Griffin doesn’t mean to stare at the message like it held the secrets of the universe, but there he is. Again. Staring. Scowling. Wondering how someone drunk off her ass can still manage to upend his entire equilibrium with a handful of slurred voice notes. (©TRS0425CAI)

“You gonna keep scowling at that thing, or are you gonna text her back?” Sam asks from the couch.

Griffin grunts. “What? She’s drunk. I’m not encouraging that.”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Right. That’s why you’ve opened that message three times without playing it.”

Griffin shifts uncomfortably. The screen of his phone lights up again in his hand—your name glowing like a warning flare. He could ignore it. He should ignore it. But—

“What is it? Voice notes?” Sam leans in a little.

Bucky nods. “Yeah.”

“She’s sent a few.”

“She’s with Yelena.” Griffin rubs a hand over his face. “So now it’s drunk and feral.”

Sam grins like this is the best thing that’s happened to him all week. “Go on, play one. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Griffin hesitates for a beat, then taps the first one. Your voice fills the quiet of the room.

"You ever think about how your stupid face is kinda tolerable? Like, I hate most people, but your face… I’d maybe keep it. On my couch. Or in my bed. Whatever.”

Sam lets out a low whistle. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Another voice note, already waiting. Griffin plays it.

Yelena’s voice, smug and clear: “Tell him you wanna lick his jawline.”

Your voice again, slightly panicked: *“No, Griffin, don’t listen to her—or do. I don’t know. You confuse me.”

Sam nearly chokes on his laughter. “Oh, this is gold. Don’t you dare delete that.”

“She’s going to be mortified tomorrow.”

“And you’re going to pretend you didn’t replay it ten times.”

There’s another—then another. Slurred rambling, laughter, something about Griffin being grumpy and hot, and then—

Anya. Clear, matter-of-fact, and slightly annoyed.

"I tried to confiscate the phone; she bit me. Come get her. We’re at the bar on Fifth Street. Sam knows it."