#easter hunt

It’s Easter morning and you’re standing on the Barnes front porch, arms crossed over your light sweater as the spring air kisses your cheeks. The sun is just warm enough to make the day feel promising, and you can hear the sound of kids laughing a few houses down, probably already tearing through their Easter baskets.

Bucky opens the door, his hair slightly tousled and a shy grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. He’s holding something behind his back.

“You came” he says, as if you’d ever miss an invite from him.

“Of course I did” you reply, smiling. “You said something about chocolate and possibly humiliating egg hunts.”

He chuckles, stepping aside to let you in. “Right. But before that…” He pulls a small, decorated basket from behind his back. “This is for you.”

It’s not fancy, woven wood, some pastel ribbon, and a few chocolate eggs nestled in fake grass but you can tell he tried. There’s even a little folded note tucked between a caramel bunny and a purple peep.

“Bucky…” You blink, touched. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know” he says, shrugging, cheeks turning pink. “But I wanted to. I, uh, made sure to get the kind of chocolate you like.”

You glance at him, heart fluttering. “How’d you know?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I pay attention.”

It hits you then, how he always seems to remember the little things. Like how you take your hot cocoa in the winter. Or the way you hum when you’re nervous. Or that time you mentioned your favorite candy in passing and he’d tucked it away like it meant something.

“I love it” you say, stepping closer. “Thank you.”

And suddenly you’re both standing there, in the quiet warmth of the living room, the scent of something sweet baking in the kitchen, and the world outside just a gentle blur. He’s looking at you with those blue eyes that never seem to hide anything and he swallows, like he’s building up to something.

“I was kind of hoping” he says slowly, “that maybe… after the egg hunt, we could hang out. Just us.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Like a date?”

He bites his lip, then nods. “Yeah. Like a date.”

You grin. “Only if I win the egg hunt.”

He laughs, eyes lighting up. “You’re on.”

_________________

The backyard is scattered with colorful plastic eggs and a few half-hearted decorations. Paper bunnies swaying from the porch rail and a handmade “EGG HUNT ZONE” sign hanging slightly crooked. There’s a table off to the side with cupcakes, mostly decorated as Bunnies but also as colorful eggs and sweet lemonade and a few neighborhood kids darting between bushes and flowerbeds in full sugar-fueled chaos.

You’re crouched low near the hedge, clutching a yellow egg in one hand and scanning for your next target. Bucky’s a few feet away, trying to act casual as he pretends not to be watching you but he’s terrible at it. You catch him peeking every time you glance over, his smile growing wider with each egg you find.

“You’re going down, Barnes” you call, holding up your latest prize like a trophy.

He raises a playful eyebrow. “You sure about that? Cause I’ve got five and a half eggs.”

You squint. “Half an egg?”

He opens his palm to reveal a cracked one, candy leaking from the seam. “Battle scars” he says with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll never be the same.”

You roll your eyes, laughing, but your heart skips all the same. There’s something about how he looks at you, like this whole silly egg hunt could stretch into forever and he wouldn’t mind one bit.

Eventually, the game winds down. You end up winning by two eggs, which you don’t let him forget for a solid ten minutes. He pretends to be outraged, even demands a rematch next Easter, but he’s smiling the whole time. And then, when the yard quiets down and the sun starts to dip behind the trees, he pulls you aside nervous again, but determined.

You’re sitting on the porch steps, your basket between you, the note he gave you earlier still tucked inside.

“Hey” he says softly, brushing his shoulder against yours. “Remember the deal?”

You glance at him sideways. “The date?”

He nods. “If you still want to.”

Your chest feels warm, not just from the fading sun. “I do.”

He beams full-on, teeth and all and your breath catches a little because he’s actually beautiful when he lets himself shine like that.

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that feels warm and charged instead of awkward. The sun’s dipping lower in the sky now, casting a golden glow over the yard. Somewhere behind you, someone turns on a radio, soft music drifting through the spring air.

Bucky reaches into his hoodie pocket, pulling out a tiny chocolate egg wrapped in silver foil. “Then I officially owe you this” he says, holding it out. “Winner’s prize.”

You take it, fingers brushing his and suddenly his hand is holding yours for just a second longer than needed. He’s still close, eyes flicking from your hand to your face like he’s trying to memorize everything.

“I had this whole speech” Bucky says suddenly, voice low.

You blink. “A speech?”

He nods, eyes fixed on the horizon. “For today. Thought maybe I’d give you the basket, say something smooth. Tell you I… like you.” He winces, glancing at you. “That came out way less cool than it sounded in my head.”

Your heart does this flip-flop thing, and you can’t help but smile. “You don’t need a speech.”

“I don’t?”

“Nope.” You reach into your basket, pull out a little foil-wrapped chocolate, and hold it out to him. “You already got the message across.”

He takes the candy, brushing your fingers in the process, and smiles, slow, genuine, a little shy. “So… you like me back?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Kind of hard not to.”

“I like you too, Bucky” you say simply, to make him understand it fully.

His whole expression changes, like something clicks into place. He lets out a slow breath and smiles, not a wide, goofy grin this time, but something smaller. More real.

“Okay” he says, nodding, “cool. That’s... really cool.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath all day. He looks down, then back at you, nudging your shoulder again, gentler this time.

“You wanna come back inside?” he asks. “Ma made cinnamon rolls and I might share one if you say please.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Only one?”

“Well” he says with a smirk, standing up and offering you his hand “maybe two. Depends how nicely you ask.”

You take his hand and when he pulls you up, he doesn’t let go right away.