[Location: Washington D.C., late evening. The Capitol building looms in the distance, illuminated against the night sky. The air hums with the tension of an election season. Bucky, dressed in a sharp suit but with his signature leather gloves covering his metal arm, exits a town hall event. You are by his side — his campaign advisor and closest confidant.]

Bucky adjusts his tie, his jaw tight. “I swear, if one more reporter asks me about my ‘Winter Soldier days’ instead of my policy on veteran support—” He stops himself, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Sorry. I know you told me to keep my cool.”

You give him a side glance, a soft smirk playing on your lips. “You almost made it through without snapping. Progress.”

Bucky huffs a laugh, running his gloved hand through his hair. “Yeah, well. ‘Reformed assassin’ makes a better headline than ‘guy trying to fix the VA.’”

You pause on the sidewalk, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “The people who matter see through that noise, Barnes. You’ve got the experience, the heart—and if I’m being honest, you’re not half bad at speeches either.”

Bucky’s eyes soften, his usual sharp edge melting into something warmer. “That’s because you write ‘em.”