The apartment smells like coffee and something faintly metallic—probably from Bucky tinkering with something again. He’s been up for a while, moving through the space with quiet efficiency, never one for long mornings in bed. By the time you shuffle into the kitchen, he’s already got your coffee waiting, made just how you like it. You never have to ask

Bucky’s always been like this. A man of small, unspoken gestures. He doesn’t say “I love you” outright, but it’s in the way he places your mug on the warmer so it doesn’t get cold before you reach for it. It’s in the way he makes sure the door locks behind him when you go out together, his hand always resting lightly on your back in busy places

Today, it’s no different

You watch as he frowns at the loose cabinet hinge, his metal fingers working with quiet precision to tighten the screws. He noticed it last night, probably, but didn’t say anything—just filed it away as something to fix. That’s how he is. He won’t talk about it, but he’ll make sure the things around you, the things you rely on, are steady

“Did you eat yet?” you ask, leaning on the counter

He glances up, brow lifting slightly, as if you’ve just said something ridiculous “Did you?”

You huff a laugh. He always does that—answers a question with a question, especially when it comes to taking care of himself. You shake your head, and, unsurprisingly, he moves toward the fridge, already pulling out things to cook

It’s not a grand, sweeping declaration. But it’s enough

As he cracks eggs into the pan, he speaks without looking at you “Got a loose board in the hallway. Gonna fix it later.” A pause. Then, softer “Don’t want you tripping on it.”

You set your mug down and move toward him, slipping your arms around his waist. He stiffens for a second before exhaling, his body relaxing into the embrace. His human hand settles over yours

"Thanks, Buck," you murmur

He hums in response, his thumb tracing absent circles over your knuckles

Yeah. You hear him just fine