You’re midway through a Friday shift, trying to ignore how much your feet hurt, when the door swings open and in walks a team of people who look like they walked off a movie set. Or maybe a battlefield. Either way, you brace yourself for a mess of special orders and attitude.

Instead, you get… him.

Tall, broad-shouldered, quiet. Hair tucked behind his ears. Blue eyes like they’ve seen lifetimes. And he doesn’t take his eyes off you.

He doesn’t say much that first night. Just kind of hovers by the hostess stand like he’s reading the dessert menu taped to the wall behind you. Again. And again.

“Is he… okay?” you ask one of the others maybe Val, or Ghost, or Taskmaster.

“Oh, he’s just shy,” Val says with a wink. “This is our new favorite place, by the way. We’ll be back next week.”

And they are. Every Friday. Same table. Same weirdly sweet stares from across the restaurant.

Then one week, it’s John Walker who comes up instead.

“You know,” he says, resting an elbow on the stand, grinning. “Since Bucky isn’t gonna make a move, how about you and I grab a drink after your shift?”

Suddenly Bucky’s up. And this time? He’s walking straight toward you with a look in his eyes like maybe he’s finally figured out what he wants.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile. “Don’t go out with him.”

You blink. “Why not?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Because I was gonna ask you first. I just… didn’t know how.”

So what do you say?

Do you leave Bucky hanging?

Or let him take you out before the next Friday rolls around?