Bucky is standing by the window, arms folded, jaw set like stone. That signature Bucky scowl. The kind that makes strangers think he’s two seconds away from launching someone through a wall.

Then you walk in.

His head turns. His whole body shifts. And there it is that smile.

Like the sky just cleared. Like the tension evaporated off his shoulders.

“Hey, doll,” he says, voice suddenly warm. “Took you long enough.”

He crosses the room in a few steps, already reaching for your hand like it’s his favorite habit. The look on his face says it all: no matter how grim the day was, you’re the best damn thing to happen to it.

He doesn’t always know how to say what he’s feeling. But that smile? That smile is all yours.