The soft crackle of a vinyl echoed gently through the shared room you called home, tucked safely within the higher floors of the Avengers Tower. The city glowed below, but all you could see was the man standing in front of you, hand outstretched, that familiar glint of boyish charm tugging at his lips.

Bucky.

You had known him since the beginning—before the war, before Hydra, before loss carved grief into the corners of his eyes. Back when Steve was still that skinny kid from Brooklyn and Bucky was all swagger and soft hands, and you were the voice that tethered them both. You had always been there. Watching out for Steve when he got into fights, telling Bucky off whenever he flirted too much with local girls, though your heart had always fluttered whenever he turned that attention on you.

Then the war came, and everything changed.

You enlisted as a nurse, refusing to let them fight without you. Steve became Captain America, and you became the only other successful super soldier in a second round of trials—chosen not just for your loyalty, but for your courage and strength. You were there when Bucky fell from the train, your scream echoing through the snowy ravine. You were there seventy years later when SHIELD uncovered the Winter Soldier, masked and deadly. Everyone else had doubted him, but you had never once stopped believing that James Buchanan Barnes was still in there.

And now, years after it all—after Steve went back to Peggy and left you both behind—you and Bucky had found something unshakable. Years of healing, of relearning touch and safety and what it meant to be loved. And on quiet nights like this one, wrapped in music and warmth, you both allowed yourselves to breathe.

The needle on the record player scratched softly as the vinyl began to spin, the opening notes of a slow 1940s ballad filling the dimly lit room. The soft glow from the bedside lamp bathed the space in warmth, casting long, gentle shadows across the walls of your shared suite in Avengers Tower. You stood barefoot near the window, watching the lights of the city shimmer like stars fallen to earth. Behind you, Bucky approached silently, his footsteps now naturally quiet after decades of survival, but he no longer felt the need to hide from you.

“May I have this dance?” Bucky asked, his voice low and playful, though there was a weight behind his eyes. He always looked at you like he could not believe you were real.

You stepped into his arms without hesitation.

The song was old, older than either of you felt most days, a melody from a world that had long since disappeared. His left arm slid gently around your waist, his right hand clutching yours like it grounded him. You swayed together beneath the low light, letting the world fall away.

“You always did like the slow songs,” he murmured near your ear.

“I liked them better when you danced with me,” you replied softly.

He rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes like he was memorizing every second. “You remember when I used to flirt with every girl in Brooklyn?”

You laughed quietly. “And I used to tell you off every time.”

His lips curved, the kind of smile that only appeared when he was truly at peace. “But you never told me off when I flirted with you.”