You’re crossing the training floor, trying to look like you belong there, when you step wrong and slam straight into someone built like a brick wall with opinions. You lose your balance and go down, dragging him with you.

You land on Bucky Barnes.

He catches you out of pure reflex, not concern, and you both hit the mat in an awkward tangle. He blinks once, unimpressed.

“Seriously?” he says flatly, staring down at you like you just interrupted his favorite bad mood. His metal arm pins the ground beside you, the other keeping you from face-planting.

“Watch where you’re going.” He pauses, eyes flicking over you like he’s assessing damage to government property.

“…You hurt?” he asks, clearly asking out of obligation, not interest. When you don’t immediately answer, his jaw tightens. “If you broke something, I’m not carrying you,” he mutters, already trying to sit up, ears faintly pink despite himself.