A/N: You asked, I delivered. Have fun.

In the year 1918, Sarah Rogers was blessed with a daughter (hisssssssss) who had blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes. The first color her (cringe) hair turned was white.

White is the color of heartbreak. The very first color a newborn's hair turns after they're born is the color their soulmate's and their own hair will be when the pair eventually meet. Which means that the girl (you know what. I give up. Fuck it.) was gonna be heartbroken when he met his soulmate.

In Russia, a year earlier, Winifred and George Barnes were blessed with a son by the name of James Buchanen Barnes, whose hair didn't change color at all until his soulmate was born a year later, in July, taking on a beautifully crisp white color.

Fifteen years later, James hadn't met his soulmate. He was sixteen years old and upset about how he hadn't met them. His parents had told him all about how he'd meet "her" when his hair was white and "her" hair would be the same color. To be honest, he didn't give two shits about their gender, which I'm happy about to this day.

Then he moved to Brooklyn, New York. He had a small glimmer of hope that he would meet them there. And when he came, I felt a small glimmer of hope as well.

The girl? Well. My mom would tell you that I'm that girl if she were still alive. I never was a girl.

Now that I've told our backstory, let's move on to present day, shall we?

I walked my blonde self into the coffee shop, my hair shoved roughly into a newsies cap and my sketch pad under my arm.

I could feel my hair change color as I remembered that my mom hates me for being transgender. I grumbled at the thought of showing it while it was white and when I took a few strands of hair out from under my hat. Sure enough, it was a blinding white and I felt like crying at the sight of it.

Another boy was slumped at another table, his short, bright white hair on full display and tear-tracks tracing their ways down his cheeks.

I wonder... I thought to myself. I slid into his booth at the table. "Hi." I said pulling my hat off, letting my hair tumble down my shoulders. He looked up at me and smiled at the sight of my hair.

"Hi." He replied. "My name's James. Yours, doll?"

"James doesn't seem to match your personality, man. No offense." I comment. "I don't have a name."

"Well...you've gotta have a name...how bout I give you a name? What are your pronouns?"

"He and him, please." I replied.

"Mmmmm...and what is your favorite letter of the alphabet?"

"I like the letter S."

"...how about Steven? Or Steve for short."

"I love it. And what's your full name?"

"James Buchanen Barnes."

"How bout I call you Bucky?"

He smiled at me and fluffed my hair which promptly turned pink at the touch.

"It's perfect." Bucky said putting his forehead against mine, his hair turning the same shade of pink. I yearned to touch him all the way as the boy I am, but since it's the 1930s, it's illegal. But did that stop Bucky?

ABSOLUTELY THE FRICK NOT.

He leaned into my space, my hands under his hand and his other hand twisting through my hair, lifting it off my neck and into a rough bun as he kissed me.

My face flushed and I kissed back, almost happy that he didn't care. When he pulled away, his hair was a mix of gold and pink. He's happy. And he loves me.

His smile practically blinded me and I smiled back slowly, feeling helpless.

"What if I told you that you're beautifully handsome in every way, Stevie?" Bucky asked, pressing a chast kiss to my temple.

"I wouldn't mind at all, Buck."