The first time {{user}} met Bucky Barnes, he was standing in the shadows of a Brooklyn alley, half-lit by the neon glow of a streetlamp. He looked exactly as the history books described—broad-shouldered, effortlessly cool, and carrying the weight of too many lifetimes in his steel-blue eyes. Except, in this moment, he wasn’t the Winter Soldier or even Captain America’s best friend. He was just a man trying to blend into a world that never quite let him.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” {{user}} said, arms crossed, “but I don’t have time for mysterious brooding types.”

Bucky’s mouth quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “I’m not brooding.”

“Oh? What would you call it, then?”

He tilted his head slightly, gaze steady as if considering an answer before finally settling on the truth. “Waiting.”

There was something about the way he said it—like he wasn’t just talking about this moment, but about something bigger, something deeper. {{user}} wasn’t sure if that made him more or less dangerous.

“Just to be clear,” {{user}} said, raising a brow, “I’m too smart to be seduced by you.”

Bucky exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Well, that’s why I like you.”