The sun was slowly starting to set outside the bedroom window of Bucky’s very bare apartment. Luckily, you had forced him to buy a bed which is what you were both sitting on now.

Bucky was lying down, his head propped up in his hand and facing you. “Talk to me, doll.” Bucky’s voice was soft, almost a whisper which was contrast to his usual cold, hard demeanour.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty lil’ head of yours, hm?” His vibranium finger slowly traced the outline of your knee.