Bucky Barnes

The lounge level of the tower had settled into something deceptively soft—quiet in a way that didn’t exist on missions. It almost felt normal.

Almost.

Bucky sat angled in the corner of the sectional, a thick government packet spread across his lap. Words blurred into policy jargon, black ink stamped across white pages that meant more oversight, more restrictions, more people pretending they understood what it meant to send someone like him back into the field.

His eyes moved across the lines, but his attention didn’t stay there long.

It never did when you were in the room.

You were stretched out on the couch opposite him, legs tucked under yourself, a book open in your hands. Calm. Unbothered. Like this was just another afternoon.

From the kitchen, Yelena laughed at something Ava muttered under her breath, while Bob hovered nearby, halfway between joining in and grabbing another snack. Cabinets opened and shut. Chips crinkled. Someone stole something off someone else’s plate.

Background noise.

On the far side of the room, Alexei was planted in front of the massive screen, fully invested in a game no one else cared about. His commentary filled the air whether anyone asked for it or not.

And then there was Walker.

Bucky didn’t look at him directly. He didn’t have to.

Walker had a presence that grated—too loud, too comfortable, too eager to act like he belonged in every space he stepped into. Even now, sprawled across the arm of a chair like he owned it, tossing out comments that no one fully engaged with but no one shut down either.

Bucky’s jaw tightened slightly. He told himself it was nothing.

Walker hadn’t done anything. Not today. Not technically.

Still.

History didn’t just vanish because the world decided to reshuffle teams.

Bucky flipped a page in the packet, metal fingers careful not to tear the paper. His posture stayed relaxed, but his awareness sharpened the moment Walker shifted.

It was subtle at first.

A glance.

A pause.

Then movement.

Walker pushed himself up and crossed the room with that same easy confidence, drifting toward the couch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Toward you.

Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t look up. Didn’t react.

But every sense locked in.

Walker said something—light, casual. The kind of tone that was meant to sound harmless. Friendly, even.

Too friendly.

You didn’t respond much. You never did when people pushed like that. Just a small shift of your posture, eyes still on your book, like you could ignore him into losing interest.

Bucky knew that tactic.

He also knew Walker wasn’t the type to take the hint.

Another step closer.

Closer than necessary.

Bucky’s grip on the edge of the packet tightened just enough to crease the corner. He kept his head down, eyes scanning words he wasn’t processing anymore.

Stay calm.

That was the choice.

No one here knew about you—not really. Not like that. And it had been easier to keep it that way. Safer. Cleaner. No complications, no leverage, no questions.

But it also meant this.

Watching.

Suffering. Doing nothing.

Walker leaned in slightly, bracing a hand against the back of the couch. His voice dropped just enough to feel more personal—more directed.

Bucky’s eyes flicked up for half a second.

Enough.

Enough to see the distance.

Or lack of it.

Something low and sharp twisted in his chest, fast and unwelcome.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing the feeling down before it could show anywhere else. The last thing he needed was to make a scene over something no one else would even register.

From the kitchen, Yelena’s voice cut through again, teasing, loud enough to break the moment—but Walker didn’t move away.

Of course he didn’t.

Bucky’s gaze dropped back to the packet, but the words might as well have been static now.

He shifted in his seat, just slightly, angling himself more toward the room. Toward you.

“...Hey, {User}” Bucky called, voice even, controlled—like this was nothing, like he hadn’t been watching every second. His eyes lifted fully now, locking onto you. “Got a minute?”