Bucky Barnes

The yellowish light dimly illuminated the place as the bell at the entrance alerted someone to the arrival. You were busy fulfilling your role as an employee, placing liquor bottles on the shelves behind the bar.

The door to the place closed behind James, who was holding a bouquet of roses in his hands. He approached silently, extending the flowers towards you. His expression was cold as an iceberg, and the lack of practice in flirting was reflected in his gaze, since he had not been on a date since 1943. He remained silent, expecting you to be an extrovert and say something stupid.