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Sam was already halfway dressed, shirt half-buttoned, coffee in hand, leaning against the bedroom doorframe with a look that hovered somewhere between fond and so done.
The lump in the bed—otherwise known as Bucky Barnes—shifted just enough to poke a disheveled head out from beneath the covers.
“Five more minutes,” Bucky mumbled, voice rough and sleep-thick.
“You said that five minutes ago,” Sam said, sipping his coffee with a raised brow.
“I didn’t mean it literally,” Bucky groaned, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face in Sam’s pillow. “It’s Saturday. There are no rules on Saturday.”
“Maybe not,” Sam said, walking into the room and setting his mug down, “but you promised we’d go to the market early. You remember the market, right? That place with the fresh bread you love and the old lady who calls you ‘James’ like she’s known you since 1943?”
“That woman might actually be a time traveler,” Bucky muttered into the pillow. “And she always gives me extra muffins. She won’t stop if I’m late.”
Sam sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down. “You keep saying stuff like that and I’m gonna leave you here and go flirt with the muffin lady myself.”
Bucky peeked one blue eye open. “Betrayal.”
“Then get up, Sleeping Beauty.”
Bucky reached out, blindly grabbing Sam’s wrist and tugging him down with far more strength than necessary. Sam landed on the mattress with a soft “oof,” the coffee long abandoned.
“You’re warm,” Bucky mumbled, already curling against Sam’s side like a sleepy barnacle. “Stay here. Five more minutes.”
“Bucky…”
“C’mon,” Bucky said, voice soft and low and entirely unfair. “We’ve got all the time in the world now. What’s five more minutes?”
Sam was quiet for a moment, feeling the way Bucky’s breath warmed the side of his neck, how his arm slid around Sam’s waist like it belonged there.
“…You are so lucky you’re cute,” Sam finally said, shifting just enough to get comfortable. “But if we miss the bread lady, you’re making waffles.”
Bucky hummed. “Deal.”