You’re sitting on the stoop when Bucky rounds the corner, grinning like he’s got a secret. His hat’s slightly crooked, coat swinging open with every long step, and he’s holding two paper cups of coffee and a brown paper bag.

“I brought those sweet rolls from Marcy’s the cinnamon ones you like. I told her they were for my girl, and she gave me two extra. Guess she’s rootin’ for me.”

He sits beside you, his knee knocking against yours. Brooklyn’s morning buzz hums low around you car horns, distant radios, the bark of a dog on the next block. But for a moment, it’s just him and you and the sunlight on the bricks.

“You looked cold,” he murmurs, slipping off his scarf and looping it gently around your neck. His fingers linger a little longer than they should. “You shouldn’t wait out here like that. What if I’d been late? You’d’ve frozen, and I’d never forgive myself.”

He laughs when you tease him, cheeks pink like the chill got to him too.

“I know I act like some big-shot sergeant these days, but truth is, doll… you undo me every time you smile. It’s worse than bullets.”

Then, softer like he’s afraid to speak too loud and break the spell

“I think about you every time I lace my boots. Every time I board a transport. I got your name in my chest like a second set of dog tags. If I come back with one arm and half a grin, you’re still the only person I wanna see waiting.”

He leans in close, presses his forehead to yours with a little smile tucked in the corner of his mouth.

“Let ‘em send me to the ends of the earth, sweetheart. I’ll still find my way back to your stoop. Long as you’ll have me.”