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It had taken a full week following the conversation for everything to finally catch up to Bucky. Now, he wasn’t slow, not by any means, but he was in so much shock that when it came down to it he didn’t realize what happened until the shock finally wore off. —Which had taken a week.
Okay, maybe he was a little slow.
But that’s beside the point! His soulmate is Steve Rogers! Yeah, sure, he joked about the idea with Becca but he didn’t actually expect it to come true within the next half hour. He didn’t even recognize the guy at first! Becca obviously did, looking back, and she didn’t say anything. And now he had his phone number! Steve (and, wow, he can call Captain America Steve) was going to help him move his furniture. That was their first date. Steve had specifically asked for that to be their first date.
Maybe yelling at somebody would help him process this better.
Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.
Natasha has some explaining to do, anyway. Like how she knows Captain fucking America well enough to know beforehand that he was Bucky’s soulmate.
Bucky
You KNEW
TRAITOR
DIDN’T EVEN WARN ME
TF
Read 2:23 AM
Nat
Yes, and?
Read 2:23 AM
Bucky
AND?
AND?!
Yes, AND YOU COULD HAVE WARNED ME
Read 2:24 AM
Nat
How would I have warned you
“By the way, he’s famous”?
“By the way, he’s exactly your type”?
“By the way, he’ll probably be wearing a stupid disguise of sunglasses and a baseball cap when you meet him; the kind of disguise that screams ‘hey, look at me, I’m an undercover celebrity!’”?
That kind of warning?
Read 2:27 AM
Bucky
I don’t know!
How did you even know him, anyway?
Read 2:29 AM
Nat
Do you remember how we met, James?
Read 2:30 AM
Bucky
…Yes
I do
Read 2:30 AM
Nat
Mhm
What about that meeting screams “normal, average beginning of friendship” to you?
Read 2:31 AM
Bucky
Uhhhhhh
Who tf are you, Natasha
Read 2:32 AM
Nat
What are the names of the Avengers, James?
Read 2:33 AM
Bucky
Idk
Read 2:34 AM
Nat
🤦
Look it up.
Read 2:34 AM
Bucky
HOLY FUCK
YOU’RE THE BLACK WIDOW
WHAT
Read 2:39 AM
Nat
There you go.
See, I knew you could figure it out
Read 2:40 AM
Bucky
Fuck you
Read 2:40 AM
Nat
I’d hate to make Steve jealous
Read 2:40 AM
Bucky
AUUUUUUHHHHH
FUCK YOU
NO
Read 2:41 AM
That conversation was both enlightening and awful. It also made Bucky more nervous. How was he ever going to be enough to make Steve of all people jealous? Natasha was delusional! He was missing an arm! Did Steve even know he was missing an arm? Shit.
He tapped off of Natasha’s contact, seeing Steve’s new one listed. He could ask. He could. So he would. Before he could talk himself out of it, he opened the chat.
Bucky
I’m missing an arm
Delivered
He realized only too late how early in the morning it was. God, he was being so annoying. Steve was probably asleep. Probably didn’t appreciate being woken up by a clingy disabled veteran at the witching hour. Shit.
Before he could think, delivered changed to read 3:00 AM. Too late now. This was one of those mistakes that once you made it, you saw it out through to the end. Like accidentally pulling into the airport instead of the coffee shop next door so you end up getting a plane ticket to Russia and starting a new life as Sergei Yovanovitch. Because that was a normal thing that normal, functioning human beings did. Bucky wasn’t projecting, shut up.
Steve
I am aware
I noticed that right after I offered to lend a hand
I’m sorry if I upset you
Unless you’re making a joke that you lost your prosthetic
…in which case I’ll help you look for it?
Read 3:01 AM
Ho-Lee SHIT.
Bucky
You didn’t
Just wanted to make sure you knew you weren’t getting the full package
Missing parts and all
And I didn’t lose my prosthetic
I only misplaced it, like, once
Whatever Natasha told you, it was lies
Read 3:02 AM
And wow, he didn’t sound self-conscious at all.
Way to go, Barnes.
Best sniper the military has to offer.
Steve
That’s good
And as far as I’m concerned, everything I could see was still the whole you, arm or no arm.
And Natasha didn’t tell me anything
Though now I really want to ask.
Read 3:03 AM
How was he supposed to reply to that? Oh, right, he couldn’t. Steve was actually perfect, that’s all. There was no way Bucky had gotten this lucky. This was all some— uh… elaborate, crazy dream. Yeah, that’s it. Witching hour illusions. He’d wake up and none of this would have happened.
Okay, and maybe he didn’t want to wake up. Because if this is a dream, it’s the best one he’d ever had. Nobody wants to wake up from dreams that good. Usually, it’s PTSD-induced nightmares, so this is a nice change. Bucky knew what he needed to do. He needed to milk it for all it’s worth.
Bucky
So, uh, about that date
Read 3:05 AM
Steve
What about it?
Read 3:05 AM
Well, that reply was certainly fast.
Bucky
Are you sure you want to spend it helping me with my furniture?
Read 3:05 AM
Steve
Of course!
Read 3:06 AM
Bucky
Okay… so what time works for you?
Read 3:07 AM
Steve
Well, when is your new furniture due to be delivered?
Read 3:07 AM
Bucky
A day from now, so this Saturday
Sorry for the late reply I had to check the tracking on it
Read 3:11 AM
Steve
It’s fine, I get it
I’ll see you this Saturday then?
Does it matter what time?
Read 3:12 AM
Bucky
Yeah!
You can come whenever
I’ll send you the address
Read 3:12 AM
Steve
No need
Nat kinda already gave it to me without asking first
Sorry
Read 3:12 AM
Bucky
No worries, that sounds exactly like something she would do
Read 3:13 AM
Steve
Yep.
Can’t wait
Read 3:13 AM
Bucky
Yeah, for sure!
I’ll see you!
I need to sleep now haha
Bye
Read 3:14 AM
Okay, well, that solves that problem. Bucky didn’t look to see if Steve replied. He limply tossed his phone aside, though not before checking that it was still plugged in because he kept his entire life on that phone and his sister would hunt him down if he didn’t reply— didn’t matter if he quite literally lacked the option to reply. She would still be mad, and he would still die, and lord knows one hath better not inflict the wrath of The Rebecca Elizabeth Barnes lest they be facing the consequences.
Promptly he curled into the thick, warm comforter that perfectly balanced out his stiff mattress and pulled down his (rather flat, it was well-loved) silicone foam pillow with one hand underneath so he could lie comfortably in a fetal position. It didn’t matter how he was supposed to sleep when he was in the military, Bucky’ll be damned if he isn’t allowed to self-soothe in his own home.
He still wasn’t projecting, shut up.
The rays of sunlight that poured in through his windows were golden and glorious, warming his body and soothing the ache in his shoulder like gentle hands. By all intents and purposes, the sun was the angel of the morning (considering that just like the angels in scripture, you can’t directly look at it). The thing was, he and the sun had never particularly gotten along all that well, just like he and God. It was nigh impossible to appreciate when it seemed to consistently shine directly into his eyes no matter which way he squirmed in the tangle of his sheets.
Bucky only felt like he’d just fallen asleep, at like— what time of the morning was it even? Aimlessly, he reached out his left arm, which— no wonder his shoulder ached, he’d forgotten to take off his prosthetic— was the only limb of his body that would not react when subjected to the chill of the morning. Flailing it on his nightstand, he smacked it around randomly until he felt a change in contact pressure and knew he’d found his phone.
—So, ass o’clock in the morning, he thought as he checked the time. Too damn early. (Arguably, nine is the latest time that everybody should be up unless you work the night shift. But it’s summer and he’s not the teacher that manages summer school, so screw that.)
Sure, he has a part-time job since teachers don’t get paid shit, but that’s the whole point. It’s a part-time job, not a 9 to 5 on business days. Between that and his army pension, he’s doing just fine.
Just fine. Belatedly, he realized the plans he had made with Steve were for tomorrow, but it was whatever. He gave himself time, this time, unlike last time with Becca.
With great effort, Bucky got out of bed only to catch his leg in the tangle of the sheets and tumble unceremoniously onto the floor. He spent a few moments in stunned silence before he moaned; not in pain but embarrassment, despite how the only living soul around to witness his folly was Alpine. And maybe the dust bunnies he could see gathered under his bed. Why were they called dust bunnies, anyway? A majority of it was cat fur. Well, that was beside the point. He just wasted all the effort he could muster to get out of bed, and now he was on the floor with his prosthetic bent at an awkward angle.
He drowsily looked up, surveying his apartment with sleep-crusted eyes and a large strip of his hair plastered to his face from the corner of his mouth. Bucky could feel how bad his bedhead was just by how odd his hair felt on his head, like every strand was falling over each other in the wrong direction. Right after that was the exact moment he realized his apartment was a mess. And that his soulmate was coming over tomorrow. To his apartment. Which was a mess. Did he mention it was a mess? And his soulmate. Which was Steve Rogers. Oh, god.
Just as he decided to get up a second time, Alpine jumped off the bed and onto his back, knocking all the breath out of Bucky’s lungs with an ‘oof’. He groaned and slumped back into all his sheets, which were dumped on the floor with him. Alpine circled a few times before nestling in between his shoulder blades and purring up a storm as she got comfortable. It was going to be a disastrously long morning. He was a disaster. He hoped Steve was maybe a disaster, too. Steve didn’t seem like a disaster but maybe he was.
After Alpine finally decided to leave, Bucky got up to change clothes, make his bed, and stretch (his poor shoulder, he really shouldn’t have slept in his prosthetic, that was such a bad idea.) He knew he needed to clean but his stomach decided otherwise. It decided otherwise very loudly.
He felt like chocolate-chip pancakes, so he grabbed his best non-stick frying pan and the Hungry Jack pancake mix he had from the pantry. Yawning and scratching at his underwear line, he looked at the back of the box to check if he remembered the ingredients correctly. The very simple ingredients of 1 cup mix and ¾ cup water. Which was, decidedly, not what the box said. He turned it around again and glared at it. Fuck. He grabbed buttermilk, not original. Buttermilk has harder instructions. He’s not awake enough for this. He’s not awake enough for buttermilk.
Bucky looked at the ingredients again. 1 cup mix, well, at least that stayed the same. ⅔ cup milk. Fuck. Does he have milk? Is it still good? Shit. 1 egg. There’s another question of the same merit. 2 tbsp oil. Okay. He knows he has canola oil. That’s good.
Humming blithely as he grabbed the avocado oil spray, he put the pan on the burner at the dial setting between three and four and sprayed the surface. He got out a regular bowl since he didn’t have anything fancy like mixing bowls and a regular spoon because he didn’t have anything as fancy as whisks. Bucky grabbed everything he needed, checking the fridge and finding he did, in fact, have the necessary ingredients. Natasha did have the tendency to drop by with groceries because she knew he was a slob who couldn’t take care of himself. She did that for all the slobs in her life, supposedly. This doesn’t count as projecting. The expiration dates all looked good. He sniffed the milk, just in case. It smelled like milk. Thats… good.
He measured and mixed everything, dumping in loads of chocolate chips, pouring the batter for the first onto the hot pan, and enjoying the sound of the sizzling. And the smell. It was nice. He fumbled flipping the first pancake and it wasn’t perfectly flat, but he supposed that happened sometimes and it would be fine. When it was done, he put it on a plate and poured the next one.
The second pancake wasn’t so lucky. He flipped it only to discover it was a little blacker than he’d’ve liked. And if he fumbled the last flip, he completely ravaged this one. It folded in on itself like a perfect omelet. He tried fixing it with his fingers, which was a decidedly bad idea because it was already too late and the pancake was hot. Without thinking, he tried to hold the pan still as if that would help him fix the pancake and completely forgot that the pan was also hot and burned a nice barred imprint into his thumb. Bucky definitely didn’t yelp (he definitely did), and he most certainly did not stick his thumb in his mouth (he most certainly did). This pancake was a lost cause.
Deciding he didn’t want to burn the outside more than it already was, he added it to the plate on top of the other one. It was omelet-shaped and he was 99% percent sure it was not fully cooked on the inside despite being burned on the outside. Like the pancake, he was also now burned on the outside. Unlike the pancake, he would like to remain uncooked on the inside. Bucky likes keeping his temperature at 98 degrees Fahrenheit and no higher, thank you very much.
The third pancake did not go much better than the first. He decided he was fine with this. His stomach also decided he was fine with this. He was hungry, dammit. He put the plate of three large pancakes into the microwave to a) keep them warm, b) keep Alpine away from them, and c) because it was a habit, none of those reasons probably mattered all that much.
Bucky went to the bathroom to look for burn cream after putting his hand under cool running water. He, sadly, did not have burn cream. So he went for Neosporin instead, which somehow made the burn hurt more but that meant it was working, right? Opening the bottom drawer, he found his giant box of band-aids was gone. How unlucky. What he did find, however, was a small purple and yellow tin that read ‘Shakespearean Insult Band-Aids’ and god did he hope it had band-aids in it. He nervously peeked inside. It had one band-aid in it. How lucky. It stuck a little in the wrapping but he finally managed to peel it off. On the far right was a drawing of Shakespeare’s face next to the quote, “Thy wit’s as thick as Tewksbury mustard.” Henry IV, Part II.
It was safe to say he had no idea what Tewksbury mustard was. What he did know was that he had pancakes waiting for him, so other foodstuff didn’t matter. He put the band-aid on and went to eat his mediocre, slightly burned pancakes. They were not tasty. What a shame.
He listened to Lana Del Rey and cleaned at the same time. It worked. Sadly, Lana Del Rey’s beautiful voice got interrupted halfway through cleaning by a phone call. He was on a stool, feather-dusting his ceiling fan as tediously as he could. Precariously leaning to the side, he grabbed his phone by snagging his pinky on the phone case and dragging it closer. Without looking at the caller ID, Bucky put the call on speaker and set (lightly dropped, but who’s asking?) it back on the counter.
“Can’t talk right now, I’m doing hot girl shit,” He said flippantly to whoever was calling him while he was in the zone. Sometimes he wondered why he still had friends. Or a job. Sometimes both.
“‘Hot girl shit?’” The man on the other end asked, sounding amused.
Oh, no. He recognized that voice. Quickly, a little bit too quickly, he leaned over on the stepping stool to grab his phone. It teetered, with him on it, and with a small yelp he fell into the counter and snatched it.
Licking his lips, he turned off the speakerphone and put it to his ear, “You didn’t hear that.”
Steve laughed, it was a nice sound, “Sure. What does ‘hot girl shit’ entail?”
“Cleaning,” Bucky supplied weakly, rubbing where his poor hip hit the counter.
“Cleaning?” God, he sounded husky. Bucky doesn’t know how he got so lucky. He’s still half-convinced that he’s dreaming. To distract himself, he used the feather duster to do the windowsill.
He whimpered a tad bit (internally, because he does have shame despite popular belief), feeling a little pathetic, “Yeah,” He agreed, voice wavering, “Since you’re coming over tomorrow. Also makes it easier to move the furniture.” Heck, that was a good excuse. He turned it around from a ‘Save me’ moment to ‘Nice save, me.’
“I hope I’m not interrupting, I was just going to ask if you wanted me to bring anything,” Steve said, “Like sandwiches, for example.”
“Sandwiches—,” Slowing his cleaning of the windowsill, Bucky thought about his pancakes from this morning before remembering these were plans for tomorrow, “—Sound lovely. If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Steve replied brightly. He sounded like he was smiling. He was so sweet. Bucky couldn’t wait to see him.
He chewed his lip, “Are you sure?” He added guiltily, “You’re already going to do a lot.”
Steve hummed agreeably on the other line, “I’ll think of it as my reward. Food for work, sounds reasonable.”
Bucky sighed, “It shouldn’t be work, Steve! Wasn’t this supposed to be a date?”
“And it is a date,” He agreed, “An active date, which includes working my muscles. Hence, food for work.”
Bucky grumbled but didn’t argue.
Steve chuckled at him, “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your cleaning. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”
“Yeah, see you,” He agreed airily as Steve hung up. The music didn’t come back on. He looked glumly at the duster still awkwardly brandished in his hand, paused in its movements over the windowsill. Setting it down, he pinched himself. It hurt. Maybe he wasn’t dreaming. A week and one day, the existential panic set in.
His soulmate was Steve goddamn motherfucking ‘Captain America’ Rogers.
And Bucky was still a disaster.
The morning had come. He had not slept a wink. As promised, his new couch had been delivered and was sitting lopsided on the stairs of his apartment. He did not pay the extra money to have them carry it up and carry down his old couch in its place. Hence why Steve was coming over. Oh, god, Steve was coming over. Once he’d finally come to the conclusion that none of this was a dream, he’d been in overdrive with no hope of coming out of it. Hell, he’d come out of the closet better than he was coming out of this. He was not coming out of this.
Everything was clean, he knew it was, so he had absolutely nothing to do while he waited and it grated on his nerves. Bucky paced the stairs to serve as a distraction but all it did was skyrocket his blood pressure.
“Bucky!” Was all he heard for a warning, and without a second thought, he turned around to see Steve smiling and waving. Hanging from the elbow of his free arm was a Subway bag with sandwiches in it. What a sweetheart. What a hunk of man. He was in love love.
“Hi, Steve!” He replied, mimicking Steve’s enthusiasm. (Smile and wave, boys. Smile and wave.) “How are you?” That seemed like a safe question.
“I’m good!” God, he was dreamy. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long?” Steve asked, looking nervous as he studied the fact that Bucky had been waiting for him on the stairs of all places.
“Not at all,” Bucky assured him, thinking only my whole life, and for that smile, I’d be willing to wait a lifetime more. “Come in, come in!” He waved Steve towards the stairs, “We can come down for the new couch later once we’ve carried the old one out.”
Steve nodded, following Bucky up the stairs, both of them taking two at a time. When they got to Bucky’s door, however, he paused with his hand on the handle, “I must warn you,” His soulmate put on a very serious face at his tone of voice, and he had to struggle not to smile, “There’s a ferocious beast in here. She does not like new people. Enter at your own risk.”
His face showed he wasn’t sure to expect by ferocious beast and Bucky bet good money that a small, unassuming white short-hair cat was not what he had in mind. Opening the door, he revealed the apartment he put his blood, sweat, and tears into cleaning the other day. Steve took a cursory look around.
“I like it,” He said finally, “Homey.”
“Other than the destroyed furniture?” Bucky prompted, raising an eyebrow.
Steve just shrugged. That was when a white blob came running from the open bedroom door and skidded to a halt directly at Steve’s feet, looking at him with thin pupils and judgementally squinted blue eyes. The blonde man looked down at the cat in surprise. Bucky held his breath. Alpine rarely accepted guests. Sam, Natasha, and Becca had been her only acceptions thus far. Not even Bucky’s mother and father got a pass. And when you don’t pass, she will hiss and try to chase you out of the house, swatting angrily at you. Sometimes she climbs high surfaces to go for a dive bombing. If his cat didn’t like his soulmate, he wasn’t sure what he would do.
Very slowly, Steve squatted to be closer to Alpine’s eye level. As he did so, she skittered back in surprise before edging cautiously closer again. Carefully putting a hand towards her to sniff, she did so and much to Bucky’s surprise, immediately started purring like an engine that hummed to life. She rubbed her face all over Steve’s hand, seemingly very pleased with his presence. Like she’d known him her whole life. Traitor. He was pleasantly joyed, but nonetheless miffed that she made his warning look like an overexaggeration. Well, Steve would find out eventually, he supposed. Hoped. Yeah, whatever.
“Is this the ferocious beast?” Steve cooed, petting Alpine happily, “Are you a ferocious beast?” He asked her, soaking up her affections like a sponge, “Yes, you’re so scary. I’m shaking in my boots.” Alpine meowed in response.
And maybe Bucky fell just a little bit more in love, who’s to say? When Steve looked at him with a grin on his face and a twinkle in his eyes, crinkling around the corners, his heart melted. Reaching out for the sandwiches, Steve handed them to him which he took to the kitchen while Steve got to know his cat.
He set the bag on the counter, leaning against it and sighing with merry bliss. This was it. This was happening. Everything in his life came together for this moment. It was all he could’ve ever wanted and more. All he could have asked for. Steeling himself, he went back into the living room to find the cat had migrated to Steve’s lap. The man looked delighted. Utterly overjoyed. Bucky wondered if it was for the same reasons as himself.
“Awh, that’s cute, but I’m gonna have to separate you two,” Bucky said, leaning against the door frame. Steve gave an over-exaggerated pout but picked Alpine up anyhow to set her down gently as he stood up. He walked over to Bucky with a grin, taking his flesh hand gingerly.
“Hi,” Steve said.
“Hey,” He said back.
They spent a second just staring at each other. Steve ran his thumb over Bucky’s hand before looking down with eyebrows furrowed. Following his line of sight, he noticed Steve was staring at the (silly) band-aid on Bucky’s thumb.
“What happened here?” He sounded concerned, bringing Bucky’s hand to his face.
“Small kitchen accident, it’s fine.”
Steve didn’t seem to like that answer because he continued to pull his thumb closer, before giving the lightest press of lips over the band-aid, “My ma always said kisses make things better,” He murmured in lieu of an explanation.
“Your ma sounds like a smart lady,” Bucky responded, breathy and quiet with awe. His face felt like it was on fire.
Slowly, they drew away from each other, blinking.
“Ah,” He shuffled over to the other half of the living room, “This is the couch Alpine destroyed,” He said, gesturing to the torn-up cushions and scratched wood posts in all their glory.
Steve laughed, “Alpine did this?” He gave a low whistle of— not appreciation, but it was a close thing—, “What did you do, switch food brands on her?”
He shrugged, “I don’t know, but whatever it was, I’m glad it happened. Helped me meet you.” That got him a smile.
Without preamble, Steve leaned down and hefted the couch onto his shoulders with a grunt. He gave another smile, this one bigger and more for show, “I thought you said you wouldn’t make a near-centenarian lift your couch for you?”
Of course, Steve had overheard that conversation, they can address that later or maybe never. He crossed his arms, “You offered, so I’m not making you do anything.”
The man quirked his lips in a way of saying, ‘That’s fair’ and they looked at each other for another moment. They were doing a lot of that. Bucky didn’t know Steve’s reason, but if it was anything like his own, he was just in amazement that he was finally here. Taking a few seconds to appreciate where they were. The small things in life.
So, of course, he had to break that moment before it became too long. Lifting a book off the coffee table, and hefting it where Steve could see, “What would you do if I hit you with a book, like, right now?” Bucky asked, propping a hand on one hip and gesturing with a hardcover copy of The Hobbit in his other.
Steve raised his eyebrows, “I would get hit with a book.”
“You wouldn’t drop the couch?”
“And damage these lovely floors?” He said with some sarcasm as he swept a foot over the damaged, scratched-to-hell, well-lived-on hardwood floors, “Not a chance.” He had a grin that could only be described as shit-eating.
Huffing, Bucky went to open the door for Steve so he could toss the old couch into the truck Becca let him borrow to move all his destroyed furniture to the dump. Steve followed him down the stairs and they walked in silence. Then it was time to move the new couch up the stairs, box and all. Bucky had to clearly instruct Steve on where to turn and where not to turn. It was probably the most serious they’d been since meeting each other.
Once they got back to the apartment, Alpine sniffed the new object warily before running away. They spent a solid thirty minutes getting it out of the box and situated where they wanted it in the living room. By the time that was done, both of their stomachs were growling. Alpine was sleeping on the new couch, so Bucky took that as her seal of approval.
“Sandwiches?” Steve asked, brushing his hands and looking at him expectantly.
“Yes, please.”
This was a very, very nice evening. They ate and talked about anything and everything. Bucky learned things about Steve that just could not be read in a museum. Like how his mom’s name was Sarah and his father was Joseph, how he used to wear newspapers in his shoes (Bucky laughed a little too hard at that admission). Bucky told Steve about his own family and how his stint in the army cost him his arm. Told him about how he acquired Alpine. Laughed when Steve made a funny face at the phrase “Cat Distribution System.” (Told him to ask Nat, because that would be a hilarious conversation. He wonders what Steve knows of Tumblr.)
By the end, Bucky was standing on the stairs outside his apartment and Steve was getting ready to leave.
“We’ll do this again sometime, right?” Steve asked, looking hopeful. As if Bucky would ever say no.
“Hopefully not at the cost of my furniture,” He joked, looking down bashfully and scuffing the toe of his shoe against the brick, “But yes, I would love to.”
Steve grinned from ear to ear. It was blinding. Like the sun. Warm and beautiful, yet he couldn’t look away. Steve took a step closer until they were nose to nose, and their breathing intermingled. The world paused, for a moment. Bucky’s heart stopped. And gently, ever-so-gently, Steve pressed a small, lingering kiss there.
“It’s a date,” He whispered.
“Yeah,” Bucky replied, floating on air, “It’s a date.”
A camera flash, and a moment caught to be shared with those who didn’t deserve to see it.
If only they’d seen the paparazzi, hiding in the bushes.