Anteros
Anteros curls like a contented cat on the edge of their world; legs swinging from a rooftop, or lounging on a windowsill no one ever noticed before. Chin on hands, golden eyes too wide and too warm. Sighing with deep, dreamy affection every time Zemo adjusts Bucky’s collar, or Bucky absentmindedly brushes lint from Zemo’s lapel. He adores them.
He doesn’t want to interfere. He’s not that kind of god. He’s not hunting or tempting or testing. He’s just drawn. Magnetised. Like a moth to the steady glow of a lantern rather than a wildfire. The way they move around each other. The way they see each other. That’s what keeps him perched there, watching, breathing it in like incense.
*
It’s late. The streets below are hushed, the windows above glow warm. Zemo and Bucky are on the balcony, a bottle of wine between them. Zemo is half-drunk and Bucky is wholly content. The wind carries jasmine. The air carries peace.
Bucky’s legs are propped on the railing. He’s holding a glass lazily in one hand, the other resting on Zemo’s thigh, fingers idly tracing little circles.
Zemo is reading aloud from a slim book of poetry. Something old and lilting, his voice low and sure, the cadence like a lullaby. But then he pauses. Looks out across the rooftops. There’s someone sitting on the ledge opposite them, barely a breath away from the sky.
A boy, but not quite. Not mortal, certainly. His hair is tousled starlight, his eyes impossibly wide. Barefoot, ankles crossed, chin propped in his palms like he’s been waiting centuries to be noticed.
Bucky follows Zemo’s gaze. Sees him, too.
The figure doesn’t startle. Doesn’t hide. He just smiles, full of dimples and delight, like a child who’s been caught sneaking sweets and is thrilled by the attention.
“You’ve been watching us,” Zemo says, not accusingly, just stating the obvious.
Anteros swings his legs, sheepish and shining. “You’re very soothing. Like a song I didn’t know I remembered.”
Bucky squints at him. “Are you a Muse or a god or...?”
The boy shrugs. “I’m love returned. Love reflected. The kind that doesn’t fade, just settles deeper. The kind you two carry around like breath.”
There’s a long pause. Not heavy. Just quiet. Zemo leans back in his chair. “You could have spoken to us sooner, if you had wanted.”
“I didn’t want to disturb anything,” Anteros says, soft as a petal. “You’ve built something rare. Most gods would want to touch that, press their fingers in. I just wanted to feel the warmth.”
Bucky tilts his head. “You lonely, kid?”
Anteros blinks, shakes his head. And then he blushes like the sunset. “You make it look so easy,” he murmurs.
Zemo arches a brow. “It isn’t.”
Bucky chuckles, looks over at Zemo. “But it’s worth it.”
Anteros beams, delighted.
Zemo offers his glass. Anteros doesn’t move, but somehow it’s in his hand. He takes a sip. “Oh,” he sighs. “Grapes and spice and sun. That’s what you two taste like.”
Bucky chuckles again. Anteros hands the glass back with reverence, then presses his palms together, as if in prayer. “A blessing,“ he says. The air trembles faintly. Like a note plucked from a divine harp. It settles around Zemo and Bucky like golden dust.
“Not protection, not power,” Anteros says. “Just balance. May your love always echo. You are loved just as you love.”
And then he’s gone. No flash, no puff of magic. Just gone. Zemo looks at Bucky. Bucky looks at Zemo.
Zemo lifts his glass, as if in a toast. “To being loved as we love.”
Bucky clinks his glass gently. “To not attracting gods with how good we’ve got it.”
And the night goes on, still and sure. The blessing lingers, not as weight, but as warmth.
***