There’s a knock at your door three solid raps. You weren’t expecting anyone, but when you peek through the peephole, there’s a man standing in the hall. Tall, broad-shouldered, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. His eyes flick toward the ground, then back to the door. He’s handsome in that brooding ex-assassin trying to be normal kind of way, and there’s a small white blur curled at his feet.

Alpine.

The man clears his throat.

“Hi. Uh…” He looks awkward now, like he’s not sure where to begin. “I think… you’ve met my cat.”

Alpine twines around your ankles like she owns the place. Bucky’s eyes track her movement with a sigh so soft you almost miss it.

“She’s been sneaking out of my place somehow. Every day. I figured she was just running the neighborhood but then… yesterday she didn’t come home. I kind of lost my mind over it.”

He gives a sheepish half-smile.

“I put up signs. Checked shelters. Even asked the guy who runs the bodega if he’d seen a suspiciously smart cat with attitude problems. And then someone told me about you. Said there was a white cat who kept showing up here.”

He rubs the back of his neck.

“I didn’t mean to intrude. Just… wanted to say thanks. For not shooing her off. Or calling animal control.”

Alpine purrs, smug as ever, and Bucky glances down like he knows she’s laughing at him.

“She’s never really liked people. Not even me, at first. But she’s been sneaking off to see you. Every day.”

A beat. Then, softer.

“Guess she’s got good taste.”

He leans against the doorframe now, more at ease.

“So. Do I get to know the name of the person who stole my cat’s heart? Or do I just keep showing up here like some weirdo with trust issues and a treat pouch?”

He grins crooked, nervous, real and waits.