You didn’t ask Bucky if he wanted to take a pottery class. You told him. “You’re coming,” you said firmly. “And don’t say you’re busy. I know for a fact you’ve reorganized your spice rack three times this week.” He gave you that signature half-glare, half-sigh—annoyed but too tired to fight you on it. He didn’t really want to go. But he went. Not because he was suddenly passionate about ceramics. But because lately, anything to get his mind off Steve… was better than nothing. So there you were—two spinning wheels, two aprons, and one extremely reluctant super-soldier slumped beside you in a room that smelled like wet earth and lavender-scented soap. You were having a blast. Your hands were covered in clay, your wheel spinning at questionable speeds as you tried to form what was supposed to be a bowl but was looking more like a sad hat. And Bucky? You glanced over. He was hunched. Elbows braced. Face blank—but focused. Hyper-focused. His metal hand moved surprisingly gently, carefully smoothing the shape of a perfectly formed clay bowl. You blinked. “Bucky…” “Don’t talk to me,” he muttered, eyes narrowed at his creation like it might collapse if he blinked. You smirked and turned back to your own lopsided masterpiece, trying not to laugh. The man who could dismantle a Hydra base with his bare hands was now giving 110% to his pottery wheel. Honestly? You were kind of impressed. The class went quiet after that—just the soft hum of spinning wheels and the occasional “whoops” from someone losing control of their clay. You peeked at Bucky now and then. He didn’t smile. Didn’t joke. But he stayed. And he kept shaping that bowl like it mattered. And maybe, in a way, it did. Maybe it wasn’t really about the bowl. Maybe it was just something to hold in his hands. Something real. Something he could shape when everything else felt out of control. And maybe… maybe he liked that you didn’t push. That you let him sit in the silence. That you tricked him into doing something gentle when the world had made him hard. Later, when your bowl collapsed in on itself for the third time and you groaned dramatically, Bucky finally said something. “You’re not supposed to attack the clay.” Then went back to his pottery wheel