hawkeye and black widow like to share their holiday cheer by shooting mistletoe at random couples
The evening light slants in through the window, painting everything Bucky can see with a pale, dusty shade of gold. Natasha sits in the huge easy chair in Sam’s living room, flipping idly through one of the old photo albums Sam keeps inside the ottoman. Bucky, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, pretends to be more engrossed in the knife he’s whetting than the way the sunlight hits the braids in Natasha’s hair, the red so bright and flamelike he imagines a halo of smoke rising from the crown of her head.
I’m an anxious mess for absolutely NO apparent reason.