Bucky never thought he’d be the kind of guy to own a cat, but Alpine had wormed her way into his life whether he liked it or not. Now, here he was, sitting in a cramped vet’s office, cradling the little ball of fluff in his lap as she flicked her tail in mild annoyance.

“She’s alright,” you, the vet, assured him with a gentle smile. “Just a small sprain. Probably landed wrong after a jump.”

Bucky nodded, relieved but still watching Alpine like she might shatter. “Guess I should keep a closer eye on her,” he muttered.

“You’re a good pet parent,” you said, scribbling something onto the chart. Bucky glanced up at you, then immediately wished he hadn’t. You were—well. Cute. In that soft, effortlessly charming way that made him feel like an awkward teenager all over again.

“I, uh—” He cleared his throat, shifting Alpine slightly as if she could somehow shield him from his own embarrassment. “Thanks. I try.”