IF nerves weren't gnawing away at my head, I would've found walking to Professor's Bianchi's studio too cold to do. The anxiety of the e-mail I had received this morning- 'Come to the studio after @3. Regards to be said in person. Wear your warmest clothes, its cold as hearts outside. Tnx!' vague, to the point, and left too much for my nerves to pick through.

As the winds whipped, the snow a whole two feet from the ground, I stared down at my snow boots while I kept my coat tight to my body, trying not to freeze.

Despite combing through the two hour class through and through my brain, there was nothing that came up differently or that was noticeable enough for an e-mail the morning after, telling me to see her at three. Outside of her classes, Professor Binachi was an elusive campus ghost. She did everything online, and disliked unnecessary communication.

That Wednesday, the professor was cranky that day because her car got snowed in because of a blizzard that went on for three hours. Not soon after though, she got herself a cappuccino and was all smiles.

She had even made jokes with the models, a wonderful old couple for a real-life class. They seemed to have been first timers, kept giggling and making jokes at each other. Every time the wife seized up, overcome by the quiet classroom of college students just staring at every detail of them, her husband would whisper something in her ear and she would let out a snort.

It was the most relaxed time we've ever had in that class. I took off my earphones and let the lull of the classroom, a few murmurs of conversations, observing the warmth atmosphere, wash over me. Keep me in the moment.

I thought I had a great time in class. Now I wasn't sure.

A text pinged. I had to reshuffle my laptop bag, my tucked in, cold hands, cursing myself for forgetting to buy gloves, but when I did manage to get my phone, Claudia's name was an assurance.

CLAUDIA HEINZ: it could be a good thing!! don't be so negative!!

NADINE LYNCH: but i alr won that competition in ny!! what else is there to be positive about???

CLAUDIA HEINZ: lots of things! puppies! flowers! pretty snow!!1 which u probably don't agree with since ur walking out in the ocld, but the cold!!! since global warming!!!

NADINE LYNCH: global warming is more than heat waves, audie. its the change of climate. the ruination of the earth.

CLAUDIA HEINZ: wow.... anxiety is really something else huh

CLAUDIA HEINZ: stop anxietying. for now. get some when u hear what's up. worry when its there, not when its still coming.

I took a deep breath, put a smile on my face that I certainly couldn't feel, and trudged forward. The snow was mesmerizing, and I have always had fond memories with it so I focused on that. When my parents were still together, and Aslan was still young, still held my hand and stumbled over his sentences, we always rented this one house in Vermont that smelled so strongly of old smoke and menthol.

When you were younger, you always thought of snow as something magical. It blanketed the world and it looked soft and sweet, like ice cream or sugar powder. You could throw yourself down and sink down in happiness. You don't really mind that snow is cold. What you did hate was how wet snow actually is. Throwing yourself over a pile was a surefire way of getting hypothermia.

When I was around eight years old, I had come close to my only brush of hypothermia. I remember being drowned in blankets, my brother, puffy eyed and more baby than boy, asleep cocooned next to me in front of the fireplace because he thought I was dying.

The cold reminded me of today, an emotion I can't place, and I focused on it.

"Nadine?"

The voice was familiar before I even turned.

Bucky Choi was running and puffing, striped blue and white beanie tucked tight on his head, with a hilariously thick, puffed up sweater under a flapping black coat.

Before I could say anything, a smile ready, he pulled out two small white things from his hands and said, "Give me your hands."

"Huh?" I pulled my hands out, palms up, and as soon I touched them, I felt intense heat. "Whoa, what's this?"

"Hot pack." He grinned. "Prevents freezing to death for a period of time."

"Ooh. But what about you?"

From deep in his long coat's pockets, he produced five in each palm. Then 'oof'ed when it became too hot to hold. "You looked a little cold." It was tacked in with a rosy-cheeked, easy grin.

It was a bafflingly, unfairly beautiful smile. It was too breezy to exist. Too strong to weak wills.

So I turned forward again, moving the hot packs around my stuffed fingers. "What's up with your sweater? You look like a puffed-up, proud little penguin."

He laughed. I closed my eyes.

"No matter what the movie says, the cold always bothered me anyway. I am straight up covered in several layers, and though I look stupid as hell, I am the warmest person in New York right. A blizzard could sweep right this second and whoo, I'll stay toasty as a brazier in a winter's storm."

"That's a hardcore sell."

"I am hardcore so toasty. Like a marshmallow being prepped for s'mores."

I laughed. "Are you drunk? You sound a little..."

"Nope. Well. Not really. I had a little brandy to take the clean edge. Didn't realize brandy was that strong until I was hacking on it."

I raised an eyebrow.

He raised his gloved hands. "Strictly for medicinal purposes only, I swear. That was also the first- and probably last time - I'm drinking brandy too."

"Hard to replace that logic. How was the date yesterday?" This was a genuine inquiry and the safest one... and well, I was curious. I wouldn't say our relationship was strained, but I felt tense. The little hops, the looks mournful with another meaning. Both of us had been busy with classes, portfolio and plates. Work was eating away at my time, and it was a good excuse to keep things at bay.

But I made a promise, and I intend to honor that promise until the end. To what end, I wasn't sure yet. Bucky's progress was amazing. Apart from a few inquiries here and there, and the general updates- boy was real good with keeping me up to date. I saw him once across the street in the fabrics district, what he was doing there I wasn't sure. He was walking fast with a bagel in his mouth, fingers flying across his phone, before I felt my phone buzzing and he coincidentally pocketed his own phone.

It was a message from him.

"It was good," he said now, red-cheeked and huffing out small clouds. "Eye-opening even."

"Eye-opening?" I raised an eyebrow. "Big word for a date."

He copied it, snickering slightly. "I'll tell you about it later. Coffee?"

"Would love to, but I need to stop by my professor's studio first."

"Anything bad?"

I pulled out my phone and showed him the e-mail. "You tell me."

"Vague," he answered instead. "But the cold as hearts. That could be a clue?"

I laughed in anxiety. "Do tell. I'm stomped."

He handed over the phone but held my hand. "Whoa, you're cold. Let me just-"

When he started taking off his gloves, I tried to push him away. "No, Bucky, don't. I'm fine-"

"Humor me."

I sighed noisily as he slid the gloves on each hand. He wasn't at all looking at me, focused on the task with a little scrunch on his forehead. They felt warm inside, fleece-lined. Nicely tanned leather too.

"They don't feel too big, right?"

"No," I said softly. "They're fine."

"That's good." He smiled, soft and warm. "I'm sure it isn't something too bad, your professor's email. Worrying is half the added stress. How about this- if it's a good thing, we'll get coffee. If it's bad, I'll make you hot chocolate. I can wait outside right here."

"You don't have to." The idea eased my mind so quickly that I'm sure I didn't sound convincing. "It's cold outside too."

"Nadine, I have fifty hot packs and more under these seven sweaters. I am as toasty as you can get. I can try baking s'mores under all of this."

I laughed because his face was dead serious. "Well... Thank you. This is me."

"And I'll be here. I promise. I can also say that my hot chocolate is enough to lure most women into my abode."

"Thrilling." But I smiled, because fifteen minutes with Bucky and I was warm and five steps lighter when I knocked on my professor's door.

Not thirty minutes later, I was trudging down the stairs, heart hammering and a smile so wide that when Bucky- with his hands stuffed deep in his hot packs, making incorrigible art on the snow with his foot - looked up and saw it, his shoulders eased and he matched my smile. Brightness mirroring another. It felt like the fireplace, the drowning layers of blankets and sweaters.

"Coffee then?"

"I think I'd prefer the hot chocolate that lures the women to your abode."

He offered his arm, gallant and relaxed. "Smart choice."

When we got back to his house, I watched, in unbridled fascination, as Bucky took off his sweaters- at least four layers of fabric.

He shrugged, blushing slightly with his cheeky tongue-in-cheek grin. "I run cold."

"I can see that."

He jutted a spatula at me. "Less of the teasing, more of the helping. Can you pull out some things from the kitchen?"

"Sure."

I took off my own jacket, his gloves, and walked around his kitchen while he prepared a pot and mugs and took to his instructions. Whole milk, sugar, bittersweet chocolate, vanilla extract, whipped cream, and marshmallows. I pulled out cinnamon when I noticed it, labeled with the font style that Bucky uses for his plates, and placed it among the ingredients even though he didn't ask for it.

He smiled when he saw it, as I pulled a chair to watch him work.

"Ah, a cinnamon girl. I should've known." He took a bowl and started measuring, giving me an even look. "So it wasn't bad news?"

"Nope, not at all. She wanted to invite me to this gala, along with other students from other design departments. The Get-"

He paused. "The Gettys?"

"You know it?"

"I was invited to. By one of my architecture professors. They proposed it as a chance to make connections, with one stipulation-"

"- I have to make a cohesive piece."

"I have to make a 3D plate." Bucky smiled. "I was kinda hoping you'd be there too. With your win in the showcase, when my professor told me about it, it seemed like a good bet. You're a fan favorite among the art textile professors."

"Thank you. That's amazing for you too, Bucky. Congratulations."

"You too." He turned, holding a spatula. There was something boiling over a stove, some finely chopped chocolate on a board. His face was earnest, open. "I mean it. An entire collection with a big event like that— that's rare. It's brilliant."

I smiled warmly, my blush thick in my face. "Thank you. Really."

"When the milk reaches a scalding point, you'll see, my child. Brilliance begets brilliance."

"You're really hyping up that hot chocolate, huh?"

"I have been told that this is the best part of who I am."

I laughed. "I doubt that."

"You're sweet." He smiled. A weighty, fluttery feeling dropped to my stomach like a coin to a well. Then he cleared his throat. "Hush now, I'm making you something hot. Oh, and can you pull out the red box from the living room? Have some. It's injeolmi. It's a variety of rice cakes. Not too sweet, you'll love it."

Two mugs, a blue and a red overflowing with marshmallows- the blue one dusted with cinnamon - and a half-eaten box of injeolmi later, my fingers dusted with roasted soybean powder, Bucky grins as he offers me the blue mug.

"Taste it. You'll love me."

He blinked, I did too, and I swear for a moment I was looking at his lips and he was looking at mine, and it was just a single second- a spark, a reaction - before I took a deep breath and he started blinking, smiling sheepishly. Painfully.

"You know what I mean," he murmured, shuffling the seat in front of me.

"Of course," I replied softly, taking the mug and inhaling. It was a soft scent of cinnamon combined with the musky smell of chocolate. I took a sip and nearly moaned. "Oh dear. It does taste like heaven. You really weren't selling yourself short."

He cleared his throat. "I told you. Only reason they love me."

"Don't sell yourself short like that."

"I'm not, I'm just joking. You're my guru in everything confidence." He grinned. "And good kissing skills."

It was entirely his fault that my eyes flickered to his lips again. Against the steamy hot chocolate, they were noticeably more red than pink, and wet and bitten and I had to take a deep, deep breath to steady myself enough to answer him. He tilted his head quizzically, but ultimately let it go.

"Now, that's a lie and you know it." Desperate for a change of subject, I remembered earlier today. "So what were you going to tell me? You know, from before?"

He raised both of his eyebrows, setting his mug down. "Ahh. That."

"Yes, that. What's that face for?"

"Nothing, it's just." His eyes flickered to my face in a way I didn't understand. "Got myself a girlfriend."

I was drinking, so of course I half choked and half spat it out. "Jesus. Sorry. That's..." Bucky was already up and rushing to get napkins. "Sorry. But wow. Wow. That's... well, gotta say that's unexpected, Buchanan." I winced. I've never called him Buchanan. Buck, Bucky, son. My dude that one time, but never Buchanan.

"Yeah. I mean, yeah." He chuckled. "It just happened. Yesterday."

I racked my brains out and only came out with an embarrassing, "Coffee Girl?"

"Yeah, Lucy. She, uh well, it just happened." His gaze was beckoning in a way I didn't understand, as if he wanted me to say something. Imploring. "She, er, well, we thought we'd try it out. She's very... persuasive."

"Ah. But you... like her?"

A pause. A sincerity. "I do."

I felt like throwing up so I smiled. "Then that's all there is, isn't it? As long as you're happy, kid." I raised my mug because my fingers were shaking. "Mug up, let's cheers to this. To good things."

He clicked his mug to mine, eyes on me. It was a steady, strong gaze as he echoed my sentiments. "To good things."

I was a better liar than I thought I was.

That night, when I've cozied myself up with my covers, dragging them all the way to my desk, and propped up my laptop and busied myself through my portfolio— all my part works that I was proud to publicized, as well vaulted ones I kept close to my chest, most unfinished, to hopefully help for The Gettys.

The Gettys was a prestigious charity gala hosted by the Getty Family of New York, an old money family that survived the Great Depression in their oil and land wealth. The Gettys was in support of the arts and music, hiring up and coming artists that most weren't even graduated yet from Julliard. They sponsored new talent, fluffed up the artists that have already made names for themselves, and was locally known to be a good place for anyone to market themselves for future endeavors.

Anybody who was anybody in New York was going to be there, and if you were a young buck who wanted to be known before you graduate, it was a good opportunity to have a professor who had in and wanted to 'sell' you so you could have a good headstart once you're officially in employment tracks.

Mine wasn't just an invite. It was a chance to make something of my own design and properly market myself to the darlings of the fashion industry that would be no doubt attending.

But my brain wasn't working, and I was sure a migraine was coming, so I pushed my laptop away by the time 9pm came, and exchanged it for my phone.

"Hey darling," answered a sweet, familiar voice. "Didn't think you'd call, but huzzah for miracles."

"Huzzah? Where are you?"

"I am... at the bar." A shift in Ross' voice, less noise. "Well, now I'm outside a bar. I'm having drinkies with my lovely sister-in-law and Seth's fiancé, Thy. They came up for some shopping and yeah. Drinkies."

"Drinkies," I echoed, half-amused.

"Ah. What's that tone of voice for, my darling?"

"A hell of a lot." I took a deep breath. "Can you take some unnecessary emotional turmoil?"

"Hold on." He shuffled. A deep breath. "Okay. Hit me."

"Are you sure?"

"Very much so."

"Bucky's dating someone. Lucy something. Coffee girl."

"Oh. Damn. Damn, Choi... What do you want to do?"

"Me? No idea." I blurted out a near hysterical laugh. "I don't have anything to do. I can't. I don't know."

"Naddy... darling." At this point, Ross' tone has shifted to a softer tone. "You like him. You and I both know that. And you and I both know why we're in this together. Now that things have progressed this far, what do you want to do?"

"I... What else can I do? I can't tell him now, can I now? Now is literally the worst time."

"That you like him."

I closed my eyes. "That I like him."

"Nice to hear," he teased. "Won't hurt you to admit it once in a while. Out loud. To yourself. While your boyfriend is on the other end of the line."

"We forget about this, just like we always do." I took a deep breath. "We forget about it and bury it deep down where no one can even sixth-sense the shit out of it."

He sighs.

"What?" I bit my nail. "What does that sigh mean?"

"Nothing. I kind of expected this response."

"My unhealthy coping mechanisms?" I snorted darkly.

"Our unhealthy coping mechanisms. You and I have the same attachment style."

I made a face. "Attachment?"

"Yeah." I can hear the smirk in his voice. "Our avoidant attachment styles."

That really, really shouldn't be funny, but I was laughing. A weighted laughter brought on by the heat in my eyes, but laughter nevertheless. "We're so fucked up, aren't we? I can't even tell this boy I like him. Pathetic."

"It can be," he agreed breezily. "But the thing is, you've been burnt too hard. You have to be kinder to yourself, love. It's not your fault you have a sucky response to attraction. To love."

"I don't love, Bucky."

"But you could," he said softly. "If you gave him the chance, you could."

I was crying then, breathing haggardly through my nose. "This is so fucked up, Ross."

"It is. But I love you. No breakups for us."

I sniffed, brushing as much of my tears away as I could. "Not as of. Are you okay with that?"

"I'm okay with anything, darling. Anything you need me with, you know that."

I closed my eyes, lifting a small smile. Anytime I break, anytime I feel like the world is off its axis, anytime I feel like my existence was broken in pieces and rubble all around- Ross could understand it. Ross could see it, take them in his hands as if they were precious, and slowly, with such loving care, help me build myself together.

It didn't have to last. It didn't have to have a strong foundation.

It was the fact that he was there to hold my hand through it was enough.

"My superhero."

"My complicated wreck of a human being."

It took a while to get this out because I shifted/rewrote a lot from the previous draft. There are still some key elements/parts that are still the original, but I made bigger changes. One of it, is that last scene with Ross & Nadine. One of the factors it took a while to get out was that scene. Nadine's honesty about her feelings, her heartbreak, and how she feels about Bucky isn't what you would normally associate with realising you like someone– hers is tied with heartbreak.

And god, I made myself a little teary-eyed writing it.

I hope you understand where she's coming from. Do tell me your thoughts.

This is the final rewritten chapter of the book, and 19 and onwards are all new/first drafted parts.

I hope you enjoyed it, please don't forget to vote + comment <3