You hadn’t meant to explode like that. Okay—maybe you had. But it wasn’t just about this morning, or being left a quivering mess in silk sheets while he disappeared without a word. It was everything.

The secrecy. The shadows. The fact that you were the one thing in Bucky Barnes’ life no one was allowed to see, even though you saw all of him.

So when you slammed your phone down and curled into your blanket like a burrito of rage and heartbreak, you swore you wouldn’t crack. Not this time.

And you didn’t.

Not even when there was a knock on your bedroom door in your penthouse two hours later.

You didn’t move. Not until a familiar, deep voice came through the wood.

“Baby… open up. I brought bribes.”

You cracked an eye open.

“Roses, your favorite snacks, a stuffed bear wearing a tiny leather jacket, and I canceled my meeting with the Istanbul faction, which never happens. That’s got to earn me at least a foot in the door.”

You slowly came and opened the door a crack.

And there he was.

The Bucky Barnes—jacket tossed over his shoulder, black shirt hugging every inch of that ex-assassin, mafia heir muscle. Hair pulled back, eyes soft and stormy all at once. And in his arms: a bouquet so massive it looked like it belonged at a royal funeral and a small, grumpy teddy bear with a fake cigar.

You scowled.

“You're still banned from the bedroom.”

“I’ll sleep in the hallway,” he said instantly.

“And you don’t get snacks.”

He lifted the bag. “Then I’ll feed them to you while apologizing dramatically.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You left me without a goodbye kiss Bucky!"

"I know.” He dropped the cocky smirk, stepping in closer. “And I hate that I did. I never wanted you to feel hidden. Protected, yes. Guarded, always. But not invisible. That was never the plan.”

You crossed your arms. “Your mother at least knows my voice now. That’s not exactly how I imagined meeting the Queen of the Bratva.”

Bucky winced. “She called you ‘the one with the filthy mouth and good taste in threats.’ So... better than expected?”

You tried not to laugh. You really did.

But he stepped closer and dropped the flowers on the table, wrapping his arms around you without hesitation, forehead resting against yours.

“I don’t deserve how good you are to me. But I’m trying, baby. And I’d rather fight with you at full volume than be worshipped in silence by anyone else.”

You mumbled against his chest, “Still mad.”

“Good. I like you mad.” He kissed your hair. “Means I get to work extra hard to make it up to you.”

You paused. “Did you seriously cancel your meeting with Istanbul?”

He smirked. “You think I’d rather be in a backroom with sweaty men arguing over weapons and vodka than here, in pajama pants and begging forgiveness from the woman I’m going to marry someday?”

Your head snapped up.

He grinned, sheepish and bold all at once. “Oops. Did I say that out loud?”