“I’m not coming out,” Bucky hollers from behind the closed bathroom door.
Steve leans against the wall and drums a cadence on the doorjamb. “C’mon, Bucky,” he says gently. “I’ll bet you look great.”
“You’d lose that bet,” Bucky grumbles. Steve can hear his forehead thump against the door. “Shit. It’s bad enough that I’m dating Captain America. Now I’m a dork dating Captain America.”
“Dating me has nothing to do with you being a dork,” Steve teases. “You were a dork when I met you. Now hurry up and open that door, or we’re gonna miss our reservations. Your spare glasses can’t be that bad.”
“Fine,” Bucky says petulantly. The bathroom door swings open. A pair of thick-framed glasses rests above Bucky’s scowl. “There. Happy now? Everyone on the street’s gonna point and laugh at how dumb I look.”
Steve blinks owlishly. He takes in the way the black frames accentuate the piercing blue of Bucky’s eyes, the sharp cheekbones arching elegantly beneath them.
Color floods his cheeks as chews on his lower lip for a moment. “Change of plans, Buck. We’re ordering in. And we’ll never know what people think about how you look, because we’re not leaving the vicinity of the bedroom anytime soon.”
Tetralea 