#sorry. bringing sliced fruit to someone studying is a love language to me

[mangostarjam]

study break — kaiju no. 8, hoshina soshiro x reader, established relationship, it's just fluff, "love" as a pet name, 700ish words

for 🧸 anon

"Soshiroooooo."

Hoshina Soshiro pauses at the door, but you only bury your head further into your arms resting on your desk. He comes closer and sets a small plate of sliced apples by your elbow, where there's still some space. Papers are crumpled everywhere, haphazardly, books pinned open with whatever was at hand at the time — a half eaten bag of strawberry matcha kitkats, Soshiro's nearly empty coffee mug from this morning, your pencil case with highlighters spilling out —

"Soshirooo, save me," you whine, interrupting his mental catalogue of your desk. The soft glow of your lamp washes over both of you as he leans closer. "I don't know how to read anymore."

Soshiro laughs and slides his calloused hands along your shoulders, slipping them beneath the thin straps of your tank top. And then — there's no other word for it — you melt as he begins massaging the stiffness from your muscles. "My poor lil love," he says fondly. "That sounds pretty bad."

You tilt your head to look at him and pout. Even with dark circles beneath your eyes, you're criminally cute, and Soshiro has to resist the urge to pinch your ear. "How am I gonna take these tests if I can't read, Soshiro?"

"You're a smart one," Soshiro digs his thumbs into your shoulders and you groan. The corner of his lips lift in a lopsided smile. "You'll figure it out."

"I'm gonna fail," you sigh. You reach for his hand to press a soft kiss to his palm and his heart does a funny little skip. "Will you still love me if I'm illiterate?"

"I'd love ya to the end of the world," Soshiro says easily. You press his palm against your cheek and your elbow bumps into the plate he brought in.

"What's this?" you dislodge his hands as you sit up to grab the plate. "Did you really cut them into little bunnies? This is so cute!"

"Only the best for you," he says, stealing a slice and popping it into his mouth. The fruit is crunchy and sweet, its juice flooding his tongue as you copy him and hum with pleasure.

"I should take a pic and send this to your friends!"

"Please don't," Soshiro snorts. "You're gonna ruin my rep."

"But they deserve to know how amazing you are," you say seriously. You turn your seat so you're facing him properly, hooking your legs behind his ankles so he's standing as close to you as possible while you're still sitting in a chair. "Soshiro, these apple bunnies are a work of art! They belong in the — mmph!"

Soshiro sticks another apple slice in your mouth and holds it there as you chomp down on it, shooting him a halfhearted glare for interrupting your passionate speech. You look cute with your cheek all puffed up with chewing, but he knows better than to mention it now. "If ya learn how to read again, maybe I'll teach ya how to cut 'em like that."

You finish the apple and shake your head adamantly, still chewing. He waits patiently as you swallow, cupping your cheeks with both hands when you're done and squishing your lips together as you laugh. Your smile is so wide he feels like he's got the world in his hands.

"I only want apple bunnies from you."

"Alright, if ya finish your study session early tonight, I'll give ya a kiss."

You frown beseechingly and your hands come up to play with the hem of his loose sleep shirt. "But I've got a billion more pages to go!"

"Sleep's part of the job, too," he flicks your forehead lightly and chuckles when you pout. "The rest of it'll still be here tomorrow."

"Alright," you sigh, though you show zero signs of letting him go, "I'll remember this when you're the one staying up too late working."

"Is my reward gonna be the same?" Soshiro asks. You giggle.

"With your work ethic I think I'll need to come up with something bigger to pull you away from your desk," you tug on his shirt and he snorts. Your smile softens. "Thanks for the snack, love."

That's just unfair. He sighs, smirking to himself when you tilt your head in confusion. "This doesn't count," he mutters, leaning down to give you a slow, sweet kiss. You sigh into his mouth and he huffs in exasperation, pulling away reluctantly.

"Is it bedtime already?" you ask teasingly. Soshiro pinches your ear lightly.

"Shut up and eat your apples."

[hispeculiartreasure]

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Seven | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: Teen

Word count: 4,783

Chapter 7/24

Warnings: Strong language, bit of family tension

AN: Thank you for being so patient with the arrival of this chapter! The extra week gave me the time I needed to muddle through some research-heavy chapters so I can hopefully keep the ball rolling with my scheduling. This chapter was a big one for me since it involved weaving canon and my original thoughts in regards to Bucky’s family. Once I realized Bucky’s museum display in CA:TWS listed him as the eldest of four, I couldn’t stop this specific family dynamic from coming out. Sidenote, the use of Rebecca was inspired by the comics, I promise I am not that vain, haha. Hope you enjoy this week 💕

Chapter Six

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

Ice cold water finally dislodges the last vestiges of sleep from Bucky’s eyes. Patting his face with a hand towel, he avoids looking himself in the eye as he checks the mirror for any patches of hair he may have missed while shaving.

He’s been awake for several hours but had finally dragged himself to the bathroom once the sun had risen. Being a weekend the house should be quiet for another hour or so before he had to put his “family face” on. But the moment the bathroom door creaked open the scent of Canadian bacon wafting from the kitchen proves him wrong.

For a moment he dons a tight-lipped smile until he sees his mother’s familiar form in front of the stove. His shoulders instantly drop, his mouth moving into a genuine curl. She’s humming along to the small radio on the counter, an old Standard that takes Bucky back to moments just like this when he was two decades younger. Mother and son were often the first to rise on Saturdays, leaving a rare pocket of time to be shared just between them.

Winnifred Barnes had hardly changed since those days - besides the gray streaking her otherwise dark hair and a few extra lines around her eyes. Although years of raising four headstrong children and worrying about both a husband and son in battle - albeit different wars - would do that to anyone. She was the most gracious person he knew, forever keeping their door open to anyone who needed some love and a home-cooked meal.

He takes his place to the counter on her left, grabbing a freshly washed peach from a pile of them and bringing it to the cutting board.

“Good morning, James,” she warbles as she slides a pan into the oven.

“Morning, Ma.”

“Did you sleep okay, dear?”

He lifts a shoulder up and down in a small shrug before he grabs a knife to begin slicing. “About as well as usual. Ya know, it takes a real master to sneak through the house without me knowing.”

“Where do you think you got your covert skills? Your father is about as subtle as a gun.”

Bucky snickers. “You’ve got me there.” He slides the cut peach onto a platter before moving on to the next.

“You came in late last night. I trust you got your new friend home at a respectable hour?” she asks coyly between flips of her spatula.

“Ma-” he starts, a blush creeping up his neck.

“No explanation needed, you’re a grown man, but-”

“Don’t worry, you raised a gentleman. Escorted her to her door after dinner. Didn’t feel like taking the subway so I walked home.”

“I never thought otherwise. Oop, you missed some shaving cream.” Winnifred brings the corner of her apron up to swipe at Bucky’s ear before resting a palm to his cheek. “I’m enjoying seeing this handsome face of yours without all that facial hair. And seeing you smiling more often has been a treat as well. I trust this friend is the reason for both?”

“Maybe.” Bucky clears his throat as he grabs another peach. “I like her a lot,” he admits quietly.

“Had a feeling when you asked where I bought my flowers for the table you had to be at least a little taken with her.”

“She loved them, by the way. Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime, darling. I’m assuming you’ll see her again soon?” Kind eyes twinkle with a hint of hope.

“This afternoon, actually.” He gestures to a small carton of fruit. “Want me to slice the raspberries after these?”

“If you don’t mind. Then maybe get the coffee started?” she checks the grilling meat one last time before moving it to a plate, new cuts slipping into the pan moments later.

“Yes ma’am.”

They work side-by-side in silence for a while, humming tunes and bumping elbows every so often. These moments of peace were hard to come by in the house, but they both savored Saturday mornings cooking in tandem.

“If your father gets up, grab the paper and take a seat. Don’t want him getting onto you again. I can manage the meal by myself.”

“If he wants to say something about me doing ‘women’s work’ then he can. I don’t care. Someone had to help you with three other kids while he was in his study smoking cigars.”

“James,” his mother reprimands tenderly. “Despite his flaws, your father is a good man who has always made sure his family’s needs were met. Especially when you weren’t around. Oh!” she spins toward the oven. “My brioche!” Carefully she coaxes the pan of bread out of the oven and onto a cooling rack.

Bucky plates the last of the raspberries before moving to the coffee maker. “Well at least I’m around to contribute now. Being able to help with the bills and all.”

“We don’t really need your money, you realize that, right?”

“Whaddya mean? You said it was helpful.”

With one hand on her hip and the other resting on the counter, she turns to her son. “And it is, don’t get me wrong. But we are very comfortable. If you have an opportunity to be out and on your own, then I think you should take it. It’d be good for you. I think distance would be good for the relationship between you and your father as well.” Bucky hides his scowl behind a cough. “Besides, your youngest sister will be out soon, while Rebecca is looking into an apartment. . . we’ll need to downsize anyway. Promise me you won’t stay here for us?” A touch to his shoulder forces him to meet her eyes.

“Okay, I promise.”

A new, yet very familiar, voice enters the conversation. “What’re you promising this time, Buck?”

Bucky flashes a grin at his sister over his shoulder, “That you’ll pay our parents back for that vase you broke the summer of ‘29.”

If looks could kill Rebecca Barnes would have been a master assassin. She gives him a pinch to the arm before opening the refrigerator to bring out a bottle of milk. “I seem to remember you being left in charge that day, being the eldest and all.”

“Then you remember the absolute chaos of me trying to boss around three younger sisters.”

“Still, you were responsible for the household. A mistake Ma constantly repeated.” Becca smirks, hazel eyes shimmering with mirth.

Bucky would never admit outright that he had a favorite sibling. Having only two years’ distance in age was bound to draw them together as they grew older. Had it sparked many fights through their adolescence? Absolutely. But it was amazing what high school miseries could draw a brother and sister together. They’d spent last night on the back porch, Bucky telling her all about you over some booze he’d smuggled into the house. Becca was one of the few who didn’t treat him like a wounded animal after he’d gotten home from the war. They were able to slip back into their normal routine like they’d never missed a beat. She worried about him, but made sure to voice her concerns rather than watch him with a critical eye.

“C’mon, you have a big girl job now, you can afford to replace it.”

“Kids, that was over 15 years ago. Let it be.”

Becca mutters, “Jesus, we’re getting old.”

“Rebecca Louise!” Winnifred chortles in horror. “Watch your mouth.”

“Sorry,” she apologizes quickly, sharing an amused glance with her brother as he hands her a mug of coffee.

Another set of heels approaching the kitchen signals the next Barnes woman’s appearance.

“Good morning, Evie,” Bucky greets his youngest sister cheerily.

“It’s Evelyn, Bucky.” She fusses with the buttons on her dress before squinting in her brother’s direction. There was no questioning that she’d grown into a beautiful and intelligent young lady during his absence. The signature Barnes dark hair combined with creamy pale skin and bright blue eyes made for an arresting presence that commanded the attention of each room she walked into. Every time he looks at her he can’t help but see the 14-year-old he hugged goodbye before he left for England.

“I can’t call you Evie anymore? Why not?”

“It’s the name of a little girl, I’m almost done with high school now.”

“You’re still my kid sister,” he slid a cup of coffee her way as she sat down at the kitchen table.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Bucky.”

“So you’d be fine if I said you had to start calling me James now?”

Evelyn arches a brow. “If that’s what you wanted, yes.”

An elbow in the ribs from Becca interrupts his next statement before a knock on the front door sounds. “Come in!” all four of them shout toward the door.

“It’s me!” echoes the voice of the only Barnes child not currently living in their childhood home. Rose waddles into the kitchen, a hand resting on her protruding stomach. “Good morning, everyone.”

Each of them mutters their own greeting, ending with Winnifred kissing Rose’s cheek and rubbing her belly. “And good morning to my precious first grandbaby too.”

“Ma, you’ve got a good few months before you get to meet them.”

“It wouldn’t hurt for them to get used to the sound of their grandma’s voice, would it?” Rose giggles as she sits in her usual seat at the table.

“How ya feeling?” Bucky asks.

“Alright, I think. I can already tell this summer heat is going to be unbearable. Not looking forward to only getting bigger from here on out.”

With a warm smile and commiserating nod, Bucky brings the pot of coffee and platter of fruit to the middle of the dinette as Becca sets the table with plates and utensils. “Looks like the Barnes girls are all dressed up and rarin’ to go. What’s going on today?”

“Shopping trip! We need to find Evelyn a new dress for her graduation in a few weeks,” Rose gushes - unsurprising coming from the shopper of the family.

“Especially since Robert will be there,” Becca teases over the edge of her coffee cup. The three older women in the room titter mischievously while Evelyn blushes.

Bucky’s brow furrows as he grabs the plate of bacon from his mother before returning to his seat next to Becca. “Robert’s this boy you’ve been talking about, right?”

Evelyn rolls her eyes in his direction. “My boyfriend, yes.”

“Possible future husband too!” Rose squeals, even after receiving a gentle kick under the table.

The hair on the back of Bucky’s neck stands up. “Wait, what?”

Immediately Evelyn sits ramrod-straight, the clench in her jaw screaming defiance. “We’ve been dating almost a year, it’s not like he’s a stranger.”

“Yes, he had a very long talk with your father after dinner last week,” Winnifred confirms as she slices the loaf of bread into even pieces.

Bucky can’t completely choke down his scoff. “You’re just kids, way too young to be thinking about getting married.”

“You didn’t kick up a fuss when Rose was getting married right out of high school,” Evelyn takes the fruit from Becca before scooping a few pieces onto her own plate.

“For one, I was in the middle of Italy when Rose got hitched. And that’s because John was about to be shipped off to join me. S’different.” Bucky piles more bacon onto his plate than necessary, needing to keep his hands busy for fear that he might start wagging a finger at his baby sister.

“It’s totally normal for people to be marrying younger now. The war made us all feel like time’s running short. Who knows what can happen tomorrow. Why take the risk of not being together?”

Just as Winnifred shed her apron to join them at the table, George Barnes enters the room, presence tall and arresting. Everyone pauses to say their ‘good mornings’, receiving a nod and low grunt in return. Winnifred places a steaming mug in his hand before kissing his temple. He smiles small before unfolding the newspaper his wife had left by his plate. Once his glasses are in place he may as well be in another world. They all know better than to engage him in conversation before his first cup of joe.

“Ma, are you tryin’ to tell me you’d be okay with Evelyn getting married soon?”

“James, it’s not up to me. If Evelyn feels ready, we all have to respect that,” ever the peacemaker of the family, Winnifred takes her place at the opposite end of the table from her husband.

“How is he going to support you? Does he have any idea what kind of work he wants to go into? Are you prepared to look for a job if his isn’t enough for rent? ”

“Easy, Buck,” Becca says under her breath.

“Well, that’s not your problem to worry about, is it Bucky?” If Evelyn was attempting to hide the disdain in her voice, she was doing a terrible job. The patriarch of the family thunks his mug against the table before reaching for the pot to refill it.

“Dad, you have to admit that Evie getting hitched is a bad idea,” Bucky appeals to his father.

“Evelyn,” she grits out, cheeks pink.

“The way I see it, it’s one less mouth for me to feed. And as long as the boy has a good head on his shoulders and good intentions, I don’t see the harm.”

The youngest Barnes hums in satisfaction, serving Bucky with a wholly smug smile.

“You can’t be serious.” Bucky ignores another poke to the ribs from Becca.

“Well, James, by the time I was your age I was married with three children. By all accounts you’re the one who’s behind schedule with no prospects in sight.”

Bucky’s fist tightens around his fork. A kick to his ankle draws his attention to Becca, who subtly shakes her head; clearly trying to say, “Please not right now. It’s been a good morning.”

He huffs out a breath, thankful that his father’s eyes are still trained on the paper. “You may be surprised to know I’m not completely hopeless.”

Rose leans in and says slyly, “Now what does that mean?”

“Yes, James, what does that mean.” Bucky’s father has set the paper down, reading glasses dangling from his fingers.

Why did I open my fuckin’ mouth. “I, uh-I have been on a handful of dates with a girl.”

“Ooooh, the secret comes out,” Evelyn teases, overjoyed at the chance to turn the tables on Bucky.

Rose claps, “That’s great news! Who is she? Do we know her? Is it that friend of Becca’s I always wanted you to date?”

Becca’s side-eye confirms he’s already painted himself into a corner. His mother stays blessedly quiet, keeping her promise not to discuss you with his father.

Don’t panic. Give ‘em broad details, they don’t need to know everything. “She just moved to the city. I met her at work about a month ago. We got to know each other, had our first date last week.”

“What’s she like?” Rose questions around a mouthful of brioche.

“She’s sweet. Always had time to smile at me when we bumped into each other. But she’s also got a mind of her own.”

His father drains his mug again before setting Bucky with a hard gaze. “She’s not a working girl, is she?”

Bucky can feel Becca tense next to him, gaze staying fixed to her plate. “What if she is?” Bucky starts, outrage for both Becca and you on the tip of his tongue when Winnifred clears her throat.

There’s a warning in her gaze that does not translate to her sweet tone. “You should invite her over for dinner one Sunday night. I’d love to meet her.” The girls chime in their agreement, all three of them eager to see who finally caught their brother’s eye for the first time in years. “Speaking of Sunday dinner, will John be home in time to make it, Rose?”

Bucky took the shift in focus as an opportunity to take a breather while Rose prattles on about her husband’s government job and how his schedule was always changing. Thankfully the rest of the meal passes uneventfully, the girls gathering up the dishes to be washed promptly.

While the kitchen bustles to life, Bucky slips from the table to tie on his shoes before his father can make an attempt at conversation. He grabs a rusty toolbox from the floor next to the coat rack before popping back in to tell his family goodbye.

“Where you going?” Evelyn asks, a little too nosey for his taste.

“Steve’s.” Bucky gestures to case in his hand, “Gonna take his toolbox back.”

“Thank goodness,” Winnifred groans. “Hold on, let me pack him some biscuits and that strawberry jam he likes.” Obediently, Bucky waits as his precious mother tied up a handful of baked goods and a small jar of jam in a napkin.

“Bye, Ma,” he kisses her cheek. “Don’t hold dinner for me, I’ve got plans.”

“Going out with Steve and Peggy again?” Becca chimes in.

Becca knew full-well what his plans were. “No, I uh, have another date.”

Rose’s eyes grow as wide as the plate she’s washing. “With the same girl?”

Halfway out the front door Bucky hollers, “Uh-huh. You gals have fun shopping!”

“But Bucky-!” He hears as he firmly draws the door closed. He huffs out a sigh with a hand tugging at his hair before he starts on the familiar walk to Steve’s.

He berates himself for letting his father get under his skin enough that he let out the sweet secret of you. The last thing he wanted was his family nosing around his dating life before he was even sure of what this new relationship was.

It was too late now. He’d opened the door and an entire damn circus was charging through.

Letting his thoughts drift to happier things, Bucky reflects on last night’s date. You had looked exquisite in a maroon dress, lipstick the perfect matching shade. He’d picked out a simple diner for supper where you both admitted you felt much more comfortable. He kept his promise to share about his time serving in the military. Granted, he stuck to the most simple version, sparing you of the gritty details of blood, carnage, and capture.

You had been more merciful than he deserved. You read his cues well, changing the subject when he started getting emotional. Empathetic, kind - truly listening rather than waiting for your turn to talk. All he had to endure was a little teasing about Captain America being his closest friend. Even then, you were gentle. He’d walked you to your doorstep, lingering too long - trying to get his nerve up for a kiss. Disappointed in himself he settled for a peck to your cheek and hastily walked away, later commiserating with his sister over his jitters.

Before he knew it, Bucky was knocking on Steve’s door.

“‘Bout time you showed up,” Steve complains without a hint of malice as he opens the door of his apartment.

Bucky stands opposite of the blond, thoroughly unamused. “You’re the one who left your damn toolbox in our kitchen last week before up-and-disappearing for work. Well, you gonna stand there and let me freeze?”

“It’s almost May.”

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

Steve swings the door wide, waving Bucky in. “Thanks for bringing it back.”

“Ma’s been complaining about it being in the way for days, needed to get it out of the house.” Bucky sets the toolbox down in the living room next to a dilapidated dresser that was in desperate need of repairs.

“Sorry about that. How’s everything at home?”

“Alright. The girls are gearing up for Evelyn’s graduation. Dad is. . .Dad. By the way, Ma sent some biscuits for you.”

Steve smiles, peeking into the napkin before setting it down in the kitchen. “Strawberry jam, my favorite of hers.”

“Yeah, I’d say she knows you pretty well, ya moron.” Bucky grumbles, wiping a hand down his face. Steve notices he’s a little sluggish today, his walk more of a shuffle, the dark circles beneath his eyes more pronounced.

Steve knows he should mind his business.

But then again.

“Still sleeping on the couch?” Bucky nods. “Those cushions were uncomfortable when we were kids, I can’t imagine they’re better pushing 30.” Steve kneels by the box, rummaging to find the tools he needs.

“30 is almost a year away, I don’t wanna hear it.” Bucky takes up residence in an armchair close to where Steve begins to work.

Bucky likes Steve’s apartment. Forever army neat, Steve’s surroundings were kept meticulously tidy. The furniture was simple, utilitarian. He had what he needed and nothing more. The most ostentatious part of his home was the west wall of the living room that was completely taken up by bookcases. Floor to ceiling, left to right was all books. S framed wedding portrait of his parents hung next to the clock on the opposite wall, along with a snapshot of the Howlies and a photo of Steve and Bucky from their high school days. The home was in a good spot of Brooklyn, reminiscent of where they’d grown up; except much larger than what Steve had been accustomed to. Why he’d gotten a two-bedroom was beyond Bucky - Steve wasn’t exactly known for lavish spending. The SSR must pay Captain America well. If Bucky looked hard enough he could see hints of Peggy’s presence. The pillows on the couch, the tablecloth on the dining table, a rug set in the living room.

“The spare bedroom is still open, ya know. If the couch is killing your back.”

“I can’t afford rent right now.” Bucky pinches to bridge of his nose.

“You know that’s not a problem.”

“It’s a problem for me.”

“Stubborn ass,” Steve mutters under his breath.

Bucky only feels smug. “Says the pot.” He watches Steve wrestle a drawer out of the dresser before asking, “Where’d this thing come from, anyway?”

Steve exhales heavily. “Peggy saw it on a curb and thought it would go perfectly in my guest bedroom without considering why it was on the curb in the first place.”

“Why didn’t you tell her that? Why not her apartment?”

“I’ve gotta pick my battles.”

Bucky arches a brow. “Even when that lands you with a fucked up piece of furniture you’ve gotta fix?”

“Especially then,” Steve groans as he tugs another drawer free. The next time words are spoken is when Steve’s got his head in the interior of the dresser trying to discern why the drawers continued to jam. “You shaved.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You’re the fourth person to say that to me.”

With a shake of his head Steve emerges to grab a piece of sandpaper from the box. “Just different. Been a while. Can you give me a hand? Hold it still while I try to sand off this edge.”

He steadies the piece while Steve aggressively sandpapers one of the tracks. Resentfully Bucky mutters, “It hasn’t been that long.”

Steve pauses to look up at his friend. “Yeah it has.” Bucky grunts. “Don’t harumph me. You know I’m right.”

Quiet falls again as Steve works on, occasionally asking for Bucky’s help or thoughts.

This time Bucky breaks the silence. “I’ve been looking at other jobs. Trying to figure out what I wanna do when my GI benefits come through.”

“Oh yeah? What’re you thinking?” Steve’s moved the dresser to its side to address a crooked leg that set the whole thing off-balance. Bucky’s on the floor as well, back against the armchair waiting for further instructions.

“Maybe working on cars? Someone mentioned it to me and I think I might like it.”

“Huh, never heard you talk about that before.”

“It’s a new idea. One that has potential. Won’t be in an office, get to keep my hands busy. Be learnin’ something new.”

“Sounds almost perfect for you.”

“Could be. We’ll see. I’m gonna keep looking into it but it feels good to have some kind of direction to aim toward.”

Steve glances at Bucky with a glint in his eye. “You’re awfully chipper.” A beat. “Have anything to do with the girl?” Bucky says nothing. “Thought so. You gonna make me ask or are you going to volunteer?”

“I feel like you just asked.”

“Well you weren’t volunteering.”

Bucky leans forward, vaguely motioning to the bottom of the dresser. “I think this thing needs some more support, what if you added an extra beam here?”

“The date was that bad, huh?”

The misplaced sympathy finally forces the truth out of Bucky. “No. It was that good.”

Steve stills. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. We’ve actually been out a couple more times.”

Steve’s eyebrows fly up his forehead. “‘A couple times’? That date was a week ago and you’ve seen her again - several times - since?”

“Jesus, it’s not like I eloped, calm down.” Bucky can’t help prickling the tiniest bit.

“No, no, I. . .” he shuts his mouth, head bobbing. “That’s great, Buck. When’re you seeing her again?”

“In a few hours. She’s. . . the one who suggested cars. Gonna show me what she knows at a friend’s garage.”

“Where’d she learn about cars?”

Bucky can’t contain his smile. “Worked for Chevy during the war. Seems to know her stuff.”

“A mechanic? Sure could’ve used her when you stalled our jeep in Saarbrücken.”

“That was Morita and you know it. He’s always trying to fix things that aren’t broken. Speaking of idiots, thanks for telling DumDum about my date.”

“I--I, uh, what’re you talking about?”

“Don’t act dim, he called ahead at the restaurant and got us a special table.” Steve stutters several times in a futile effort to deny the accusation. “I thought better of you, flappin’ your lips like Old Ms. Johnson at the grocers.”

“I just-”

“What if that made her think I was some uppity snob?”

“Did it?”

“. . . no.”

“So no damage was done.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is?”

“Just-” Bucky groans in frustration. “No one else needs to know unless it’s more than a date. Okay? I don’t want people thinking I’m chasing skirts and not taking life seriously.”

“I get it. I’m sorry. I’ll keep it to myself until you want people to know.”

“Thank you.” The small moment of tension dissolves and eases back into their familiar rhythm. Steve secures the leg correctly and the two of them set the dresser on its feet. Bucky hesitates then mentions quietly, “I did have a small. . . episode. . . that night. She didn’t treat me like I was nuts.”

“You okay?” Steve nonchalantly wipes dust and dirt from the surface but Bucky can feel the concern he’s trying to hide.

“It was a short one. But she got me out of there and let me be quiet for a sec before trying to distract me. Almost felt like she knew what I needed. Even my folks don’t know how to handle me when I get like that.”

“Seems to be someone worth hanging onto.” Steve slides the drawers back into the dresser one by one, running smooth on their tracks.

Responding with a hum Bucky crosses his arms. Again, he sees you stand up from the dinner table, eyes soft with kindness. He remembers how the click of your heels on the sidewalk gave him something steady to focus on while trying to dig himself out of bad memories.

“So when do I get to meet her?” Steve is all tease, looking to get a rise out of his friend. The last thing he expects is Bucky’s one word response:

“Soon.”

Bucky ignores Steve’s incredulous look. “Fuck, I thought you were going to say no. Didn’t think you were there yet.” He grabs one end of the dresser, nodding to the other end. “Help me move this?”

Huffing, Bucky complies, the pair lifting the piece together. “Why are you so fuckin’ worked up about this?”

Steve raises an eyebrow as he walks backwards down the hallway. “Because the last time I met someone you dated I was 5’6 and 110 pounds soaking wet.”

“We were both very different people then.”

“No shit, ace.”

They set the dresser down in the spare room opposite of the bed, making the space a little less sparse, slightly more homey.

Bucky sighs, looking down at his hands. “She’s a good one, Steve.”

“That’s not surprising. She’d have to be if you wanna keep her around.” Hands on his hips in satisfaction, Steve eyes the dresser. “Peggy’ll insist on meeting her too.”

“Yeah, pal, that’s what I’m worried about.”

Chapter Eight

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