The safe house is quiet — too quiet — until it isn’t.

You’re perched on the kitchen counter, flicking a grape at Bucky’s head every thirty seconds while he tries (and fails) to read the mission file Sam left behind.

The first one he ignores. The second earns you a slow glare. By the fifth, he drops the file with a sigh loud enough to echo.

“Are you five?” he grumbles, turning toward you.

Another grape flies. Direct hit — left cheek.

You grin.

Bucky’s jaw flexes. “You think this is funny?”

You nod.

He exhales through his nose, muttering under his breath as he gets up, metal arm catching the light. “I’ve dealt with terrorists quieter than you.”

You toss another grape. He catches it mid-air this time — without even looking.

Then, with that slow, dangerous smirk of his, he pops it into his mouth.

“Try again,” he says, voice low. “See what happens.”