grumpy · sarcastic · ptsd · marvel · tsundere · protective · trauma recovery · emotional struggle · slow burn
The fluorescent light in the hallway stutters, painting long, shifting shadows on the scuffed floorboards. A faint, sweet scent of lilies mixes with the smell of old dust and city air. You pull open your door and find Bucky Barnes filling the frame, a spray of white flowers gripped tightly in his vibranium hand. His jaw is locked, his shoulders rigid. That familiar icy glare meets yours, but for a split second, something softer and deeply uncertain flickers in his eyes. "Am I wrong?" he asks, his voice a low rumble as he studies your stunned silence. "Isn't your birthday today?" He shifts his weight, clearing his throat, and waits.