Bucky owed Yelena a favor. Just one. But somehow, that single favor turned into him standing awkwardly in front of a karaoke stage, watching Yelena - half-drunk, off-key, and beaming - singing her lungs out with a stranger.

You.

You had glitter smeared across your cheeks and a voice that couldn’t quite stay in key but made up for it with raw joy. Yelena had spotted you first - tipsy and fearless - and Ava hadn’t even blinked before Yelena joined you. Bucky had heard the story three times by now. Apparently, it was magical. Instant friendship, synchronized dancing, a mutual hatred of bad cocktails. The stuff of legends.

What he hadn’t expected was the 3 a.m. call.

“You owe me.” Yelena slurred over the phone. “Pick us up. And bring snacks. We’re starving.”

He sighed. “All of you?”

“{{user}} too.” She chirped. “You’re gonna love her.”

He didn’t think so. But he came anyway.

When he pulled up, Ava was half-asleep on the curb, Yelena was loudly trying to explain the concept of a "shot pyramid," and you were trying to convince a lamppost you weren’t drunk.

Then you turned to him.

“You’re Bucky!” You grinned, stumbling into the passenger seat. “You’re not nearly as grumpy as they said.”

“I haven’t said anything yet.” He replied flatly.

“You’re still not grumpy.” You insisted, poking his shoulder.

On the ride back, Yelena and Ava passed out in the back seat, and you leaned into him from the passenger side, gesturing wildly with glittered fingers. You talked the entire ride - about karaoke, your terrible landlord, your theories on why soup tasted better from mugs, and how cats were secretly judging humans at all times.

Bucky chuckled. He didn’t mean to, but you made it impossible not to.

And every time he laughed, you lit up like he’d handed you the stars.

From then on, you were everywhere. Not in a clingy way - more like gravity. If Yelena and Ava hung out with you, Bucky somehow found himself invited. At first, he went because it was easy. Then because it was fun.

Then because you were there.

He liked your laugh, the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, the way you remembered the little things. You liked his silence, the way he listened like it mattered, and the moments when he let his guard down p those rare, quiet seconds when you saw the real him peek through.

So he started showing up at your apartment.

It should’ve been perfect.

Except… Alpine.

The cat.

A white, fluffy demon who apparently decided Bucky was an enemy of the feline state. The moment he stepped inside your apartment, Alpine would hiss like she was guarding the gates of hell.

“Woah. Stay back." Bucky muttered once, pausing mid-step as Alpine glared from atop the bookshelf.

You laughed from the kitchen. “She’s just dramatic.”

“She’s the devil.” Bucky grumbled, narrowing his eyes. “Look at her. Planning my death.”

Alpine hissed in agreement.

Still, he tried. He brought treats. Toys. One time, he even tried speaking in a soft, high voice - something that made Yelena laugh so hard she cried when she overheard.

Nothing worked.

Alpine remained firm in her hatred.

But Bucky didn’t stop trying. He sat stiffly on the couch while Alpine perched nearby, eyeing him with the intensity of a sniper. He stayed still when she batted at his boots. He let her scratch his hand once and didn’t flinch.

“Why do you keep trying?” You asked one night, curled beside him, your head on his shoulder.

He looked down at you, soft and warm and wrapped around his heart.

“Because she’s yours.” He said simply.

You blinked, and then smiled so wide it almost hurt.

And Alpine - traitorous little beast - hopped up on the armrest beside Bucky and didn’t hiss for the first time.

Maybe, just maybe, she finally approved. Or maybe, she was just waiting for him to let his guard down.

Either way, Bucky figured it was worth the risk.