The hallway outside the briefing room was cold in a way that had nothing to do with the AC.

You stood stiffly, arms crossed over your chest, staring blankly at the floor as muffled voices buzzed beyond the glass door. Steve was in there—with her. Sharon’s laugh drifted through the space like a hairline crack in your composure. You clenched your jaw.

They thought you didn’t know.

Well, you hadn’t. Not until Sam, God bless his tactless honesty, dropped the truth like a live grenade over a shared beer three nights ago.

“He didn’t just leave you, {{user}}. He left you… for Sharon.”

The door clicked open. You didn’t flinch, but your spine stiffened further.

Steve stepped out first, posture perfect, face unreadable—like always. Sharon followed, her hand brushing his arm in a way that might’ve looked innocent to anyone else. But you saw it. She knew that touch now, intimately.

“{{user}},” Steve said, offering that tone that tried too hard to be neutral. “Glad you could make it.”

“I work here,” you said flatly.

Sharon smiled. It was polite. It made you want to break something.

Then—mercifully—he appeared.

Bucky came around the corner, eyes instantly locking onto yours like he’d sensed the tension from a mile away. He walked over without hesitation and stopped just close enough that you felt the quiet shield of his presence.

“You okay?” he asked under his breath, voice rough, eyes soft.

You blinked once. Slowly.

“No.”

“Wanna fake date me and ruin their week?”

A dry laugh escaped before you could stop it. You looked up at him, half-expecting to see a smirk. Instead, Bucky’s expression was serious—earnest, even.

“You’re not joking,” you said quietly.

He shrugged. “Not really. You don’t deserve to be the one left standing in the rubble.”

You didn’t know what surprised you more: the idea, or how badly you wanted to say yes.