The neon lights of the drive-in flickered over the parking lot. Bucky leaned against the hood of his cherry-red Chevy, leather jacket catching the glow from the sign. From somewhere, you could hear the faint rockabilly tunes drifting from the speakers.

He tipped his fedora back, flashing that crooked smile that always made your chest tighten. “Took you long enough,” he said, voice smooth, casual, with that hint of mischief.

You laughed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I didn’t know if you’d save me a spot,” you joked, leaning against the car door.

Bucky stepped closer, hands in his pockets, the soft creak of his shoes on the asphalt following him. “For you?” he said, shaking his head. “I’d save the whole lot.” His eyes caught the neon light, serious for a second before the smirk returned.

You climbed into the car together, the heater doing little to cut the chill. The movie started, black and white images flickering on the big screen. Bucky rested an arm along the back of the seat, close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from him. Every time he glanced your way, his lips twitched like he was holding back a grin, and you felt that spark — the same one that made every innocent touch feel electric.

Halfway through the movie, he leaned closer, voice just above a whisper. “You know,” he said, “I’ve always liked it when you laugh like that.” His shoulder brushed yours, deliberate. For a moment, it was just you, him, and the soft hum of the drive-in.