sunsets on the west village.

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Five years ago

"Yeah, no problem, I missed this little boy." Bucky says in an adorable baby voice as he squeezes the little baby's nose, "Oh my god, you are so cute."

The baby grabs Bucky's pointer finger with his tiny hand and your heart melts instantly.

Your heart flutters and you recognize the emotion that follows that flutter - fear.

That's what you feel because once it hits you what it was that was happening, you realized you were eternally and completely fucked.

Bucky's eyes flicker up to meet yours and they burn in ablaze. Neither of you are smiling as you look at each other, the little baby still holding onto his finger like he didn't want to let go.

You quickly look away, doubting every emotion coursing through you.

It couldn't be.

Your head is a swirl and you're seeing tunnel vision as you feel yourself slowly start to step back from the scene in front of you.

But it was too late.

Your eyes flickered up the second you felt the heat of his presence right in front of you.

Suddenly, something seemed to have shifted into something even deeper, the second your eyes met.

Bucky was holding the baby tenderly in his arms, but his eyes seemed to have been calling out for you.

A weird feeling of calm came over you.

Presque vu.

Bucky seemed to have been feeling the same because he probably looked just as intense as you felt.

"Do you want to hold him?" He whispered, looking down at the little boy.

Your chest felt tight and you should have said no.

Instead, you nodded slowly.

Bucky maneuvered his arms into an embrace where he could pass the baby safely into your own arms.

Your eyes caught during the slow exchange and you diverted your gaze back to the boy, not being able to bear that heat in your face and your fucking heart.

"Just like that," Bucky said softly.

The baby cooed.

You couldn't help it, you giggled.

Bucky smiled a little at both sounds, and he softly touched the top of the baby's head.

He looked up at you and your eyes met...

again.

4 months later (from present time)

The setting sun shined down on the west village.

The sky was turning from an intense pink and purple hue to dark blue.

You looked up towards the clouds and sighed.

You had just enough time to take the last few things inside before it was too dark.

You grunted, lifting a brown box that read 'Books' in black sloppy writing on the side out of the truck.

You took it with you up the steps of the beautiful brownstone.

The trees, that lined the quiet street, had an amber glow from the almost-gone sun as it peeked in through their changing leaves.

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