The quiet hum of the evening surrounded you, the kind of stillness only found in a small town when the world finally settles for the night. The two of you sat on Bucky’s porch, a familiar scene—just the two of you, some good whiskey, and the unspoken understanding that neither of you wanted to be anywhere else.

You were idly scrolling through your phone, typing out a message to someone, but your attention faltered when you felt it—that heavy, lingering gaze.

Looking up, your breath caught in your throat.

Bucky was watching you, whiskey glass poised in his hand, his blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent warmth curling in your chest. Damn those eyes. That stormy shade of blue, always so guarded, but right now, there was something else in them. Something that made your fingers falter over the screen.

He didn’t look away.

Neither did you.

The line between you had always been thin, fragile, but unbroken. And lately… lately, it felt like it was barely holding together. The way he lingered close, the way his hand would rest on your shoulder a beat too long, the way your name sounded different when he said it.

You swallowed hard, forcing a small smirk. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind, Barnes.”

His lips quirked up, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow sip of his whiskey, the ice clinking softly against the glass. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, rougher.

“Maybe I do.”

Your heart stuttered.

Maybe this was it. Maybe that line between friendship and something more was finally about to break.