Doll. // Bucky Barnes X OC

TWENTY-EIGHT

The compound was calm in the early morning, the hum of activity still gentle enough that Melany could hear it from her room. She padded barefoot to the kitchen, still wrapped in a soft hoodie, and started the coffee.

"Morning," Bucky's voice rumbled behind her before she even saw him.

She glanced over her shoulder to find him leaning in the doorway, hair messy, sweats loose, arms crossed casually. A small, lazy smile tugged at his lips.

"Morning," she returned, a smile tugging at her own lips.

He came closer, settling against the counter beside her. His hand brushed hers as he reached for the sugar, and she didn't pull away. They stood in quiet comfort, a simple closeness that didn't need words.

"You know," he said after a moment, voice low, "I never thought I'd enjoy mornings this much."

Melany tilted her head. "You mean, standing in a kitchen with me?"

Bucky chuckled softly. "Yeah. That too." His fingers lingered near hers, tracing absent patterns over the counter. "It's... easy. No missions, no threats, no one needing me to be someone else."

She watched him carefully, feeling that weight she used to sense in him—always tense, always on guard—was finally gone, replaced with quiet warmth.

"Good," she said softly, brushing her hand against his. "Because you deserve this. Both of us do."

He exhaled, a breath that seemed to release months of tension. "Yeah. We do."

Breakfast was casual, quiet, a few jokes slipping between bites of toast and eggs. Bucky kept brushing against her accidentally-on-purpose: hands meeting, knees bumping, fingers intertwining over the table. Each touch was small, electric, a reminder of how close they'd become in the months since HYDRA.

The afternoon sun slanted through the training room windows, catching the dust motes in the air and throwing golden streaks across the floor.

Melany and Bucky were at opposite ends of the mat, but the space between them was electric. She was stretching, testing the limits of her recovered leg, and he was circling her, his eyes tracing her movements as though memorizing every line of her body.

"You're still too tense," he said, stepping closer.

She smirked, rolling her eyes. "I could say the same about you, Barnes."

He raised an eyebrow, a slow grin tugging at his lips. "Maybe. But I've got better reasons."

She tilted her head, playful. "Oh really? Enlighten me."

"I don't want to crush you if you fall," he said quietly, though there was a teasing lilt to his voice.

Her laughter was soft, low. "That's... considerate."

"Smart too," he said, stepping closer, his presence pressing warmth against her without touching. "I've survived seventy years. I know a thing or two about balance."

Melany rolled her eyes, but she couldn't stop the heat rising in her chest at the way his eyes lingered, blue and steady. She moved into a lunge, stretching, and he mirrored her stance a few feet away, fingers brushing against the air near hers, teasing without contact.

"Stop hovering," she teased, voice low.

"I'm not," he said, tilting his head, a smirk forming despite the tension. "I'm... supervising."

"Supervising doesn't usually make me want to bite you," she muttered, eyes narrowing.

He laughed, a short, low sound that made her chest flutter. "Is that... a threat or a confession?"