You hated the way you looked. Absolutely hated it. You were taller than most everyone you knew, towered next to even Thor. But it wasn't your height that really got on your nerves.

It was your hair.

It couldn't be cut, and it grew at a crazy rate. It was as long as you were tall, even dragging behind you when it was down, which it often wasn't. You mostly kept it pinned up in a crazy twist or braid.

However, your hair was magical. You could control it just like any other appendage, and it was near-indestructible. You were a strange hero, but a hero all the same.

The Avengers, your friends, never saw it as strange: neither your height nor your hair. You insecurities came from your childhood, not your friends and co-workers.

You walk into the Avengers common room, seeing only one person sitting on the sofa. Bucky uses his metal hand to wave hello from his seat. Bucky, of all the Avengers, knew how it was to be different and feared for it. More than most.

"Hey!" he chirps, giving you a grin that makes you blush.

You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, playing with your braid. The TV shows a prior season of Game of Thrones. "Whatcha doing?"

Bucky pats the seat next to him on the sofa. "Catching up on what I missed in the last century."

You plop down on the sofa, lying down with your head resting on his leg. "Sounds exhausting."

He chuckles. "Sometimes." After a few moments of you tugging on your magical hair, Bucky asks, "Are you okay? You're oddly quiet."

You shrug, sighing. "Bad self-confidence day."

Bucky places a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it down your back sympathetically. "I get those, too," he tells you softly. "Hair or height?"

To Be Continued...