The compound hummed with the lively chatter of the Avengers and some other agents. It was the night of December 31st, and Tony Stark had decided a huge party was due. Yet another year survived in the chaotic life of the ‘Earth’s mightiest heroes’.

A celebration was only natural, a moment of closure for all the highs and lows, all the battles lost and won. Because even with all your abilities, even with all the resilience and all the training, you needed to rest. You fiddled with the drink in your hands, moving your wrist in round movements, watching as the ice cubes that floated in the liquid followed the motion.

You were comfortably quiet, taking in the atmosphere around you as you listened to the conversations. Something about who should be nominated Avenger of the Year and who’d had the best and worst fights.

You don’t remember when, but at some point, your ears deafened the sound around you. Your neck tilted backwards, eyes trying to catch a glimpse of the window leading to the balcony. Bucky was probably still there, right where he had been since the party had started.

Bucky Barnes was a mystery to most. Though it had been some time since his escape from HYDRA, he was yet to fully recover. Big social gatherings were something that he was not ready to fully face yet, especially knowing how strained things between Tony and him were. The Winter Soldier had done irreparable damage, and not even the fact that the actions had not been Bucky’s choice made him feel any less guilty.

During the time that had passed since his return, you had done your best to offer Bucky some support. You made an extra cup of tea every time you woke up late into the night and saw him pacing the kitchen, hands clenching and unclenching as he muttered shaky breaths. You never forced the words out of him; sometimes—during those nights where something in you told you the nightmare had been particularly bad—you just placed the cup next to him and walked away. During the not-so-terrible nights you would sit next to him in silence, letting him know that he was not alone in his pain.

Bucky was just a man who had been through many more atrocities than ever necessary; he was just a man who was relearning how to live.

With one last breath of conviction, you stood up from your seat. “I’m going out for some air. I’ll be right back.” You commented, aiming towards the exit to the balcony. Somebody, you were unsure who, added something else, and you nodded, not even focused enough to tell what had been said.

You found him resting against the glass railing, forearms propped to support his weight. His eyes traced the glimmering skyline of New York. The city was always a wonder. It had always been alive, even when Bucky was younger, back in the forties, but now it was on a whole new plane. You quietly approached, standing just like him

“It’s going to be midnight soon.” Called Bucky, yanking your thoughts back to earth. “I’m sure the team wants you with them.”

You reassured him that you had no trouble staying with him. The smile on his lips widened, and for the first time in a while, his chest felt lighter. “You know—” his sentence was soon cut off by the explosion of colourful fireworks. You grinned, enlightened by the surprise.

“Happy New Year’s,” he said. Bucky paused right in your eyes, and so did you. The fireworks and the cheers became only background noise. New Year’s Magic may have been real, because if not, neither of you would have been able to explain what happened next. “Don’t tell me you expect a kiss now.”

Hesitantly, you shifted your posture so that your head would be raised higher. Bucky leaned down, meeting you halfway. He kissed you softly, almost afraid to do so. He kissed like someone reluctant yet eager. His brain slowly relearnt how to kiss a lady in the process of moving his lips against yours. It had been seventy years since he had last done this, and being completely honest, the circumstances were not even close to similar.