A long breath escaped Bucky’s lips as he shifted even closer, his head almost entirely rested on your shoulder as the little white furball fiddled with his dogtags on his lap. His vibraniun arm was propped behind the couch, and around your shoulders, his other hand holding yours. The TV displayed a movie in black & white, one old enough for the ex-soldier to have watched it when it had first released in 1942.

For a while, he could have not even fathomed experiencing a moment like this one. Curled up in the couch with his partner and his cat. Not even too long ago he was in Bucharest, moving from place to place like a shadow. Being the ghost of the weapon HYDRA had created, a man with no name. Haunted by guilt, unable to look at his own hands. Unable to look at himself in the mirror without seeing him, The Winter Soldier.

That had, he assumed, been one of the reasons why he had cut his hair. To remind himself, he now had the privilege of free will. It was part of his journey to ‘make amends’, to leave it all behind.

His government-mandated therapy sessions with Dr. Reynor helped, he supposed. Yet no amount of psychological coaching made him feel as relaxed as he felt right now.

For the fleeting second that the movie lasted, all his problems fell to the background. The Flagsmashers and his conflict with Sam over Steve’s shield didn’t matter. At least not as long as he got to hold you and his favourite cat. The only two beings that were never met with his deep frowns and furrowed brows.

Bucky closed his piercing blue eyes for just a moment, tilting his head closer to yours. Allowing himself to smell the mingled scent of your perfume and Alpine’s fur. While he was at it, he deposited a firm kiss on your head, a silent ‘thank you’.

The cat’s little claw got stuck in the chain, and he chuckled to himself, moving his hand away from yours to gently help her. “Careful with those, Alpine, they’re older than anything in this house.”