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brunchable · 8 months ago

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It's not a Meet-𝑪𝒖𝒕𝒆, it's a Meet-𝗨𝗴𝗹𝘆. 《 Chapter 2: Figaro The Sleuth. 》

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: It's not a meet-cute, it's a meet ugly, Grumpy Meets ✨️Sunshine✨️, Opposites Attract, Sassy Pet Matchmaker, Enemies-to-Lovers (Lite), Destined to meet again, Bucky is a hidden softie. Summary: Smelling another cat's scent on his owner, Figaro took it upon himself to investigate. Fourdays later, Y/N found herself back at Sarah's apartment where she unfortunately have to ask Bucky is she could borrow some hot sauce. A/N: This story will be OUTSIDE of MCU but Bucky's traits will be mixed comics/mcu. I hope I tagged everyone? Credits to me for the Banner lmfao. credits to @ khaer for the divider.

Figaro had a new plan today: track down the intriguing scent he’d picked up on his owner. After his daring escape from the penthouse, he trotted purposefully down the street, trailing the scent until it led him to a familiar building—one he’d noticed you visiting before. He circled around, spotting an open ground-floor window with a fire escape leading up to it. With a practiced leap, he made his way to the windowsill and peered inside.

There, lounging on the other side of the window, was the white cat he’d been tracking. She was pristine, her fur gleaming as she carefully groomed herself, completely unbothered by his presence. Figaro tilted his head, studying her for a moment before he gave a soft, questioning chirp.

Alpine paused mid-groom, her icy blue eyes sliding over to meet his with a hint of disdain. She stared at him for a long moment before slowly stretching, as if to say, And who do you think you are?

Figaro didn’t back down, flicking his tail in a friendly, if smug, greeting. Figaro, he replied, his eyes scanning the cozy room behind her. You must be the reason my human came home smelling like… this place.

Alpine blinked, then raised a delicate paw, resuming her grooming as if he hadn’t even spoken. Oh? she drawled, looking entirely unbothered. And you’ve come all this way to investigate a little scent? How curious.

Figaro’s whiskers twitched with amusement. Let’s just say I have a nose for… mysteries. And last I checked, my human doesn’t usually come home with traces of other cats all over her.

Alpine tilted her head, a slight smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, there was no other woman she slept on except you. Your human happens to have a very cozy chest, she said coolly. Can’t blame a cat for taking advantage. She paused, her icy gaze sharp. In fact, you should be grateful.

Grateful? Figaro echoed, tilting his head. Why exactly?

Alpine gave him a level stare, her tail flicking with amusement. If it weren’t for me, your precious human would’ve had the cops called on her. My human doesn’t take too kindly to… unexpected guests.

Figaro’s eyes widened, and he gave an involuntary twitch. Cops? he muttered, momentarily thrown off his cool facade. He quickly recovered, looking her over with renewed respect—and mild suspicion. Alright, maybe I owe you one.

Alpine returned to grooming her paw, feigning indifference. Yes, she replied with a graceful flick of her tail. You do.

Figaro sat, tail curling neatly around his paws, trying to look nonchalant. You don’t exactly seem like the… charitable type.

Alpine finally met his gaze directly, her icy blue eyes narrowing. Maybe I’m just better at making friends than you are. She gave a dainty sniff, her nose twitching. I noticed you took the fire escape. Not exactly… refined, is it?

Figaro let out a soft huff, unimpressed. Refined? I’m practical, Snowball.

Alpine’s ears flicked at the nickname, but she didn’t rise to it. Instead, she leaned forward, her gaze assessing. You can call it whatever you like, Figaro. But from where I’m sitting, it looks like I’m running things here.

They stayed like that, locked in a silent stare-down, each refusing to break eye contact first. Finally, Figaro let his shoulders relax, flicking his tail in what almost seemed like an invitation.

Alright, Fancy Paws, he said, stepping back a bit on the ledge, but don’t think I’m letting you off easy. I’ll be around, keeping an eye on you.

Alpine gave a dismissive flick of her tail, already turning her back on him. Suit yourself, Figaro. But if you insist on loitering around my window, at least try not to mess up the view.

Figaro held his ground a moment longer, watching Alpine with an air of suspicion and intrigue before turning to leave. Just as he took a step back, the sound of footsteps approached. Alpine’s ears flicked toward the door, but she stayed still, her eyes narrowing at Figaro with a smug, unbothered gaze. Figaro, sensing a disturbance, glanced sideways, only to freeze as the towering figure of Bucky appeared in the doorway, staring directly at them.

Bucky squinted, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. "Well, well, what do we have here? Alpine, making friends, are we?"

Alpine gave Bucky a dismissive flick of her tail, as if to say, You’re interrupting. She turned her head slightly, clearly unimpressed by his sudden interest in her business.

Figaro, meanwhile, stared up at Bucky with wide eyes, frozen mid-step on the windowsill. Who's this guy? he thought, sizing up the new human with a cautious flick of his tail.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, looking between the two cats, and then down at Figaro. "You lost, buddy? Or are you trying to start some kinda turf war?"

Figaro sat down, trying to look as dignified as possible, though the tip of his tail twitched with irritation. Turf war? he thought indignantly. I don’t fight over territory; I’m above that.

Alpine let out a low, amused mrrr, watching Figaro’s attempt to keep his cool. Bucky noticed and shook his head, chuckling.

“Looks like Alpine’s not too impressed with you, pal,” he muttered, addressing Figaro with a smirk.

Slowly, Bucky crouched down and extended his hand toward Figaro, palm up and open, giving him a chance to sniff. Figaro gave Bucky a wary once-over, then cautiously leaned forward, taking a whiff of the offered hand.

After a moment, he deemed the human acceptable and rubbed his head against Bucky’s fingers, allowing himself to be petted. Bucky grinned, running his fingers along Figaro’s head and scratching just behind his ears.

"Not bad for a visitor, huh?" he murmured, watching as Figaro leaned into the scratch, clearly enjoying the attention.

Once Figaro had gotten his fill, he stepped back, giving Bucky a cool, satisfied look, as if to say, You may continue.

Bucky watched this with mild amusement, shaking his head.

“Alright, tuxedo,” he said, nodding toward Figaro. “Why don’t you head home before Alpine here decides you’re overstaying your welcome?”

Alpine lifted her nose in smug agreement, casting Figaro a sideways glance as if to say, You heard him.

Figaro shot her a pointed look, not backing down. I’ll leave when I’m good and ready, he thought defiantly, but he knew when he was outnumbered. With a haughty flick of his tail, he turned to make his exit, sauntering slowly toward the window as if he had all the time in the world.

Bucky crossed his arms, watching the tuxedo cat make his grand departure.

“Yeah, you walk out of here like you own the place,” he muttered with a smirk, glancing at Alpine. “What is it with you and making new friends?”

Alpine gave him a single blink, cool and unbothered, her gaze following Figaro’s departure as if evaluating his exit strategy.

As Figaro disappeared down the fire escape, Bucky shook his head, half to himself. “This is what I get for leaving the window open. Next thing I know, there’ll be a whole parade of fancy-pants cats lining up for you.”

Alpine sat up, eyes following the retreating Figaro with a glint of satisfaction before she returned to her spot, grooming her paw as though nothing had happened.

Bucky watched her, chuckling softly. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re a real heartbreaker, aren’t you, Alpine?”

Alpine ignored him, flicking her tail just enough to indicate her complete and utter satisfaction with the encounter. She was, after all, a cat with standards.

× × × ×

Three days later, you found yourself sitting in a restaurant so lavish it looked more like a set for a movie than a place to have dinner. Soft candlelight flickered across the polished marble tables, casting a warm glow on the extravagant decor that screamed exclusivity. The maître d' had known Rhys by name, pulling out your chair as if you were royalty. It was the kind of place that made you feel like you needed to hold your breath just to fit in.

Earlier that day, your office had practically turned into a florist’s shop when an oversized bouquet of roses—deep red and fragrant—showed up on your desk. It wasn’t just one bouquet, either; it was a veritable mountain of roses, nestled in some kind of ornate, hand-painted ceramic vase. The card was short and simple: “Dinner tonight? 8 PM.”

Now here you were, seated across from him, watching as he signaled for the sommelier with a single, graceful nod. Rhys didn’t bother looking at you as he ordered a bottle of something with an Italian name, smooth-talking the waiter in a way that made you roll your eyes. He finally turned back to you, offering a soft, knowing smile, like he could sense your doubts and was ready to soothe them.

“Look, I know things got… a little off the other night,” he began, reaching across the table to take your hand. His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, and he looked at you with that careful sincerity that had always been hard to resist. “I hate it when we’re not on the same page. You mean so much to me, and I wanted tonight to remind you of that. You deserve this, babe.”

You managed a polite smile. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this before: a grand gesture, an expensive dinner, and words that, despite their warmth, somehow felt rehearsed. Last time, it had been diamond earrings. The time before that, a weekend getaway to Paris that he’d spent glued to his phone, disappearing to “handle some things” every few hours.

The sommelier arrived with the wine, pouring a small taste for Rhys, who swirled it with the grace of a practiced connoisseur. He took a sip, nodded approvingly, and gestured for the waiter to pour the full glasses.

“Perfect,” he said softly, as though he’d picked it himself, and turned his gaze back to you. “So, what do you say we start fresh?”

You tilted your head, studying him, hoping for something genuine in his expression. But there was nothing new. Just that same easy charm, the kind he wore effortlessly.

“Rhys…” you started, trying to find the right words.

He gently squeezed your hand, tilting his head slightly, his expression one of calm understanding.

“Hey, babe, listen. I know I messed up, alright?” His voice was tender, soothing. “But can’t we just put it behind us? I’m right here, with you, doing everything I can to make it up. Doesn’t that mean something?”

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back, looking at you with an almost expectant patience, as if waiting for you to see reason. You forced a smile, telling yourself that it was fine, that maybe you were overthinking things. Relationships took work, right? And you loved him… didn’t you?

As your dinner arrived, he launched into a story about his latest business meeting, rattling off names of people he expected you to be impressed by, and you nodded along, offering the occasional polite laugh. But the small alarms in your mind wouldn’t stop ringing. Rhys didn’t really ask about your day, or your work—he never had. And if he did, you knew he’d be glancing at his phone before you finished, acting engaged but never quite listening.

“So, how about a weekend away?” he said suddenly, his eyes sparkling with that warm look he reserved for moments like these. “Just you and me, away from all this work stress.”

You looked at him, nodding, even as a part of you screamed that this wasn’t right. But the lure of another apology, another expensive night out, dulled the doubts, and you pushed the thoughts aside.

It was easier that way.

As the waiter cleared the last of the plates, Rhys stood and held out his hand, offering that practiced smile. "Shall we?"

You nodded, slipping your hand into his as he led you out to the valet station, where you waited for the chauffeur to pull up. The evening air was cool, and you were tempted to lean back and close your eyes, but a movement caught your attention. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Bucky walking by, his stride casual and confident, accompanied by a woman with a striking red braid. Your heart skipped a beat as you quickly ducked behind Rhys, hoping to blend into the background.

Rhys, however, turned, confusion in his eyes as he looked down at you. "What are you doing?"

“Stay still!” you hissed, pressing closer to him and peeking over his shoulder.

“Why?” he asked, craning his neck to look at whatever had made you react this way. Before you could stop him, he turned completely, exposing you from behind him.

You let out a panicked whisper. "Rhys, stop moving!"

Thoroughly confused, Rhys spun around again, only to reveal you once more as you scrambled to hide on his other side.

“What are you—? Seriously, just stay put!” you whispered fiercely, holding his arm tightly and ducking behind him again, your cheek pressed against his back.

Rhys, looking even more baffled, twisted once more to try and figure out what on earth had you acting this way. “But why—?”

“Oh my god, just stay still!” you muttered, exasperated, as he finally held himself steady, though his eyes continued darting around, searching for whatever mystery threat you seemed to be hiding from.

As Bucky and Nat walked past, still engrossed in their conversation, you held your breath, ducking even lower and gripping Rhys’s arm like a lifeline. Nat laughed at something Bucky said, and you couldn't help but notice their casual, easy camaraderie as they walked by. You felt your heart pound as you willed yourself to blend into Rhys’ back.

Rhys finally exhaled, rolling his eyes as he watched them move down the street, oblivious to the scene.

“Whoever you’re hiding from is gone,” he remarked, his gaze lingering a bit as he tracked Bucky’s figure down the sidewalk. Then he turned back to you, a bemused smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. "Happy now?”

You straightened, smoothing your dress as if nothing had happened, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"Yes, actually," you replied coolly, though your heart still raced. You could feel Rhys’s curious gaze on you, but you ignored it, simply hoping you’d managed to avoid a real meet-awkward.

× × × ×

The elevator doors slid open into your penthouse, and before you could fully step inside, Rhys’s lips were on yours, his hands wrapping gently yet firmly around your waist. He kissed you with tenderness, pulling you closer as he nudged you backward. You found yourself responding out of habit, but as his hands started to roam, a flicker of doubt stirred within you.

Your hand pressed gently against his chest, breaking the kiss. “Rhys… I’m not in the mood tonight.”

He paused, his expression softening as he pulled back, a look of quiet and heavy disappointment in his eyes.

"Oh," he murmured, running a hand down your arm as though trying to be considerate. “It’s okay,” he said softly, offering a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I just… I miss you sometimes, you know?”

A twinge of guilt pricked at you as he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I mean," he continued, his voice taking on a gentle tone, “I get that you’re tired. I just thought we’d have some time for each other tonight, that’s all.”

You felt yourself wavering, the familiar tug of guilt making you second-guess yourself. But as his hand reached for yours again, you gently pressed both of your palms to his chest, holding him at a distance.

“It’s been a long day, alright?” you said, almost apologetically. “I’m just… not feeling it.”

Rhys gave a small, understanding nod, though his face betrayed a hint of hurt.

"Yeah, no, I understand," he replied, though there was a faint edge of disappointment in his voice. “You’re probably right. I mean, we just don’t seem to connect like we used to, do we?” He gave a soft, wistful smile, brushing a thumb over your hand. "Maybe it's just me."

Before you could respond, a low growl echoed from across the room. You glanced over to see Figaro, your tuxedo cat, perched on top of the bookshelf, his yellow eyes fixed on Rhys with an intensity that made your heart swell a little. Figaro leapt down gracefully, landing on the floor and taking a protective stance in front of you, tail flicking as he let out another warning growl.

Rhys looked at Figaro and forced a small chuckle, but you caught the faint flash of annoyance in his eyes.

“Well, at least someone’s looking out for you,” he said lightly, though his smile was tight. He took a step back, fixing his shirt with a sigh. "I guess I'll leave you to it, then. Don’t worry about me."

Without waiting for a response, he gave you a small, lingering look before turning and striding out, letting the door click shut behind him. You let out a long breath, glancing down at Figaro, who was still sitting protectively at your feet, a soft meow escaping him as his fierce stance melted, and he looked up at you with wide, inquisitive eyes.

You crouched down to his level, reaching out to scratch behind his ears.

“Thanks for the backup, Fig,” you murmured, smiling as he tilted his head into your hand, clearly relishing the attention. “You’re such a good bodyguard, aren’t you?”

Figaro gave you a quiet chirp in response, almost as if he understood. Then, with an air of determination, he began sniffing at your clothes, his nose twitching as he moved closer, inspecting every inch of fabric. You chuckled, catching on quickly.

“Oh, I get it,” you said, amused. “You’re checking for Alpine’s scent again, aren’t you?”

Figaro paused mid-sniff, blinking up at you as if he’d been caught in the act. Then, with a haughty little flick of his tail, he resumed his mission, sticking his nose right into the sleeve of your blazer.

“It’s been three days, buddy. I haven’t seen Alpine since I… well, you know,” you said, laughing a bit at the memory. Figaro gave a soft meow, clearly still suspicious, and continued his inspection. “Don’t worry, she’s just a friend. I wouldn’t replace you,” you added, scratching under his chin as he leaned into your touch, still purring.

Finally, after a few more sniffs, he seemed satisfied, giving an approving chirp as he headbutted your hand, claiming you for himself. Figaro then climbed into your lap, purring loudly as he nestled himself comfortably, his paws kneading gently as he curled into you, pressing his head against your chest as if to say, You’re mine.

You sighed, leaning back into the couch and smiling down at him. “Alright, alright, it’s just us tonight, then. Think you can keep me company?”

Figaro blinked up at you, eyes half-closed in contentment, letting out a soft purr as if to answer, Always.

As you sat with Figaro purring contentedly in your lap, your phone buzzed with a new message. You picked it up to see a text from Sarah:

Sarah: Hey! How’s the new life as CEO? Keeping everyone in line?

You smiled, typing back a quick response.

You: Barely! But let’s just say I’m becoming best friends with caffeine.

A moment later, your phone buzzed again.

Sarah: Atta girl! Listen, tomorrow night? Chicken and beer, my place?

You grinned, feeling a wave of relief at the idea of a low-key night with your best friend.

You: Sounds perfect. See you then!

Sarah’s reply came almost instantly.

Sarah: Great! And don’t get lost ;)

You chuckled, rolling your eyes at the reminder, scratching Figaro’s ears as he nuzzled into you. “Haha, very funny.”

× × × ×

You clutched an empty hot sauce bottle close to your chest, heart racing from more than just the unfortunate loss at rock-paper-scissors with Sarah. She had grinned wickedly, all too delighted that you’d be the one asking Bucky for a favor. And now, here you were, standing outside his door, staring at the peephole like it was some sort of intimidating abyss.

Why am I so nervous? It’s just hot sauce, for crying out loud. You chewed on your thumbnail, whispering to yourself as you rehearsed what you’d say when he opened the door. “Hey, Bucky, I, uh… ran out of hot sauce. Well, technically Sarah ran out of hot sauce, and now here I am…”

Taking a deep breath, you gathered what little courage you had, then knocked softly.

Almost immediately, you heard his voice through the door. “Hold on a sec.”

Your pulse spiked, and you scrambled to fix yourself up, smoothing your hair, adjusting your shirt, and trying to look as casual as possible—despite the butterflies in your stomach. It’s just hot sauce. Just. Hot. Sauce.

The door swung open, and there he was, looking every bit as annoyed as someone whose night had just been interrupted. Bucky was dressed down in a gray hoodie and sweatpants, with reading glasses perched on his nose, as if he’d been in the middle of something far more important than your quest for condiment rescue. He took one look at the bottle in your hand and sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Seriously?” he muttered, voice low and gruff. “Can’t stay away?”

You forced a grin, trying to seem unfazed by his tone, though your heart was doing a wild dance in your chest.

“Couldn’t stay away,” you managed, waggling the empty bottle in the air. “Actually, I’m here on behalf of Sarah, who—shockingly—managed to run out of hot sauce.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed as he looked at you, then down at Alpine, who had already trotted over to you, purring as she wove around your legs. He sighed, the tiniest bit of a smile tugging at his mouth, though his expression stayed mostly unimpressed.

“You two really are a piece of work,” he grumbled, almost to himself and referring to you and Alpine. With a low huff, he turned and disappeared into the kitchen, calling back over his shoulder, “Fine, hold on.”

You watched him go, unable to suppress a laugh as you crouched down to pet Alpine.

“Hey, sweet girl,” you cooed, scratching behind her ears. “At least someone’s happy to see me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky’s voice echoed from the kitchen, the same grumpy tone as before. A moment later, he returned, holding out a nearly full bottle of hot sauce. “Here,” he said, handing it over like he was reluctantly offering his most prized possession.

“Thanks, grumpy,” you teased, flashing him a bright smile. “I promise I’ll bring it back—maybe with some cookies to make up for the trouble.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, though you noticed he didn’t seem in a hurry to close the door.

“I’m not in it for cookies,” he deadpanned, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. But the faintest hint of amusement flickered in his eyes, like he was trying not to smile. “But whatever keeps you from raiding my kitchen in the future.”

“Duly noted,” you replied, giving him a playful wink. “And I’ll remember that next time I need a ‘neighborly favor.’”

As you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but glance back, catching the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips—a small victory in cracking the grumpy facade of the guy with the hoodie, reading glasses, and a talent for perfecting the art of being reluctantly charming.

Just as you took a step into the hallway, you felt a soft brush against your leg. You looked down to see Alpine, trotting along beside you as if she’d decided to join you for the rest of your night. She meowed up at you, purring as she rubbed against your leg, clearly delighted by the idea. Long time no see~ Can I join you?

“Oh no, you’re coming back with me,” Bucky called from the doorway, his voice filled with an exasperated fondness. He stepped out, crouching down and reaching to scoop Alpine up.

But Alpine had other plans. With a playful flick of her tail, she darted down the hallway, paws tapping lightly on the floor as she glanced back at you both, clearly treating this as a game. You let out a laugh, glancing at Bucky, who rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Alright, let’s go,” he muttered, already jogging down the hall after her. You quickly followed, trying to keep up as Alpine zig-zagged down the corridor, occasionally pausing just to watch the two of you stumble over each other in pursuit.

You lunged, reaching out just as Bucky did, your fingers brushing against his hand, warm and rough against your skin. You both froze for a heartbeat, your hands lingering on each other, fingers almost intertwining. His blue eyes flicked to yours, a faint, surprised softness in his expression.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice suddenly low, as he reluctantly pulled his hand away. His cheeks had a faint tinge of color, and he glanced down, avoiding your gaze.

“It’s okay,” you replied softly, feeling your own face heat up as the lingering warmth of his touch pulsed through your hand.

A soft meow drew your attention back to Alpine, who had trotted a few steps farther down the hall and was now looking back, her tail swishing impatiently, as if to say, Come on, don’t stop now.

You shared a glance with Bucky, both of you chuckling before you took off again, nearly colliding as Alpine darted between you, then back down the hall. You tried to cut her off, reaching for her just as Bucky leaned down, and your shoulder brushed his chest, your arm catching briefly against his as you both reached for the cat at the same time.

“Gotcha!” he breathed as he finally managed to scoop Alpine up, holding her securely in his arms. She gave a little huff of protest but settled quickly, casting a satisfied look at the two of you as if she’d planned this entire chase.

Bucky looked down at you, his expression softened as he adjusted Alpine in his arms. “She’s got a mind of her own,” he murmured, giving the cat a gentle scratch behind the ears. “If I let her, she’d probably invite half the building over.”

You chuckled, shrugging as you met his gaze, still feeling the warmth of his hand and the accidental brushes that had left your skin tingling.

“Well, who could say no to her?” You paused, catching Alpine’s approving stare, and added with a grin, “She has good taste.”

With a final smile, you turned to go, the warmth of his touch lingering as you walked back to Sarah’s, already looking forward to the next time fate—and perhaps a certain cat—might bring you and Bucky together again.

× × × ×

Bucky set Alpine down on the floor, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at her. The lights cast a soft glow, shadows stretching as Alpine blinked up at him innocently before promptly starting to groom herself, as if she hadn’t just led him on a wild chase. Just doing my job here. Somebody has to give you a nudge.

“Oh, play it cool now, huh?” he muttered, watching her with a raised brow. “Got me running all over the place, and now you’re acting like you didn’t just make me look like a fool.”

Alpine paused mid-lick, giving him a blank, unbothered stare, then went right back to her grooming. Honestly, you wouldn’t need me if you’d get a clue. Ever thought of actually talking to her instead of grumbling? She flicked her tail with a touch of sass. Or maybe asking her name?

Bucky sighed, running a hand over his face. “You know, normal cats just sit still, Alpine. They don’t pull stunts like this.”

Alpine stretched out her front paws, yawned theatrically, and trotted over to her favorite spot by the window, where a perfect patch of moonlight poured in. She plopped down with a little huff, giving him a look that practically screamed Mission accomplished. Settling into the moonlight, she gave him a long, slow blink. Face it, you’re helpless without me.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, watching her settle in, already giving up on him. “Oh, so that’s it? You run me all over the hallway, leave me looking like a fool, and now it’s straight to bed?”

Alpine stretched luxuriously, flicking her tail, her eyes half-lidded as if she were already drifting off. Exactly. All done here.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” he muttered, unable to help the reluctant chuckle escaping him. “I’m starting to think you live to drive me nuts.”

Alpine’s only response was to give him a slow, deliberate blink, followed by a little yawn as she curled herself up into a neat ball. Trust me, I have better things to do. But if you need help with her, I’ll keep doing what it takes. She tucked her paws under her chest, purring softly as she settled comfortably into her moonlit spot.

Bucky let out a resigned sigh, shaking his head as he watched her drift contentedly into her nap, completely unbothered. “Nice, just real nice, Alpine.”

Alpine barely twitched an ear, her purrs steady as she nestled deeper, looking more self-satisfied by the second. If you’d stop being so dense, maybe I could finally get some rest. But nooo, someone’s gotta step in to make things happen.

With a chuckle, Bucky finally turned to leave, muttering as he walked away, “Yeah, alright, enjoy your victory. But one day, I’m gonna get the last word.”

She let out a long, dramatic sigh behind him, curling her tail neatly around her paws as she watched him go. Good luck with that.

× × × ×

You returned to Sarah’s place with the hot sauce in hand, still feeling the faint warmth of that brief touch with Bucky lingering on your skin. As soon as you walked in, Sarah’s eyes zeroed in on you, her mouth quirking up with barely-contained curiosity.

“Well?” she asked, leaning over the kitchen counter, an amused gleam in her eyes. “Did the hot sauce handoff go smoothly, or did you manage to embarrass yourself?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hide your grin. “Oh, you know, just the usual ‘I tried to borrow hot sauce and his cat made a break for it’ kind of thing.”

Sarah let out a cackle, grabbing a piece of chicken and waving it at you. “Oh, I can just picture it! Poor Bucky, trying to wrangle you and Alpine at the same time. Man’s got patience, that’s for sure.”

You snorted, sitting down across from her. “Honestly, if that cat has a loyalty bone in her body, I sure didn’t see it. She trotted right after me, looking like she was about to pack her bags and move in with me.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Well, maybe she just knows who has the better vibe.” She paused, then leaned in closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “And speaking of vibes… you still think Bucky’s kind of… hot, right?”

You blinked, caught off guard but unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up. “Sarah! I have a boyfriend, and you’re the one who’s supposed to be his neighborly buddy, not me.”

Sarah shrugged, unbothered. “Hey, just saying what we’re all thinking! I mean, that man is like a brooding mystery novel come to life—hoodies, reading glasses, and a cat? It’s like the universe took every mysterious loner trope and gave him an apartment across the hall.”

“It’s true. And he has this way of looking at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re worth his time or if he should just ignore you forever.” You snickered, leaning back in your chair.

Sarah burst out laughing. “Right? It’s like he’s thinking, ‘Should I be annoyed by you, or should I give you a chance?’”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes playfully. “And then there’s Alpine. She’s practically his little accomplice, just trotting around, inspecting people. I swear she judges everyone who walks through that door.”

Sarah nodded solemnly. “It’s like she’s screening potential friends for him. I bet you passed her inspection with flying colors, which probably drives Bucky insane.”

You grinned, reaching for the hot sauce and holding it up victoriously. “Well, in any case, mission accomplished. Hot sauce acquired.”

Sarah took it from you, her eyes twinkling with laughter. “Good job, hot sauce hero. And, you know, if you ever need another excuse to go over there… just let me know.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and you swatted her with a laugh.

“Calm down,” you said, grinning despite yourself. “I’ll leave the neighborly mingling to you.”

But as you settled back, that faint memory of Bucky’s hand brushing against yours slipped into your mind again, leaving you with a hint of a smile you couldn’t quite shake.

Sarah took the hot sauce from you with a grin, eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Honestly, though? As much as I get why you’re fangirling over Bucky, I think I’ll stick with you know… Captain America? Steve Rogers?” She wiggled her eyebrows, smirking as if she’d just revealed the world’s biggest secret.

Your jaw dropped as you laughed. “Wait, wait—you have a crush on Captain America? Sarah, since when?”

“Oh, since forever, love,” she replied, completely unfazed. “I mean, come on. Bucky’s hot and all, with the mysterious, brooding vibe—total cat dad energy. But Steve? He’s, like, America’s sweetheart. Have you seen that jawline? And don’t even get me started on those shoulders…”

You rolled your eyes. “Alright, but what does any of this have to do with Bucky?”

Sarah raised an eyebrow, deadpanning, “You’re joking. Please tell me you’re not that clueless.”

“Clueless about what?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know, girl. Figure it out yourself.”

× × × ×

You stepped out of Sarah’s apartment in a fluffy bathrobe, hair piled in a chaotic bun, and wearing one of those ridiculous panda face masks. Sarah had bossed you into taking out the recycling, claiming you were “faster and had better balance,” even though you were pretty sure she just wanted to keep watching her favorite Korean drama on the couch.

Armed with a wobbly tower of recycling in one arm and a half-empty mug of coffee in the other, you shuffled down the hall, muttering about how unfair this was—considering you were the guest. Just as you reached Bucky’s door, the inevitable happened: an empty can teetered from the top of the stack, then clattered loudly against Bucky’s door before rolling down the hall.

“Oh, for the love of—” you grumbled, watching as a few more items tumbled out of your grip, scattering in all directions like rebellious escapees.

Grumbling under your breath, you set down the rest of the recycling and dropped to your hands and knees, crawling around to collect the runaway trash. One by one, you reached for a stray plastic bottle, an empty cereal box, and a rogue pickle jar lid, grumbling the entire time. Just as you stretched out to grab the can in front of Bucky’s door, the door swung open.

You froze, one hand outstretched, still on all fours as you looked up to find Bucky staring down at you, his face set in that trademark grumpy expression, one eyebrow raised in exasperation. There you were, kneeling on the floor in a panda face mask, coffee mug abandoned on the floor beside you, and a look of pure horror in your wide, panda-eyed gaze.

He looked at you, deadpan. “Uh… good evening?” His voice held a hint of a grumble, as if you were the hundredth person to knock on his door that night.

“Evening,” you squeaked, voice muffled by the mask. Slowly, you grabbed the can you’d been reaching for and straightened, still clutching the recycling like a raccoon caught in headlights.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms with a sigh, like he’d been forced into this position. “Taking the recycling out, huh? Looks… intense. Is the panda look part of the routine?”

You cleared your throat, trying to save what little dignity you had left.

“Sarah’s orders,” you muttered, attempting to sound nonchalant despite the panda face mask covering your face. “She said I’m faster, so… here I am.”

“Right.” He raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “Clearly, she picked the right person for the job.” He glanced down at the coffee mug on the floor, lifting his chin with a sarcastic edge. “And the coffee—emergency fuel for… panda-speed?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you replied, trying to sound dignified as you met his grumpy stare with a forced smile. “This is serious business. Not everyone can pull off recycling in full panda regalia.”

He nodded, holding his expression as flat as possible. “Right. Because it takes a real pro to look like a trash panda… while actually handling trash.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, fighting the urge to laugh. “Trash panda? Wow, that’s rich, coming from the guy who looks like he’d growl at Girl Scouts just for ringing his doorbell.”

His mouth twitched, but he stayed in character, leaning against the door. “Hey, at least I don’t terrify the whole building with face masks.”

“Oh, please,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “At least I put effort into my skincare routine. What’s your secret—‘scowl until the wrinkles gets intimidated’?”

“Cute.” He kept his tone flat, though you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch slightly. “I think the panda eyes bring out your sarcasm. Really… fierce.”

“Pandas are fierce,” you shot back, smirking under your mask. “They’re nature’s gentle-but-deadly combo. Kind of like me.”

“Right, gentle and deadly,” he repeated, barely able to hold back a smirk. “Noted. I’ll remember that next time I see you crawling around my doorstep with a coffee mug and a can of pickles.”

“Look, I was handling it,” you protested, still trying to keep a straight face. “Just because you caught me in the middle of a… tactical maneuver doesn’t mean I don’t have it under control.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” he replied, maintaining his unimpressed stare. “I’m sure that’s what it was. You were practically radiating grace.”

You couldn’t hold back a laugh, rolling your eyes as you gathered the rest of the stray recycling. “Alright, laugh it up, Mr. Permanently-Annoyed.”

“Hey, I’d offer to help, but it looks like you’ve got it,” he replied, making no move to lend a hand, arms still folded as he watched you with that unimpressed look.

You stood up, giving him a playful glare. “Yeah, I do. Just don’t go stealing my panda-recycling techniques. They’re patented.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he replied, his tone dry. “I’ll leave that look to the professionals.”

You turned to head down the hall, tossing back, “Good choice. It takes real skill to pull off ‘panda chic.’”

“Goodnight, trash panda,” he called after you with a lazy smirk, watching you attempt to saunter off with some semblance of dignity, though the effect was slightly ruined by your still-panda-masked face.

As you disappeared around the corner, you could hear his quiet, begrudging chuckle echoing down the hallway. You couldn’t help but smile, already thinking up a new comeback for the next time you’d cross paths with Mr. Grumpy Neighbor.

× × × ×

The next morning you stepped out of Sarah’s apartment, adjusting the delicate gold earring in your right ear as you locked the door behind you. Dressed in a sleek, tailored blazer and wide-leg trousers, paired with heels that clicked confidently against the hallway floor, you looked every inch the CEO. The polished look was worlds away from the panda-masked recycling chaos of last night, and you felt ready to conquer the day.

As you turned, you found yourself face-to-face with Bucky, who’d just exited his own apartment. He paused, taking you in from head to toe with a carefully neutral expression, his gaze lingering slightly on the structured blazer and the quiet luxury of your outfit.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, and then, almost in sync, you both broke the silence with a slightly awkward, “Good morning.”

Bucky’s eyes met yours, but his expression remained unreadable, and you couldn’t tell if he was surprised by your transformation. Maybe he was, or maybe he just couldn’t resist an opportunity to tease you.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a bit as he gave you a slow once-over. “Well, look who cleaned up nice. Didn’t recognize you without the whole… ‘trash panda’ ensemble.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh as you shot him a sidelong glance. “Ah, the ‘trash panda’ look. You must be so disappointed I don’t wear it more often.”

With huff and a shrug, Bucky stepped aside, allowing you to pass, his eyes lingering briefly as you walked down the hallway, his blank expression still firmly in place.

You both stepped toward the elevator, waiting in silence as the numbers slowly descended to your floor. As you stood there, you found your gaze drifting toward Bucky every now and then, stealing quick glances at him out of the corner of your eye. Was it wrong to find another guy attractive? Maybe it was just because you knew next to nothing about him—his name, his apartment, the fact that he had a cat named Alpine who seemed to have adopted you.

Another glance. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a natural ease in the way he stood there, casual yet composed. 183 centimeters? you guessed, then reconsidered, 187? Wait, you were wearing heels, and he was still a good bit taller than you. 190, maybe?

The elevator doors opened, and you both stepped in, standing side by side in silence as the doors closed. Suddenly, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out, and Rhys’s name flashed across the screen. Stifling a sigh, you answered in a hushed tone, trying not to disturb the quiet.

“What is it, Rhys? I’m on my way to a meeting.”

His voice was casual. “Thought I’d just check in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“I’ve been busy,” you replied flatly, your tone holding an edge.

“Busy with what?” he asked, sounding as though he couldn’t imagine what you’d be up to that didn’t involve him.

“Work, Rhys. You know, that thing I do for a living?” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm, feeling Bucky glance at you from the side, probably picking up every word despite your attempt at discretion.

Rhys scoffed on the other end. “Alright, no need to bite my head off.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll call you back when I’m free. Bye, Rhys.” You ended the call, slipping your phone back into your bag with a sigh.

Beside you, Bucky’s gaze flickered your way, a slight furrow forming between his brows. The last time you’d been stuck together in this elevator, you’d been all sarcasm and snapping at him for noticing your impatience. Now, here you were, practically glowing, looking like the kind of person who actually enjoyed mornings. He seemed to be weighing this change, his expression unreadable as he watched you out of the corner of his eye.

You slipped your phone back into your bag, trying to shake off the lingering frustration from the call. Clearing your throat, you glanced over at him, forcing yourself to sound casual.

“So… what’s got you out so early this morning?”

Bucky turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze with a flicker of surprise, his brows lifting as if he hadn’t expected the question. He shrugged, his mouth tugging into a faint, almost amused line.

“Just some errands,” he replied, his hands still tucked in his pockets.

You nodded, raising an eyebrow as if trying to read more into his response. “Errands. Very mysterious,” you said, a small, teasing smile tugging at your lips.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, a low chuckle slipping past his lips as he watched you.

“Mysterious?” he echoed, that faint smirk softening his usual gruffness. “What’s so mysterious about errands?”

“Oh, I don’t know… just something about the quiet guy, up early, hands in his pockets, looking like he’s got secrets.” You shrugged, casting him a mischievous glance.

He huffed, shaking his head, though his eyes held a flicker of humor as he glanced away.

“Trust me,” he muttered, a trace of a smirk lingering, “it’s nothing exciting.”

You tilted your head, giving him an exaggerated once-over. “No, seriously,” you said, folding your arms with a mock-critical expression. “You don’t exactly give off ‘morning person’ vibes.”

He raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh yeah? And what’s that supposed to mean?”

You held back a grin, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “Well, you’ve got that whole ‘leave me alone or I’ll bite’ face going on,” you teased. “Figured mornings would be your natural enemy. You know, like sunlight to a vampire.”

A faint smirk tugged at his mouth.

“Careful, now,” he said, eyes twinkling with mock offense. “Are you discriminating against morning people with a resting bitch face?”

You snorted, barely holding back laughter. “I don’t know, maybe! But you’ve got a chronic case of it,” you teased. “It’s tragic, really.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, real tragic. Guess I’m just doomed to terrify cheerful people like you.”

“Well, you’re definitely succeeding,” you replied with a grin, giving him a playful nudge as the elevator doors finally opened.

You let out a small sigh, looking up at him with a sweet smile. “Alright, well… I’ll see you later, Bucky,” you said, giving him a little wave as you stepped out, turning to head down the hall.

The moment you turned your back, Bucky’s hand started to lift, returning the wave as if on autopilot. Realization hit a second later, and he froze, staring at his own hand with a look of utter horror. He quickly dropped it, scowling at his own reflex as if his hand had betrayed him.

The elevator doors closed, leaving him alone, still side-eyeing his hand with a mix of disbelief and mild annoyance.

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