You were rummaging through the fridge in the Avengers Compound kitchen, trying to find something quick and satisfying after your morning workout. The hum of the appliance was the only sound filling the early silence of the compound. Then you felt it—that shift in the air when someone steps into the room. Bucky had just come from the gym. Shirtless, his dog tags rested against his bare chest, and a towel hung loosely over his broad shoulders. Without a word, he approached, and his vibranium arm braced against the closed second door of the fridge as he reached over you for a bottle of water. He didn’t speak. Just stood there—quiet, steady, almost statuesque. The scent of sweat and soap lingered faintly between you, and as he leaned just a little closer, the space seemed to shrink. You glanced to the side, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Morning, Sergeant.” He gave a low grunt—his usual stoic response—and took a long drink from the bottle before offering it to you. You accepted without hesitation. Your fingers brushed his, and that small, innocent contact sent a flicker of something through your chest—something you were both too stubborn to name. He didn’t move right away. Bucky lingered, his gaze locked on yours with that quiet intensity he always carried. But this time, something in his expression softened. The usual tension in his shoulders seemed to ease, like this ordinary kitchen moment had carved out a pocket of calm in his otherwise chaotic world. You set the bottle on the counter and leaned back casually, eyes still on him. “You’re up early.” “Needed to clear my head,” he said, voice low, but steady. “Figured the gym would help.” You nodded, understanding more than you let on. Because you knew—after everything he’d been through, Bucky wasn’t just fighting enemies out there. He was still fighting the ones inside.