Chapter Text
From the minute he woke up, Bob had one thing on his mind: his birthday.
He was thirty-three now. Thirty-three years was a long time. Long enough that he should have had more to show for it.
Had he made the best use of those years? ...No.
His life could be broken down into three parts: his childhood, his addiction, and his present.
His childhood was... complicated. Something to unpack in therapy another day.
Then came the addiction. It had started younger than most people expected. A car accident in middle school had left him addicted to morphine, and from there, everything blurred together. His teenage years and most of his twenties revolved around one thing: getting high. Looking for it. Finding the money to buy it. Using it.
If anything else had happened during those years, he couldn't remember.
Now there was the present. He lived in the Tower with the Thunderbolts. His days were quiet. He spent most of his time lounging around reading. A new book every few days. Yelena and y/n had somehow made it their personal mission to keep his bedside table stocked, and he hadn't run out of something to read in months.
He didn't leave the Tower often. Every now and then Yelena would bring him to her favorite cafe. A nice place a block away from the tower. Not too far, but just far enough that he felt like he was actually getting out.
Other times, Bucky would force him to join him on runs, Ava would take him to her (their) favorite bookstore, y/n would take him out for boba or froyo – it alternated each week – and Walker would rope him into grocery shopping with complaints about everyone eating his snacks
y/n never really needed an excuse. Sometimes she'd knock on his door with two cups of frozen yogurt already melting in her hands. Other times she'd ask if he wanted to take a walk, browse a music store, or just sit in the park with whatever books they happened to be reading that week. She never seemed bothered if they spent half the outing in comfortable silence.
He liked that. He liked her. A lot, if he was being honest with himself.
But even with all of that, something still felt... incomplete. He wasn't just surviving anymore. He wanted to live… He just didn't know where to start.
Which was how he found himself standing outside y/n’s door, his fist hovering in front of it as he tried to work up the nerve to knock.
He could hear her inside the room, shuffling about with music quietly playing in the background. He wasn't sure what she was doing. More importantly, he wasn't sure if she'd mind being interrupted.
She'd told him once that she didn't mind. That no matter what she was doing, he could always knock. Even if it wasn't an emergency.
Pushing away his insecurities, he closed the space between his fist and the door. The first knock was quiet. He doubted she could hear it over the music. He knocked again, this time louder, more confident.
It took a moment before the door swung open. "Bob!" she beamed. "Perfect timing. I need your help." Before he could ask what she meant, she grabbed his wrist and tugged him inside. Immediately, his eyebrows shot up in surprise.
Now, he’d been in her room before, they’d sometimes spend time together reading or watching movies. However, in those moments, the room was … tidier. Now? … It was covered in clothing. From her bed to her wardrobe to her desk to the floor, everything was covered in clothing.
“Okay, so I’ve decided to sort through all the clothes I have.” Pausing, her eyes scanned over the room, “and I have come to the realization that I have never done that before … ever … in my entire life.”
“As such, I have quite a bit of clothing,” she concluded. Finally, her eyes moved back to him, taking in his look of surprise, she let out a snort. “I know. It’s a mess. You can laugh.”
He slapped a hand over his mouth before the laugh escaped. "No– no, it's fine," he said, pressing his lips together. "Not a mess at all."
There were a few dresses hung up on her closet door, a couple of shirts folded neatly on the dresser, but everywhere else? It looked like a hurricane had passed through. He could barely even see the floor.
Once he'd managed to compose himself, he looked back at her. “What– what prompted this?”
“Oh, nothing big. I was just bored.” y/n responded. “Got myself deeper than I expected though.” Almost like she realized something, her face lit up, “"Did you need something?"
Bob nodded. "Yeah. I... wanted to ask you something." His eyes drifted back to the mountain of clothes. "...But it can wait." He looked at her again. "Do you want some help?"
It only took a few hours for the pile of clothes to dwindle down. Bob found himself sitting on the floor, y/n next to him.
It would have made more sense for them to move further apart as the piles lessened, but the distance between the two had grown smaller, their knees almost touching.
As y/n tossed the last shirt in the donation box, she turned her attention to Bob. “So, about that question of yours.”
“Oh… yeah, that.” So lost in the task of sorting clothes, Bob had forgotten the reason he came to y/n in the first place. “I– I want to do something. Actually, I want to do a lot of things,” he started.
She looked at him questioningly. "I was just thinking..." Bob started. "There are a lot of things I've never done."
"Like what?" she asked gently.
"Just... normal things." He looked down at his hands. "Before this, before everything. My life wasn’t… I wasn’t doing that well. I didn’t get to experience all the fun things in life that other people do.”
y/n seemed to catch on, but remained silent. “And I’ve decided I want to do those things. I want to…” he thought for a moment, “spend time at the beach, do an escape room, ride a rollercoaster at an amusement park.”
He laughed quietly to himself. "I'm not even sure what I have and haven't done anymore." The smile lingered. “But I’m a different person now. I’m living a completely different life, and I want to make the most of that.”
He hesitated. "And..." His heart was pounding now. "I was kind of hoping..." He swallowed. "...you'd do those things with me." Another pause. "If you want to." He almost whispered the last part.
She stared at him for all of two seconds before smiling. “I’d love to.”
"Really?"
"Really." The smile on his face grew, small but genuine.
"Good."
She tilted her head. "Good?"
"Yeah. I thought maybe..." He shrugged. "It's my birthday, and I wanted to do something different."
"Wait." Her eyebrows lifted and her smile faded. She looked almost mortified. "It's your birthday?!"
Bob froze. "...Yeah."
“You’ve spent the whole day helping me clean my closet” She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “And only now do you tell me it's your birthday?”
He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “"Well... technically I was going to ask you about this."
"That is so not the point!" She pushed herself off the floor, looking down at him with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. "I would’ve gotten you a cake."
"You don't have to."
"I know. " Her voice softened. "I wanted to."
Bob looked away, swallowing around the sudden tightness in his throat. He grabbed the corner of the bed and pulled himself to his feet while y/n turned away, already pacing across the room.
"Okay," she muttered. "Okay. I have a solution!” she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “Your birthday is going to last this entire week.”
"y/n–"
“Since today is Sunday, it's perfect! Every day this week we can do something new.” She looked at him, her smile stretching across her face. "A whole week of firsts.” Bob stared at her. “How does that sound?”
She was practically glowing. For a moment, Bob forgot what he was going to say. It was hard to think when she looked this happy.
"Okay," he finally managed. And for the first time in a long time, Bob was looking forward to what came next.