Brooklyn Heights, 1934.

It was snowing again. Maybe even more than it had been yesterday. You had walked to school with her friends, and was wearing a pretty soft teal coat. Bucky always remembered that coat. The way it fit you so nicely, the cute little collar and the fur on the sleeves. The gloves you wore to keep your hands warm, that always matched with the hat and the bag you chose to bring on different days. Today, the gloves were white.

You smiled as you walked into the classroom with your friends, laughter trailing behind you like perfume. Bucky noticed right away that one of your girlfriends was wearing a brown coat nearly identical to the one you’d worn earlier that week. Funny thing, that. Your friends were always copying you somehow — your shoes, your curls, your coats. They must’ve liked the things you wore. Of course they did. Everything looked prettier when it belonged to you, and— thwack.

The ruler across his knuckles snapped Bucky out of his thoughts. "James Barnes!" Said Ms. Adley, the Homeroom and Penmanship teacher. "When I ask you a question, you answer it! You don't sit there in silence like some mute that can't speak English!"

Steve, curse him, snickered next to Bucky. Bucky sighed. "Yes, Ma'am."