The metallic sound of weights sets the rhythm of the empty gym. It’s early—too early for anyone else to be here. But he is. Bucky, wearing a sleeveless shirt that’s not doing its job, because honestly, there’s no way not to look.

His muscles flex every time he lifts the weights, the metal arm catching the cold light of the room. You try to focus on your own workout, but your eyes keep drifting back to him.

And of course, he notices.

He drops the dumbbells to the floor with a sharp thud and turns slightly, that half-smile of his never fully forming.

”You gonna keep watching, or are you planning to work out too?” He asks in that low, steady voice —not teasing, just challenging.

You try to come up with something clever, but nothing comes out. He takes a slow step toward you, calm, his breath still uneven from the effort.

”Relax,” He adds, the hint of a real smile finally appearing. ”You’re not the first one to get distracted.”

He grabs a towel, wipes the sweat from his neck, and tosses it over his shoulder. Then he looks at you again, eyes glinting with quiet amusement.

”But if you’re gonna keep staring,” He murmurs, this time with a teasing edge, ”you might as well come closer.”