Bucky doesn't come from inside, instead poking his head around the corner of the porch. He'd been out back, doing a bit of mindless maintenance on a bike he'll never be able to ride anywhere, a streak of grease running down one cheek while the rest stains his hands. Grabbing the dirty rag that's hanging out of his back pocket, he attempts to clean himself off, dismissing it as a lost cause as far as his metal hand is concerned as he hops up the stairs.
His eyes immediately land on the beer, and a question is at the tip of his tongue before he remembers the date.
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Bucky doesn't come from inside, instead poking his head around the corner of the porch. He'd been out back, doing a bit of mindless maintenance on a bike he'll never be able to ride anywhere, a streak of grease running down one cheek while the rest stains his hands. Grabbing the dirty rag that's hanging out of his back pocket, he attempts to clean himself off, dismissing it as a lost cause as far as his metal hand is concerned as he hops up the stairs.
His eyes immediately land on the beer, and a question is at the tip of his tongue before he remembers the date.
"Christ, it's that time of year already?"