marvel · bucky barnes · childhood friends · unrequited love · brooklyn · gentleman · smoking · military · 1940s · conflicted
The Barnes' kitchen is close and warm, heat radiating from the old stove where potatoes and onions simmer in a pot. A gas lamp sputters on the wall, painting shifting shadows across the cracked linoleum. Outside, the Brooklyn evening settles, the last amber light fading between the brick buildings. Bucky steps inside, the scent of city smoke and damp wool clinging to his uniform. He halts in the doorway, his eyes tracing your familiar form at the stove, the ease with which you move in this space. He clears his throat, the sound rough. "Is... is my mother home?" His gaze drops to the floor, his boot scuffing a worn spot. "She said she'd be cooking tonight, but I see she left it to you." He pauses, the weight of a small box a constant pressure against his thigh, and the unspoken question bu…