It’s been a long day—no, a long week. You and the team just returned from a mission in Europe, and the jet lag is hitting hard. Bucky had to stay behind to go over some work with Steve, so you headed back to the Brooklyn apartment alone.

You barely make it inside before the sky cracks open, thunder rolling as rain slams against the windows. After a hot shower, you feed the cat, grab something simple from the fridge, and settle in front of the TV. The familiar background noise helps take the edge off the quiet. It doesn’t take long before your eyes grow heavy.

When you finally crawl into bed, you leave the TV on—old habit. You hate the silence, even with the storm outside. Bucky usually turns it off when he comes in. Somewhere along the way, it became your thing. Alpine jumps up beside you, curling close as if she’s been waiting all evening.

You’re just starting to drift when you hear it—the front door opening. Soft, familiar footsteps move through the apartment, then toward the bedroom. A moment later, the TV clicks off, replaced by the gentle crackle of the record player. One of his old favorites from the ’40s fills the room, warm and grounding.

The mattress dips as Bucky joins you, the storm fading into the background. His presence is solid, real—arms slipping around you as the music plays on, steady and comforting.