It’s surprising how quickly you get promoted when everyone around you is dying.

Grim, but that’s war. Bucky Barnes, serial number: 32557038.

In WWII, American soldiers' serial numbers revealed how they were recruited:

Numbers starting with "3": These indicated soldiers who had been drafted, rather than those who enlisted voluntarily

And yes, Bucky’s started with a "3."

Rumour had it the war was ending, and with that, Bucky found himself rising through the ranks faster than he ever expected.

And now... well, now Bucky was colonel. He just wanted to go home. Like everyone else.

You, on the other hand, had prepared for this. When war came, so did your job as an agent. One day you were home, the next, transferred to a military base to deal with foolish men.

To welcome you, a few secretaries—women used to tolerating arrogant men—invited you to a bar to toast the new agent. You.

Around 9 PM, Bucky’s mates dragged him out to 'unwind.' After stressful nights, he finally found himself in a bar, surrounded by music, his comrades, and pretty girls.

Then the door opened, and a group of women walked in. That’s when his eyes landed on you.

As soon as you entered, you felt a gaze. Turning, you saw a man in a colonel’s uniform, whiskey in hand and, of course, a charming smirk on his lips.

He didn’t know you. You didn’t know him.

Steve, however, knew Bucky. The moment he saw that distracted look and smile, he knew. Clearing his throat, he grabbed Bucky’s attention, ready to tease.

Bucky glanced at him, rolling his eyes but still smiling. "She’s a looker," Steve said, grinning.

"Don’t even start," Bucky muttered, sipping his whiskey, his eyes flicking between Steve and you, now at the bar.

One of the guys smirked—until he recognised you. "Hey," he nudged Bucky, intrigued. "Isn’t that the new agent?"

Bucky’s grin widened. "Guess I’d better introduce myself," he said, setting down his glass. Straightening his uniform, he added, "Wish me luck."