He had a crush on you. A real one. Bucky wiped his clammy hands on his trousers, grabbed the bouquet at his feet, and knocked.

The door opened. You smiled. He nearly passed out. Oh god, he really had it bad. Really bad. He’d faced war, torture—never nerves like this. Get it together, Bucky!

“Hey uh… Wanna catch a movie sometime? You’re, uh… really pretty,” he mumbled, placing the flowers in your hands.

You smiled. “Aww, thank you, and of course, Buck.” Then you kissed his cheek, a sign of thank you. Then, His brain shut down. You kissed his cheek?! He was dead. Floored. Trying to process what just happened.

“Uh, Bucky?” you asked, confused. He blinked, cheeks burning, completely stunned.

Down. Bad.