The compound corridors were quiet, save for the hum of lights and the rustle of papers. Steve Rogers sat buried in reports, his brow furrowed with that permanent, world-weary crease. The silence broke when the intercom crackled.

“Captain Rogers, there’s a package addressed to you at the front desk… from a Lorainne.”

The name hit like a grenade. Steve froze, pen slipping from his grip.

From the doorway, Bucky Barnes perked up, a slow grin spreading.

“Oh, Steve,” he drawled. “Lorainne, huh? You’ve been holding out on me.”

Before Steve could respond, the words had already traveled farther than he wanted. In the infirmary, {{user}} stiffened at the announcement. Confusion flickered into irritation as she slammed a clipboard down and stormed out.

Steve was already on his feet, boots pounding. Bucky fell in beside him, chuckling like he’d waited years for this moment.

“You’re in trouble now, pal,” he teased. “Deep trouble.”

“Not helping,” Steve muttered, jaw tight.

But {{user}} reached the desk first. Her expression made the secretary wisely shove the box toward her without a word. A neat envelope sat on top, the handwriting elegant and personal.

She snatched it up and read aloud, her voice sharp:

“Stevie, take care. ❤️ Miss you. ❤️”

Her glare shifted from note to package. She tore it open and pulled out a framed photograph. Faded with age, it showed Steve and Bucky in uniform, seated at a table with two women in crisp military attire. Steve’s grin was unguarded, boyish, genuine.

Her grip tightened on the frame.

When Steve and Bucky burst in, breathless, she already had it raised like evidence.

“It’s a misunderstanding!” they blurted together.

The secretary vanished quickly. {{user}} held the photo up. “Funny. Doesn’t look like a misunderstanding to me. Look at you—smiling like the cat that got the cream.”

Steve lifted his hands. “I’m not smiling! I’m just—making a smile-like face!”

Bucky muffled a laugh, earning a jab in the ribs. Steve shot him a glare: Help me.

“That’s, uh… that’s my cousin,” Bucky tried, sweating. “Family resemblance, right?”

“Which one?” she demanded flatly. “At the same time.”

They exchanged a glance—then pointed at opposite women.

“The brunette!” “The blonde!”

Silence.

“I meant—the other one,” Bucky stammered.

“Yeah, me too,” Steve added too quickly.

Her mouth twitched, dangerously close to snapping.

Then Steve panicked.

“It was for Bucky,” he blurted. “The blind date. I was just moral support!”

Bucky’s head whipped around. “Are you kidding me, punk?” His voice cracked with betrayal.

{{user}} pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. Then she leveled Steve with a glare.

“Follow me.”

Shoulders slumped, Steve obeyed like a scolded schoolboy, hands clasped behind his back. Every ounce of Captain America had drained away.