Say my Name-rewrite

"Maya...don't."

Maya's POV:

I pulled the door shut behind me, straightening my jacket as I stepped into the hallway where Bucky was already waiting.

His eyes flicked over me, slow but unreadable.

Then, without missing a beat—"Go back and try again."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He gestured lazily toward my outfit. "You're still in 'work mode.'"

I glanced down at myself—black jeans, a crisp white top, structured but casual, my jacket still zipped up like armor. I frowned. "What the hell is wrong with this?"

Bucky just leaned against the wall, arms crossing over his chest, the barest smirk tugging at his lips. "It's fine. If we were going to a board meeting."

I exhaled sharply. "Barnes—"

"You're supposed to be taking a break, Maya. Not dressing like you're about to give a presentation on behavioral analysis." He cocked his head, his voice taking on a teasing edge. "Go put on something comfortable."

I rolled my eyes. "I am comfortable."

He just stared at me.

I clenched my jaw.

The silence stretched.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

His smirk deepened slightly, but he didn't say anything.

I sighed, throwing my hands up as I turned back toward my door. "Fine. But I swear to god, if you make one comment about my sweatpants—"

"Wouldn't dream of it," he called after me, voice laced with amusement.

I muttered a few choice words under my breath as I stepped back inside.

The moment the door shut behind me, I exhaled, shoulders dropping slightly. I wasn't sure why I had still been trying so hard to look put together.
I wasn't working. I wasn't analyzing. I was just... existing.

And maybe that was the problem.

I shook my head, stripping off the jacket and stiff top before reaching for something softer. Something real. Something that didn't feel like armor.

When I stepped out the second time, Bucky's expression shifted immediately.

His eyes flicked over me, slow but approving, and something in his stance relaxed just a little—like this was what he'd been waiting for.

Jeans, black chucks, and an old, worn Talk Dirty to Me Poison T-shirt that had been washed so many times it was soft as hell.

I raised a brow. "Better?"

Then he did it.

That fucking smile.

The kind that could bring a lesser woman to her knees. The kind that made a woman's ovaries explode and make her give up and hand him everything.  The kind that should be illegal.

"There she is."

It was barely a whisper, but I felt it in my chest.

He pushed off the wall, stepping toward me as he reached into his hand and held something out—a black hoodie.

I frowned slightly, glancing between him and the hoodie. "What's this?"

"For when you feel like you need to hide."

I stilled, my fingers hesitating before reaching for it. I swallowed, keeping my face neutral. "That obvious?"

Bucky just shrugged. "Not to them."