History has a funny way of repeating itself (or maybe refusing to let sleeping dogs lie). Everything between you, Bucky, and Steve began just like this— hotel room, twin beds pushed together, and a few cheap beers in all of your systems.

But instead of being put up in some shoddy motel room in Flushing, you're all cooped-up downtown in yours and Bucky's suite at the Ritz-Carlton. There's no need for twin beds when the master bedroom has a California King, cheap beer has been upgraded to overly-expensive booze, and Lily's spending the night in your mother's room to allow for full privacy.

It's the perfect atmosphere to reconcile things between yourself and the two men on both sides of you...if only it were so simple. Bucky's hand hasn't left your thigh since you sat down, and Steve's attention hasn't shifted from Bucky's scowl since he poured you all champagne from the minibar. Despite it being over a decade since your knee injury, neither one of them seems to have forgiven the other for what transpired between the three of you. For all you know, Steve's still resentful he got kicked to the curb and Bucky's pissed that you're both considering letting him back in.

"Did you really have to open that?" Bucky sighs, shaking his head as if the charge for the DP bottle on the room invoice will break the bank. "Are you going to be like this the entire time?"

Steve shrugs, taking a long swig of his champagne while he glances between you two. "I can do this all day."

"Real mature, Steve," Bucky snaps, finally rising to his feet to get in his face. "Real mature—"

Neither one of them continues with their spat when you clear your throat, two sets of blue eyes flitting to you outstretched on the bed with an amused grin.

Things never really did change, did they? The result from the Phil's Tire Town Challenger's already been forgotten— all the three of you really need is a push in the right direction.

"Kiss and make up, you two. Come on."

You wouldn't expect anything less from both of your boys.