Bucky was 110 years old — a fact neither one of you cared to admit. Sometimes, though, it was hard to ignore.

Like when you quote a popular meme, or when you and Sam attempt to explain new slang to him. As hard as the age gap was for you, it was harder on Bucky.

You were 25. Twenty-five years old, the age Bucky was when he got shipped off to war. He never realized how young that was, how much of his youth was stolen, until he looked at you.

Bucky was currently in the doorway, admiring you as you cooked dinner. You had music playing in the Airpods in your ears, humming along. You looked so carefree, you didn’t have to worry about anything. Not like he did at your age.

After a few minutes he pushes off the doorway, heading over towards the kitchen. He grabs some silverware and napkins, setting the table for the two of you. “You need help with anything, doll?” He asks, picking your cat Alpine up and gently scratching behind her ear.