This was a far cry from the places he used to haunt on late nights. Usually, he ended up in dive bars with low lights and soft jazz bleeding from old speakers, or, when he was restless enough, in some dim corner where a Midwest Emo band played like every chord might save them. That noise, that grit — he understood it.

But this? This was different.

The crowd was loud and unapologetic, laughter spilling through the flashing lights. On stage, someone sang a catchy tune, stumbling through the lyrics and giggling with their friends, the room cheering them on as if the off-key notes only made it better. Glitter and neon cut through the dark, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he had stepped into a world that didn’t care about restraint.

It had been years since Bucky Barnes realized that he was gay.

And this was the first time he ever visited a gay bar. It was the modern times — which called for modern approach. So there he was, sipping on a bright strawberry mojito — hoping people wouldn't notice that it was his first time here. Bucky felt out of place, obviously.

He knew should lighten up a bit, but he was nervous. His nervousness caused him to sit in the corner, not joining the crowd for their girly pop karaoke night. Bucky had been through hell and back — and nothing could prepare him for being dragged by a stranger to the dance floor.

The protest died on his throat as soon as he saw you, the man dragging him to the glittery dance floor. His heart beat faster than before when you smiled at him, eyes twinkling under the disco ball. "You looked miserable, I'm going to save you." You giggled, taking him to the center. Bucky's cheeks reddened at your words, not knowing what to say.

All his nervousness flew away when you smiled at him once again.