea of having angry sex with Bucky, well… It doesn't sound bad. 

You lean back into the couch, your legs casually crossed as you take in the scene before you.

There’s Bucky, disheveled from his mission and the aftermath of your passionate kiss, grumbling under his breath as he picks up the broken glass. 

Alpine, the adopted troublemaker, sits innocently on the counter, staring at Bucky with an almost amused look in her eyes. He mutters "Bad girl" to her over and over, and you can’t help but smile at the absurdity of it all.

It’s chaos, and it has been since day one, but it’s perfect.