#buc

Every other Thursday, the local public library hosted a painting night, and it had become his sanctuary whenever he was not travelling or on a mission. He wasn’t much of an artist, but some may say that being friends with Steve Rogers for so long made him more aware of the power the arts could have in freeing someone from the inside. 

And he wanted some freedom, some peace in his own mind. After regaining control of his own life, the snap, having to say goodbye to old and new friends, being in a world so different from the one he grew up with, where everything felt so loud, new and overstimulated...

Among the grey-haired grandmothers and grandfathers, he felt, somehow, at home.

Mildred, the chatty ringleader of the group, was in her usual spot at the front when he entered the room, loudly discussing the merits of watercolours versus acrylics. Her voice carried over the group like a wave, punctuated by her laughter, which often drowned out the gentle classical music playing in the background.

Her easel was untouched, but her words? Relentless.

“I’m just saying, acrylics dry too fast!” Mildred declared, waving her brush in the air like a conductor's baton. “You don’t get any time to fix your mistakes! What if I decide my sunset needs a little more ‘oomph’ later on? No room for creative freedom!”

“You’ve been painting the same sunset for six weeks, Millie!” came George’s retort from the back row, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he squinted at his canvas.

Bucky smirked, shaking his head slightly as he sat in his usual stop. He wasn’t much of a talker, but he didn’t mind listening. Plus, this routine made him feel at ease while he dipped his brush in a shade of blue that didn’t quite match the sky he was trying — and failing — to replicate. Maybe Mildred was right after all. 

“Bucky, dear,” he heard Agatha, another regular, called and knew instantly what was coming next. He liked this odd group and was amused by the fact they didn't care who he is or once was, not even fazed by his glares and long stares – but this came with a price. 

The price being them meddling in his (lack of) love life. 

“Are you sure I can’t introduce you to my granddaughter? She’s just your type. You’d like her. Loves art. Has a cat.” 

Bucky stiffened. It was a conversation they’d had countless times – George's friend's cousin, the woman who worked at Millie's favourite flower shop, and even Bethany herself, the librarian who supervised painting night (who said that she, like him, was also looking for a girlfriend). 

“Thanks, Millie, but—”

He never got to finish the sentence. The library door creaked open, and all eyes turned as a new face walked in.

You.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to you in an instant, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. You looked out of place among the regulars: young, holding a canvas bag that suggested you actually knew what you were doing with a paintbrush. You scanned the room with a shy smile, clearly unsure if you were in the right place. His heart did an odd little flip when your eyes met his for the briefest second.

“Oh ho ho,” Mildred muttered under her breath, and Bucky shot her a warning look. Too late.

“Welcome, dear!” Mildred’s voice boomed, startling you just as you stepped inside. “Come, come! Join us! We could use some fresh blood around here. Well, not literally, of course.”

You laughed nervously, stepping further into the room. Bucky could feel the eyes of the group shifting between the two of you, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Mildred had just exchanged a knowing glance with Lucy, her equally mischievous counterpart sitting a few seats away.

“Uh, thank you,” you said softly, finding an empty seat—unfortunately, right next to him. Or maybe that was fortunate? No, unfortunate. Definitely unfortunate. Bucky cleared his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of how much space he was taking up.

You sat down and began unpacking your supplies, pulling out a palette and a set of paints. “Is this your first time here?” Bucky found himself asking, though his voice came out a little more awkward than he intended. So much for being a former assassin.

You glanced at him, your smile growing more comfortable. “Yeah, first time. I just moved to the neighborhood, so I thought I’d check it out.”

“Great,” he said, then internally winced. Great? Really, Barnes? “I mean, it’s a nice group. Everyone’s… really nice.”

“Especially Bucky,” Mildred chimed in from across the room, her voice carrying, but softer than usual. “He’s got quite the steady hand, don’t you think?”

Bucky’s ears turned pink, and he immediately focused harder on his painting. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he saw you glance over at his canvas, your lips curving into a small, amused smile.

“Looks like you’ve got a talent for this,” you said, breaking the ice with a friendly tone. “Do you come here often?”

Bucky chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, but you wouldn't figure it out by my paintings”. He gestured at his messy strokes and the half-hearted landscape. “I’m still trying to figure out which end of the brush to use.”

You laughed at that, the sound easing some of the tension that had built in his chest. “You’re not alone. I’m not much better. But I guess that’s part of the fun, right?”

Bucky glanced at your canvas, then back at you, his smile lingering a little longer than intended. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Across the room, Mildred gave an approving nod but said nothing more, returning her attention to her own painting. The rest of the group seemed to follow suit, but Bucky could feel their attention shift back every now and then, like they were watching for something… Or maybe just waiting. Even Bethany, who was supposed to guide them, was suspiciously silent.

“So,” you continued, glancing at his canvas again, “What’s your piece supposed to be? Or are you going for an abstract vibe?”

Bucky tilted his head, eyeing his own work critically. “It was supposed to be a landscape. Now it’s more of a disaster.”

You smiled at him again, this time with a bit of mischief in your eyes. “Maybe it’s just a very creative interpretation of one.”

Bucky felt a chuckle escape him before he could stop it. “That’s generous of you.”

Before he could think of anything else to say, Mildred’s voice chimed in once more, this time with a subtler edge. “Bucky’s being modest. He’s a real catch, you know. Doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s worth listening to.”

You raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, glancing at Bucky with a teasing smile. “Is that right? I’ll keep that in mind.”

He shot Mildred a silent plea to stop, but she was already back to her painting, humming proudly to herself. Bucky felt his face heat up again, and he hurried to fill the silence – a need unusual for him until that very moment. “So, what about you? You’re clearly better at this than me.”

“I don’t know about that,” you said, your smile still playing on your lips. “But I did take a few classes a couple of years ago. Figured I’d try something new now that I moved here to give me an excuse to leave the house and meet new people.”

Mildred's humming grew just a touch louder, but she stayed out of the conversation, though Bucky could feel her amusement radiating from across the room. 

“Well,” Bucky said, trying to sound casual, “welcome to the neighborhood. Looks like you picked an interesting group to join.”

“I can see that,” you teased, your eyes drifting to the seniors around you. “But I think I’ll stick around.”

As you turned back to your painting, Bucky could feel his heart skip a beat. He couldn’t help but glance at you again, noticing that your own cheeks were blushing while you tried to hide your smile. 

Mildred’s voice broke the brief moment.

“And by the way,” she added with a knowing smile, “Bucky’s single, just in case anyone was curious.”

Bucky’s brush froze mid-stroke. He groaned internally, shooting a look at Mildred, who was now looking all too pleased with herself. He could even swear that George, who was usually quiet, laughed. 

“Mildred…” Bucky muttered under his breath, his voice full of embarrassment.

But you just laughed, glancing at him with a sparkle in your eyes. “Good to know,” you said quietly, leaning just a bit closer. “Does she do that a lot?”

Bucky let out a long, exasperated sigh, but he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “All the time. You’ll get used to it.”

“Well,” you said, looking at him with a soft laugh and a sparkle in your eyes, “I think I’ll manage.”