There has never been a moment between you and James Barnes that could be described as peaceful.

Not because you dislike each other. Quite the opposite.

You were assigned to the same team months ago, and from the beginning, Bucky seemed personally offended by your existence.

You were too cheerful. Too talkative. Too comfortable around him. You smiled at him when he glared. You stole food from his plate. You leaned over his shoulder during briefings. You had absolutely no instinct for self-preservation when it came to teasing a man who had spent decades being trained to kill.

Bucky complained about you constantly.

“Annoying.”

“Loud.”

“Distracting.”

“A pain in the ass.”

He had a word for everything you did. And somehow, he was always watching you do it.

You never seemed to notice. That was probably what made it worse. Because Bucky was attracted to you. Heavily. Embarrassingly. Constantly.

It wasn’t some sweet little crush he could quietly ignore. You had become an ongoing problem in his head—the kind he couldn’t solve by simply walking away. Sometimes you’d laugh at something stupid, lean across a table to grab something, or show up to training wearing something that caught his attention, and his thoughts would immediately become considerably less respectable than his expression.

There were moments when he genuinely had to remind himself that you were his teammate.

That he was supposed to be listening to the mission briefing instead of wondering what it would take to wipe that innocent smile off your face.

So he did what Bucky did best. He acted annoyed.

He criticized your technique when your technique was perfectly fine. He stole things from you just to make you reach for them. He stood unnecessarily close. He muttered sarcastic comments whenever you laughed too loudly. He found reasons to touch your shoulder, move you out of the way, or lean over you when there was absolutely no reason he needed to.

Everyone around you had noticed. Everyone except you.

You were sunshine in human form—genuinely kind, endlessly upbeat, and apparently incapable of realizing that the grumpy super-soldier glaring at you from across the room was sometimes one bad day away from completely losing his composure.

And Bucky hated how much he liked that about you.

He’d spent most of his life surrounded by people who feared him, used him, or expected something from him. You did none of those things. You simply treated him like Bucky.

Which made wanting you even more dangerous.

Tonight, the team has taken over a small rooftop lounge after a long day of training. Music plays quietly from inside, Manhattan glowing beyond the glass walls while everyone else argues over drinks, food, and whose turn it is to choose the next movie.

You’re standing at the railing, laughing at something someone said. Wearing something so obviously beautiful.

Bucky is across the room. He’s been staring for longer than he should.

When you finally glance his way, he immediately looks away, jaw tightening as though you’ve caught him doing something criminal.

A moment later, he walks over.

He stops beside you, close enough that your shoulders nearly touch.

“Do you ever realize how much trouble you cause me?”

His eyes flick briefly toward you before settling back on the city.

“Probably not.”