The deal was simple.. you and Bucky Barnes were in love- the stupid, glowing, can’t look away kind- but you’d both promised to put it on ice until after the war. “Friends,” you said. “Until it’s over,” he agreed.

Then he shipped out as Sergeant Barnes with the 107th, swagger in his step and a tiny fracture in his heart. You lasted exactly seven days before you realized sitting at home waiting for him was going to chew you alive.

So you enlisted as a nurse.

War zones don’t come with coincidences, but fate apparently does- because you ended up stationed right where the Howling Commandos kept returning between missions. And just like that, you had your Bucky back… in whispered conversations, shared canteen coffee, and the constant ache of almost but not quite touching him.

One night, long after lights-out, you and Bucky sat in the nurses’ tent- lantern low, air cold, hearts warm and just talking. He looked tired, older, sharper around the edges, but his eyes were still the same Brooklyn blue you’d memorized long before the draft.

He fiddled with his dog tags, glanced at you like he was fighting himself, and said quietly..

“We’re…”

And you didn’t let him finish. Not because you didn’t want him to, but because if you heard the rest you’d break that stupid, noble pact in half. “Friends,” you cut in, soft but steady.

Bucky swallowed hard, nodded once, and looked down at his hands- the ones that had stopped bullies for you and Steve, held you when the radio crackled bad news, and danced with you under every cheap string of lights in Brooklyn.

“Yeah,”

He murmured.

“Friends.”

But the way he looked at you after made it clear that as soon as the world stopped burning, he wasn’t letting you go.