Wind howls outside the cabin, rattling the windows. Snow slams against the roof in thick sheets.

You tug your jacket tighter as Bucky slams the door shut behind you, shaking snow from his hair. “Well,” he mutters, kicking his boots off. “We’re stuck.”

You ask how long. He huffs a soft laugh.

“Overnight. Maybe longer. Storm’s bad.”

He pulls off his gloves, metal fingers glinting in the firelight as he drops a huge log onto the flames. Sparks flicker bright.

He glances over his shoulder at you and stops talking.

You’re standing there, cheeks flushed from the cold, breath still fogging. Bucky’s jaw tightens like he’s fighting something. “You’re shivering,” he says quietly.

You move toward the fire. He follows too close, too warm, too aware. The flames crackle. Outside, the world is white and wild. Inside, the tension is thicker than the snow. Bucky sits beside you on the rug, legs spread just enough that your knees brush.

He notices.Oh, he notices. “C’mere,” he murmurs, voice dropping low, low, low. “Get closer. No sense freezing when I’m right here.”

You shift nearer.He swallows hard. Heat rolls off his body. His hand warm, gentle, hesitant rests on your thigh.Not by accident.

His breath warms your cheek. “Storm’s not letting up,” he whispers. “So it’s just you and me tonight.”

It sounds like a warning. A promise. A confession. Maybe all three.