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The first Christmas without him.
You had been dreading it for months, wishing and willing for all holidays to just go by without you having to notice their existence. This was becoming your philosophy for pretty much every aspect of your life. That you could continue to live through it coated with numbness, refusing to acknowledge the pain that had begun to fester deep within you ever since he left, only allowing it to create a persistent, dull sting. A constant companion and reminder of what you had lost.
The universe did not allow that to happen, though.
Had you not been in a neverending state of devastation, you might have found it hilarious how impossible it was to ignore the existence of the holiday season. You couldn’t go anywhere without seeing festive decorations, Hallmark Christmas movie ads on every TV commercial and streaming service. And even when you stayed in the seemingly safe confines of your house, the faint glow of twinkle lights cascaded down each apartment building along your block.
It was everywhere. A constant reminder of everyone’s happiness, everyone’s merriment and cheer. And you knew that you should share those bright and happy feelings, it was the first Christmas after The Blip, the first one in five years that those who weren’t snapped got to celebrate with the loved ones they thought to be dead.
The whole situation put you in such mental turmoil, torn in two directions of how you felt about it. One part of you was grateful that you were snapped away for five years, not having to experience the unimaginable pain of seeing an exorbitant number of your loved ones being turned to dust.
The other part would forever wonder if had you stayed around for those five years, he might still be here.
“I’m sorry, lov- Y/n. I never expected this to happen. It’s just, now that I know I can go back, I know it’s what I need to do. You’ll be better off, you deserve someone better.”
Just like he did. He deserved to be with the woman he truly loved.
Which, apparently, was not you after all.
Though the admission ripped your heart to pieces, the worst part was that somewhere deep in your brain, you always knew. Knew that you were never good enough for Steve. He was America’s golden boy, and you were…well, you.
It had never made sense why he wanted you, especially after you saw photos of the drop-dead gorgeous Peggy Carter. Why would he want someone like you when he’d had that?
You had spent years working toward being worthy of that love, being there for him every step of the way. It hadn’t been that hard, because as soon as you met him once he woke up after 70 years submerged in ice and you looked into those bright blue eyes and saw that glowing smile, you were a goner.
You would do anything for that man, did anything for that man. Cooked him meals that reminded him of the ones his mom would make, helped him acclimate to this new era and tried to go back in time by watching movies and listening to music from the ‘40s, loving how much he would light up from these small efforts.
You were there by his side when Peggy passed away, holding his hand at her funeral.
Then one day, it clicked, and Steve looked at you differently. The shock was almost overwhelming, having the thing you had dreamt of for so long finally happen.
Christmases with Steve were pure magic, and you couldn’t wait to spend the lifetime of them with him. Your person.
That life had been cut short, left broken and bleeding at a house by the lake.
Now it was just you, walking up the stairs to your apartment, eyes glued to the icy concrete to prevent a very likely slip and fall.
“Hey.”
Your face shot up to the door in front of you, a familiar figure with short brown hair and a small, tentative smile standing at the top of the stairs.
“Bucky?” Your foot slipped on the step and you waved your arms around frantically, trying to grasp onto something as you fell backwards, bracing for what was definitely going to be a painful and unpleasant impact with the harsh surface.
Until your arm was grabbed and your body was no longer falling, suspended for a few seconds as you looked into the wide blue eyes of your savior.
“Are you okay?” he asked, suddenly breathless from the adrenaline rush.
You nodded, also breathing heavily. Bucky gently pulled you to stand straight. “Thank you.”
He kept his hand on your arm, eyes locked on yours. His hair was shorter, his beard shaved down to a thin layer of scruff, but his eyes remained the same as the last time you saw them.
A perfect reflection of what lay behind yours. Pain, loss, grief.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, finally.
You watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “I, uh, I just moved a few blocks down. Sam told me you were close by, and I wanted to check in. See how you were.” He looked behind his shoulder to the paper bag on the ground. “Brought some muffins from a bakery down the road.”
“Which bakery?” Your brows furrowed while his shot up.
“Lee’s?”
For the first time in what felt like a long time, the corners of your mouth lifted to a small smile.
“Good choice. I love Lee’s.”
The smile of relief Bucky gave you caused you to feel as if you were free falling once more, but you pushed that away almost immediately. Instead, you willed your focus on getting up the treacherous stairs, begrudgingly clinging to Bucky’s arm as an anchor until you reach the top.
Bucky leaned down to grab the muffins and handed them to you, and the two of you stood there in a painfully awkward silence for a few moments until he could no longer take it. “Well, I hope you’re doing well. If you need anything, let me know. You have my number, right?”
You nodded. “I do. Um…do you want to come in?”
His mouth dropped for a millisecond before he caught himself. Then, he gave you another small smile. “Sure, that sounds great. Thanks.”
Your apartment wasn’t anything nice. It used to be filled with life, photos of loved ones, different trinkets and special decor. All of that reminded you of Steve, though, and over the past few months you had removed almost all trace of him, leaving the space as hollow as you felt on the inside.
“How long have you lived here?” Bucky asked, taking off his boots. He kept his leather jacket on, though, as well as his black leather gloves. Not that he needed to, you knew what was underneath, but you weren’t going to force him to remove his armor if he needed it to feel comfortable.
“Couple of years. Well, not including the five that I was…gone.”
He nodded. “It’s nice. Lot more stuff in it than mine.”
You pictured a barren wasteland. “Do you like your place?”
“It’s fine. An adjustment, but fine.”
Silence.
More silence.
“Do you want water? Tea? Wine?”
“Water is fine. Alcohol doesn’t do anything anymore anyways.”
“Right.” You grabbed two glasses of water and sat at the small dining room table.
The silence continued. You had no idea what to say to the man before you. The last things you had said to him were….unkind.
“How can you just let him leave? Are you that much of a coward that you won’t say something?”
Bucky noticed your wince at the memory and shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. “Was this a bad idea? Should I not have come?”
You sat straight, hands waving so manically that you nearly knocked over your glass. “No! No. It’s good to see you, Bucky. I just- I feel bad how I left things. What I said to you was awful.”
He shook his head, jaw tense. “You were upset. We both were.” He muttered his next few words into his glass, “Most of what you said was true anyways.”
“It wasn’t. I was lashing out at you even though you were probably grieving just as much as I was. That wasn’t fair, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for-” don’t say it, “I’m just sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.” He lifted his glass toward you with a sheepish smile. “To being sorry for not knowing how to emote in healthy ways.”
You chuckled, clinking your glass to his. “A-fucking-men to that.”
Once the tension was broken, the two of you spent the rest of the night chatting somewhat comfortably. You each had your own impenetrable walls up, careful with each word spoken in a way that still brought an edge to the atmosphere. Still, it was nice to talk to someone who didn’t expect you to be happy or express any type of emotion.
You could just…be. Be sad, be tired, be guarded, and for Bucky that was okay.
Until the topic of Christmas came up.
“What are you doing to celebrate? Getting the tree and lights and all that shit?” he asked, pulling a scoff from you.
“Fuck no. I’m canceling Christmas.”
His brows furrowed. “Not in the holiday spirit or something?”
“Not in any type of spirit to do anything so cheerful, I guess. What about you?”
Bucky cleared his throat, something you noticed he did whenever he was about to say something that made him uncomfortable. “I don’t know. I haven’t really had a Christmas in, well, 90 years or so. Not that it would mean anything because everyone I love is gone.”
Your stomach sank to the floor, heart filled with a new type of ache that overpowered the dull one you had felt for months now.
But before you could say anything else, Bucky glanced at his watch. “Oh shit.” He stood up from his chair. “Didn’t realize how long I had been here. I should get going. You probably want to actually get some sleep or something. It was nice catching up, Y/n.”
You stood up too, walking with him to the door. Bucky gave you his address while he put his shoes on, in case you needed anything.
“Thanks for the muffins,” you said with a small smile. The two of you stared at each other for one last round of awkward silence before Bucky tipped his head at you and walked out the door.
Hours later and you were in bed staring at the ceiling unable to sleep, thinking about your conversation with Bucky.
“Haven’t had a Christmas in 90 years.”
“Everyone I love is gone.”
You groaned.
Damn you, empathy.
********************
The next day, you were outside his door, phone against your ear.
“Uh, hello?” Bucky’s confused old man voice would have made you laugh were you not a puddle of nerves.
“Hey, I’m uh, outside your place. Can you come out?”
The door opened in less than ten seconds, Bucky in his usual black leather jacket and gloves. The furrowed brows and side smile combined together to make an adorable look of confusion on his face.
No, not adorable. Just confused.
“Afternoon, doll. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
You shifted your focus to the ground for a moment before looking back at him. “I changed my mind.” The words came out so fast that they sounded more like a jumbled mess than a coherent sentence. “I want to celebrate Christmas this year.”
His eyes narrowed, but his smile remained. “I thought you didn’t want to feel any holiday cheer?”
Shifting your weight from side to side, you shrugged. “Who knows, maybe some cheer will do me some good. And if it doesn’t, I’ll use it as an excuse to spend the rest of my life with holiday doom and gloom.”
A low, gravelly chuckle rumbled out of Bucky that made your face heat up. “Good for you, Y/n. Let me know how it goes, and if you need tips on doom and gloom, let me know. I’ve got that shit covered.”
Your eyes were back on the ground, fists clenching and unclenching in your coat pockets. “Actually, I wanted to see if you wanted to celebrate with me? We could do Christmas together or something?”
When Bucky didn’t respond, you looked up to meet an expression you had never seen on the man before. Face soft, brows raised slightly, mouth parted open the tiniest bit, as if even the grumpy demeanor that seemed to be his baseline vanished completely and was replaced by the young man Bucky might have been before being shipped off to war a hundred years ago.
Your heart swelled, desperately wishing that look could be the default for him, that he didn’t have to be so sad all the time. That flash of a feeling brought bile to your throat, terror coursing through you at the familiarity of it. You hadn’t experienced that type of longing since…him.
Instead of dwelling in it, you continued your pitch, uncomfortable by the lack of response from Bucky.
“We don’t have to do anything big, obviously. It can just be small stuff. A tree, some decorations, we can make cookies, watch old movies - no Hallmark ones, though. That way we’re not alone, ya know?”
“Sure.”
The swelling of your heart returned, and a smile crept up your lips. “Really?”
He nodded, his own smile growing. “I mean, part of me is wondering if you asked so I could help with the tree,” you both laughed, “But even if that’s the case, I’d really like to.”
Your lips pressed together to prevent your smile from growing too wide. For the first time in a long time, you felt lighter, and the constant state of pain quelled for just a moment.
“Great,” you said softly. “So…how stereotypical do you want to get with this? We could grab hot chocolate and maybe do some tree shopping?”
His grin turned sly. “We gotta stop by the liquor store first for Peppermint Schnapps.”
Your eyes narrowed. “I thought alcohol doesn’t do anything to your system?”
Bucky stepped forward, closing the door to his apartment building behind him. Hands moving to his pockets, he extended his elbow out for you to grab his arm as you both descended down the stairs.
“It’s more for the memory. Stev- uh, we used to drink hot chocolate with Peppermint Schnapps all the time during the holidays.”
The bile returned, and the chill dwelling within your body was no longer caused by the weather. Still, you shook it off and forced a smile. “Peppermint Schnapps it is, then.”
And that was how you and Bucky decided to celebrate Christmas together. It started with the spiked hot chocolates while finding a small, 4ft Fraser fir to take to your home, you arguing with Bucky to let you ‘carry’ the front of it (knowing full well that he was holding it all on his own, you just wanted to contribute). Luckily, you hadn’t yet thrown away all of your decorations, so you were able to get the lights up that evening. The way the dim, colorful glow reflected off Bucky’s face as his eyes stared at them in wonder brought the ache in your heart back in full force.
You didn’t seem to mind it as much, allowing it to linger a little longer before shifting your focus back on the task at hand.
“I don’t have any ornaments,” you lied. There was a box buried deep in the back of your closet, but those carried too many memories. The mental image particular one of a star with a photo of you and Steve immediately brought a film of tears to your eyes.
“No worries, we can go buy some if you’d like?”
That resulted in a Target run where you bought more lights, some pretty ornaments, as well as two silly ones you and Bucky chose for yourselves. You bought one of Snoopy laying on the roof of his decked-out holiday dog house, gaping in horror when Bucky told you he had never seen A Charlie Brown Christmas (something you would rectify that evening), and Bucky found one of a vintage fire engine red Cadillac that looked like the ones back in the ‘40s.
Over the next few weeks, you did it all. Baked holiday cookies, watched all the classic movies, drank more spiked hot chocolate, and continued to decorate your home.
“Don’t you want us to decorate your place, Bucky?” you asked one evening as he stood on a chair to hang the star atop the Christmas tree that you had both decided to name Linus (Bucky had obviously loved the movie). “I’m sure we could find you a tree and everything. I feel bad that we’re only doing this stuff here.”
He shook his head with a small smile, one you had begun to see regularly on that previously grumpy face. “Nah, I barely even have furniture in my apartment so it makes no sense to decorate it when I’ve hardly furnished it. Besides, this place feels more homey to me, so it’s nice to come here as a place to escape to.” He blushed, suddenly realizing the weight of his admission. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “Is that weird?”
No, you thought. “No,” you said, butterflies swarming your stomach. “I don’t think it’s weird at all.”
The smile he gave you then almost split his face in two, and you knew that your own smile mirrored it. It was true. Having Bucky here with you to celebrate Christmas made your place feel like home for the first time in a long time. It was nice to finally have some new memories to replace the ones that brought so much pain.
More than that, it was nice to spend time with Bucky, to get to know the man you had heard so many stories about, who had been masked behind the wall formed from decades of fear and pain. The more time you spent together, the walls you both had up guarding your hearts started to chip away, inviting in new feelings of warmth and happiness.
So no, you didn’t mind that Bucky felt at home with you.
“Alright,” he said on the couch, scrolling through Christmas movies, “I think we’ve watched all of these ones.”
You pointed at the screen when a particular icon appeared. “Let’s watch this one. It’s good.”
He looked at you, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “The Christmas Prince? I thought we weren’t doing corny holiday rom-coms?”
You shrugged. “Maybe I changed my mind.”
The two of you stared at each other for a moment, gazing into each other's eyes and the butterflies danced throughout your entire body.
Finally, he gave you a slow nod, looking down at the remote and hitting the select button. “Let’s do it, then.”
At the start of the film, you and Bucky sat side by side on the couch, a few inches of space separating you. But by the time the main character fell off her horse and was stranded by a pack of wolves, the distance had vanished, your right side pressed against Bucky’s, right hand close to touching his metal one.
So close, that when he shifted, the cool vibranium brushed against yours. It sent a shiver down your spine, not from the temperature of the metal, but from the feeling of his hand touching yours. Something pushed you to move your hand closer, silently telling him that you didn’t mind the contact, and next thing you knew, his hand crept over yours until your fingers were interlaced.
Suddenly the movie was white noise in the background, all of your focus turning to your hand. You turned your head to the side and found Bucky’s eyes looking into yours, his cheeks flush as he licked his bottom lip.
Surely he could hear your heart pounding inside your chest. If he did, he made no mention of it. Instead he just moved his face closer to yours-
A phone buzzed - Bucky’s - pulling you both out of the moment. He sat back and pulled it out of his pocket to turn it off.
But then the screen came into view, and all of the blood that had rushed to your cheeks was gone in a second.
Incoming Call: Stevie
Bucky looked at the phone and then at you, his eyes wide with panic, but it was too late. Your wall was back, and you moved to the edge of the couch, eyes peeled to the screen.
“You should get that,” you forced out through the fog forming in your brain. Your breathing became short, the numbness that had been your companion for months slamming back into you.
He shifted. “I can call him back-”
“Just answer, Bucky.”
You could see him staring at you from your peripherals, but then he sighed, standing up and moving to your bedroom, muffled whispers echoing through the space.
“Hey, Steve. Now’s not a good time.”
Memories you had forced away returned in full force.
“I loved you, Y/n. I swear I did. I just loved her more.”
“I’m good. I’ll visit Sunday, I promise.”
“It’s not you. It’s me.”
“Sam’s fine. He’s in Louisiana with his sister and the kids.”
“Thank you for everything you did. I’ll never forget you.”
“She’s….busy.” Bucky’s voice was almost inaudible now but you still heard the words. Your head shot toward the hall where Bucky was, feeling every agonizing moment of your heart ripping in two. “No, I’m not going to tell her that. She’s…you have to let her go, Steve. She deserved better than this, deserves better than this. Let her move on in peace. I gotta go. Yeah. See you later. Bye.”
He shuffled back down the hall, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes barely meeting yours. Not that he would find any sense of life behind them.
“I didn’t know you still talked to him.” Your voice was a hollow shell compared to just a few moments ago.
Bucky swallowed. “Yeah. He calls every once in a while, and I visit him upstate.”
“Gotcha.”
He stayed glued to his spot. “Do you want to talk about it?”
You shook your head, even though that wasn’t the case. “Does he ask about me a lot?” You hated the flicker of hope that carried in your tone.
He nodded. “All the time.” The truth hurt more than you wanted it to.
There was still one question that you didn’t want to ask, willing your mouth to stay shut, but you needed to ask it. Needed to know the answer. “Was he asking about me before you showed up on my doorstep weeks ago?”
The silence you were met with spoke volumes, and completely tore your heart in two.
“So you were just coming by to check in on me.” You stood up, unable to sit still any longer and you paced along your living room. Tears freely fell down your face. “Steve was too much of a coward to face me, and you came to see that I was doing okay because he felt bad? That’s how it is?”
Bucky took a step forward, hand outstretched but you stepped back. His eyes were glassy with tears he tried to hold back.
“No. Doll, listen, that’s not it at all-” His voice broke and you interrupted him before he could continue.
“It makes sense,” you laughed bitterly. “More sense than you willingly coming to see me because you wanted to. I’m nothing but a burden for him and now for you, forcing you to spend Christmas with me because I’m nothing but a pathetic trainwreck now that he left behind to be with the gorgeous, perfect love of his life.” You collapsed back on the couch, elbows on your knees and hands over your face. “Who would willingly want to spend time with someone so fucking broken? Why would you want to be with the person who wasn’t good enough to make Steve stay?”
Your body was shaking, all of the anguish you had bottled up since Steve had left erupting throughout your body, ready to consume you whole until there was nothing left.
But before you could crumble, strong arms encased you, gripping the sides of your arms to hold you together. You peaked up from behind your hands to find Bucky kneeling on the ground in front of you. Tears streamed down his face, but those stunning blue eyes pierced yours with force that both made you want to look away and keep your gaze locked on them forever.
“Sweetheart, listen to me.” The low, gruff voice was strong. Determined. Grounding. “I didn’t come here for Steve. When he asked, I told him no. I wasn’t going to do his dirty work to clean up the pieces after he left you.” He gently squeezed your arms. “I came here, because I couldn’t get our last conversation out of my head. I couldn’t stop picturing the look on your face when you found out what was happening, before you left. I knew that you were the only one who understood how much it sucked, how much it fucking sucked that he left. That even though he’s still alive, he’s gone, and I lost a part of myself because after he had left I had officially lost everyone I loved from before. It was scary and lonely and it fucking broke my heart. And I wanted to just be with someone who understood that hurt, someone who I could exist in that sadness with and not feel any pressure to feel happy or try to fix myself or anything, I could just be fucking sad and miss my friend.
“But now, without realizing it, that broken part of me has started to heal, and that’s thanks to you. Being with you, whether it’s drinking gross Peppermint Schnapps or watching lame Christmas movies, all of it, all of it has made me feel lighter than I have in decades. Like I could be more than the broken man I’ve been for so long. I’ve felt more like the kid I was in the ‘40s than I ever have. None of that would have happened if I hadn’t gotten to know the amazing, kind, funny, fucking fantastic person you are. And you know what?” He moved to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Steve’s a fucking idiot for not seeing that, and I don’t know if I’ll ever fully forgive him for hurting you the way he did.”
At that point, your heavy, swollen eyelids were barely open, body exhausted from the emotional whiplash you just experienced. Your brain was still foggy, but you held onto every word Bucky said, letting it play in a constant loop in your mind.
Without thinking - without allowing yourself to fight back the urge - you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around Bucky’s neck. He stilled for a moment in shock before melting into your embrace, hands rubbing circles around your back.
The two of you stayed there for an unknown number of minutes, holding one another, clinging to one another in silence.
Finally, you whispered into his ear, “Thank you.”
He chuckled, squeezing you a little more tightly. “Thank you, doll. I can’t begin to express how much all of this has meant to me. How much you mean to me.”
Whenever Steve had told you he loved you, that you meant the world to him, it would bring both butterflies in your stomach and a pit for them to flutter out of. They were words you longed to hear, but couldn’t quite believe that they were true, like you hadn’t done enough to deserve them.
Now, in this moment, hearing them from Bucky, you realized that it wasn’t about whether or not you deserved them. It was about being with someone you felt completely, utterly, wholeheartedly comfortable with. Someone you trusted, someone you felt safe giving your heart to.
So when he said that you meant something to him, you believed it to be true, and that left only the feeling of butterflies.
*****************
A knock on your door had you barreling through your apartment to throw it open, a huge grin on your face to match the one on the figure before you.
“Merry Christmas, Bucky,” you said, jumping forward to hug him.
He sighed as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you tightly to him. “Merry Christmas, Y/n.”
You quickly pulled away and stepped back to inspect his outfit. As promised, Bucky had worn his set of red flannel pajamas, identical to the ones you had on.
He couldn’t even pretend to be grump about it when he saw your smile widen.
“Alright, doll, what’s on the docket for today?”
You already had the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas blasting through the apartment, and a pot of coffee brewed, so you poured him a cup and let him stash the presents he bought under the tree. The two of you made breakfast, which consisted of a ridiculous amount of food and Bucky kept whining that the bacon wasn’t crisp enough and you threatened to pour pancake batter down his shirt, which then led to an impromptu tickle fight in your tiny kitchen. You eventually called a truce when Bucky cheated and used his super soldier strength to pin your arms down with one handle to tickle your waist with the other.
After breakfast, where Bucky finally admitted that the bacon was delicious, you sat by Linus the Fraser fir to open gifts. You got him a new pair of leather gloves, a few books, and a mug that said “World’s Best Grandpa.” He got you books (duh), the comfiest pair of fuzzy socks you had ever worn in your life, and candles that ‘had a smell that reminded him of you.’
You had also gotten him a thick, blue wool blanket.
“I know you don’t get cold,” you started, expression a bit more sheepish now, “But blankets do so much more than that. They’re soft, comforting. I thought it might help you feel more relaxed at home.”
Bucky’s jaw worked and he gave you a small smile as he wrapped the blanket around him, looking snug as a bug and absolutely adorable.
“This is awesome, thanks sweetheart.” He leaned over to the side to grab two more presents and extended them out to you. “Wanted to save the best for last. At least, I hope they’re the best.” He chuckled.
Oh, they were the best alright. A photo of the two of you from the other night, the beautiful lights of Linus creating a perfect backdrop behind your smiling faces, your Snoopy and red Cadillac ornaments hung next to each other in the background. It was placed in a chestnut wood frame that had “Our First Christmas” etched at the bottom. It was so perfect, so lovely that you felt tears welling in your eyes.
The next gift was wrapped in a small box, and you gasped when you opened it, your tear filled eyes looking down at a thin silver bracelet that had a small charm of the letter “B” hanging from it.
“I hope it’s not too much,” Bucky said nervously, scratching the back of his head. “I saw it at one of the shops and it made me think of you-”
“I love it,” you cut him off, pulling the bracelet out of the box. “I love all of it. These are perfect, Bucky. Thank you.”
You swore the smile on that man’s face could have put the damn sun to shame. You extended your hand out to him along with the bracelet, and he delicately clasped it around your wrist. His fingers lingered there a few seconds after, stroking your soft skin and sending shivers down your body.
You cleared your throat. “I have one more thing,” you said, suddenly sheepish as you stood up from your spot on the ground, making your way to your room.
Bucky called out to you when he heard some loud shuffling, “Do you need help in there?”
“No,” you said with a strained voice, “I got it.”
This present wasn’t wrapped, just donned with a large gold bow at the top.
Bucky stared at you in shock as you shuffled the small black bookcase into the living room. You stood next to it with your hands on your hips, slightly out of breath.
“I wasn’t sure what the color palette was - if there is any - at your place, but figured that with you black would be the safest option. I put it together myself with those shitty IKEA instructions, but I’ve built a Billy the Bookshelf Boyfriend before, so hopefully I didn’t totally screw it up. If I did, feel free to take it apart and put it back together correctly. It’s not much, but you said you barely had any furniture so at least this is a start, and we can definitely go on a field trip to work on getting your apartment properly furnished-”
He was so quick, so smooth, that your brain couldn’t even process that he was moving until his hands were around your face and his lips were pressed against yours. Once your brain finally had a moment to catch up, your arms were wrapped around his waist, pulling him close to you as you kissed him back, drinking in as much of him as possible.
It would be the first of a lifetime of kisses you shared with Bucky.
Just as this would be the first of a lifetime of Christmases you shared with him.