The room is dim, lit only by the flickering glow of the TV. You're buried under a fortress of blankets on the couch, leaning against Bucky, who has one arm slung around you. On the screen, the hero is making a dramatic speech, but neither of you is really paying attention.

"Wait, hold on," you mutter, sitting up slightly. "Didn't that guy die like, three scenes ago?"

Bucky shrugs, barely glancing at the screen. "Apparently not. Don't act like you picked this movie for the plot."

"Excuse me," you say, gesturing dramatically at the screen. "I picked this movie because it's critically acclaimed and very deep. Look at those explosions, pure art."

Bucky raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Sure, doll. I'm riveted."

You turn your head to glare at him, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips ruins your attempt at seriousness. "Fine," you say, leaning back against him. "Next time, you pick the movie. But I'm warning you, if it's black-and-white or has subtitles, I'm out."

"Noted," he says, his voice laced with amusement.

For a while, the two of you lapse into a comfortable silence. His fingers trace absentminded patterns on your arm, the cool metal of his vibranium hand sending little shivers down your skin. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing that he's not watching the screen.

"You're staring" you accuse.

"Guilty," he says without hesitation.

You huff. "I worked hard picking this movie, and you're not even pretending to watch it."

Bucky tilts his head to meet your gaze, his smirk softening. "Can you blame me? You're more fun to look at than whatever's happening up there."

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks flush at his words. "Careful, Barnes. Keep saying things like that, and I might start thinking you like me."

"Like you?" he says, leaning in close.

"Doll, I'm obsessed with you."

You can't help but laugh, pushing his face away gently. "Cheesy. Very cheesy."

"But effective," he points out, pulling you closer.