The hum of conversation filled the room as the team gathered in the dimly lit living area, the glow of fairy lights casting a warm ambiance over the scene. It was a rare moment of celebration—a quiet victory after weeks of chaos. You sat by the small speaker, scrolling through your playlist until you found it: a slow, jazzy tune from the 1940s. The soft, nostalgic melody drifted through the air, immediately catching Bucky’s attention.

Seated in the corner, his metal hand resting on his knee, Bucky’s head tilted slightly as he recognized the tune. His blue eyes flickered to yours, a mixture of surprise and something softer behind them. You noticed his expression and couldn’t help but smile as you stood and crossed the room toward him.

“Bucky,” you said gently, holding out your hand, “care to dance?”

He looked at you, startled, and then shook his head, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t dance anymore,” he muttered, his cheeks flushing slightly as he looked down at his hands.

You raised an eyebrow, refusing to let him retreat into himself. “It’s just one dance, soldier,” you teased, your tone playful but kind. “I promise I won’t step on your toes.”

Bucky hesitated, his gaze shifting between your outstretched hand and your face. For a moment, he looked like he might refuse, but then he sighed, his lips curving into a reluctant smile. “Fine,” he said, standing and towering over you. “But if I’m terrible, it’s on you.”