Work Text:
The apartment was smaller than you'd imagined.
The living room barely had enough space for the couch, coffee table, and bookshelf you'd insisted on bringing with you. The kitchen had exactly four cabinets, one of which refused to stay closed. And the bedroom window looked directly into the brick wall of the building next door.
But it was yours.
For the first time in a long time, you'd chosen somewhere because you wanted it—not because it was convenient, affordable, or close to someone else's life.
You stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the collection of boxes scattered around you.
"I think we made a mistake."
Behind you, Bucky dropped another box onto the floor.
"We?"
You glanced over your shoulder.
He stood there with his sleeves pushed up, hair falling into his face, looking far too comfortable carrying half your belongings with one arm.
"You made a mistake," he corrected.
You laughed. "Traitor."
"I've been called worse."
He crossed the room and picked up the box labeled KITCHEN.
"You want this one in there?"
"Yeah."
Bucky disappeared into the kitchen.
You heard the unmistakable sound of something clattering.
"Everything okay?"
"Fine."
A pause.
"Your mugs are trying to kill me."
You laughed again.
It was strange how easily he'd slipped into this: helping you move, carrying boxes, opening stubborn jars, taking apart furniture when the instructions became increasingly incomprehensible.
You hadn't even asked him to stay this long, but every time you'd suggested he go home, he'd found another box to carry. Eventually, the apartment began to look less like a collection of cardboard and more like a home.
The bookshelf went against the far wall.
The couch faced the television.
Your plants found their places on the windowsill.
Bucky even managed to fix the cabinet that refused to close.
You stared at it in amazement.
"How did you do that?"
“Experience,” he shrugged.
"With cabinets?"
"With things that don't work the way they're supposed to."
There was something in his voice that made you look at him. His expression had gone distant. You knew enough about Bucky to understand what he wasn't saying. Things hadn't always worked the way they were supposed to for him, either.
You stepped closer. "Hey."
His eyes found yours.
"This one is different."
His brow furrowed.
"You get to choose what happens here," you said. "No one else."
Something softened in his expression. "I like that."
"So do I."
The afternoon faded into evening before either of you noticed. Eventually, you both collapsed onto the floor amid half-open boxes and discarded packing paper.
"We should probably order dinner," you said.
"Probably."
Neither of you moved.
You looked around the room. There were still boxes everywhere. The couch wasn't assembled properly. One of the curtains was hanging slightly crooked. It wasn't perfect, but it felt right.
"Thank you," you said quietly.
Bucky turned his head toward you.
"For what?"
"For helping me."
"You didn't have to ask."
"I know." A small smile tugged at your lips. "I just didn't realize you'd practically move in."
Bucky's eyebrows lifted. "Practically?"
You laughed.
He looked away, suddenly fascinated by a box of books.
"We could put the bookshelf over there," he said.
You blinked.
"The bookshelf is already there."
"I know."
"And you said we."
He froze.
"Bucky."
He looked at you.
There was a faint flush creeping across his cheeks.
"You noticed that?"
"I did."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Guess I did."
You shifted closer until your shoulder brushed his. "Would that be such a bad thing?"
His eyes met yours. "No." The answer came so quietly that your heart squeezed. Bucky looked around the apartment.
"You're starting something new."
"I am."
"You deserve to have something good."
"So do you."
He looked back at you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then Bucky reached for your hand, his fingers carefully threading through yours.
"Could I be part of it?"
"You already are,” you smiled.
His smile was small, but it was real. And when he leaned in to kiss you, surrounded by boxes and crooked curtains and furniture that still needed assembling, you realized something. Maybe a new beginning didn't have to mean starting over alone. Maybe sometimes, the best opportunities were the ones you never saw coming.