"TO be fair, it was also his fault. And you." She threw an accusing finger at me, her laugh thrilling, high and panicky. "You taught him how to flirt too good! You made the perfect Frakenstein, Nadine Lynch, and trust me. He did not disappoint."

What was Bucky's answer to all of this, you might ask?

"Uh. I need my sweater. Ella. You're... wearing it."

It was the little details though, the details that were stark in memory, one that gave the memory itself a heavier weight.

Ella's soft grin, the hickeys that peppered— peppered like stars on the sky that started from the ends of her jaw and down and down Bucky's goddamn black sweater...

The details... the red marks on Bucky's goddamn back... his eyes, how he looked at me as if he was... god, I don't even know how he was looking at me.

Only that he was. He looked at me.

I closed my eyes, breathing shallow. These details were so vivid that it blurred the reality of what was in front of me.

My baby brother, the Christmas tree behind him, piled the bottom with stacks of gifts, and the chess game we were playing to pass the time.

Aslan moved his king to avoid getting eaten by my bishop. At the same time, a slow grin rose in his lips. Then he rolled his intelligent brown eyes. His brown was a lighter shade to mine. Everything about Aslan was a lighter version of me. He was the blond one, after all.

"Checkmate. For the third time. Geez Nadine, where's your head?"

My smile was bitter in reply. "Right, thanks. Let's pack up. Are you ready to answer my questions?"

"But you didn't win!"

"And I'm still older, that wins against any rule in the book. So what's up with boarding school?" As we took all the chess pieces— dead or on the board, not much in terms of mine, as he had so astutely observed, my head was not in the game and I had a graveyard of pieces – I watched, transfixed at the movement of my baby brother.

Aslan James wasn't born crying. He had stayed at the hospital for weeks before we even got to hold him or take him home. He was born with a heart problem that had made my parents cling to each other. I had been prepared to be a big sister, resolute in what games we would play or what toys of mine I could share, but I had not been prepared for a sick baby brother.

That shifted a lot of perspective for me. Twenty one now and he was fourteen, Aslan had a grin that could only be described as mischievous with eyes to hold it. He could never fatten up, stuck in a body that's perennially gaunt, but at least his cheeks weren't sallow. Mom made sure his nutritionist was up to date with any new changes, and his school up in Connecticut had specific meals for him when it got dangerous.

Being anemic was a side effect that did not bode well.

Every two years, he had a checkup with a team of doctors and surgeons, half had known him since he was born. They test and prob and make sure he lives another two years. And repeat.

It is a long, exhausting process. Both for the patient and the patient's family.

And whenever I am around him, holidays right now, I try to make the most of it.

Which I was doing rather poorly, fixated on whatever the hell happened at Ross' party. Damn Bucky Choi, damn Ella Ambrose, damn that stupid black sweater— and damn me, most of all, for being so surprised and affected in a way that made me want to question what the hell was going on in my mind.

Which, admittedly, was a pretty chaotic mess at the moment.

"School is school," he said with a roll of his eyes, his slim wrist wired with popped veins. "My grades are the same, people are the same, medication are the same." He lifted an eyebrow, challenging. "How's college?"

Something about the way he said it, the curl of his upper lip, made me look away, reminded, once again, of that damn, damn party.

"Nothing much either. I'm in my third year. Started working on my portfolio again, aced my Art History exam— far less interesting." I stood up, tugging the red sweater Nika bought. It compliments my dad's own red sweater, while Aslan wore a green one with a snowman.

My sweater had Rudolph quietly setting on fire all the rude reindeers that made fun of his red nose, while a murderous snowman held a stick with a massacre of poofy other snowmen on the backdrop with strayed carrot noses and crumpled hats on Aslan's sweater.

My stepmother had a wry sense of humor. I don't know if it's her intense gothic fascination for the macabre, but no matter what holiday, she made sure it had a bit of gore in it.

Trust my father to marry a scriptwriter who specialized in horror.

Halloween in their house had long since been established as an infamous affair. Last year they did H.H. Holmes and invited people to tour around a hotel-styled home where each room depicted someone getting brutally murdered. This year they did some intense Hannibal Lecter.

I couldn't stomach eating sausages for a week after.

"Knock, knock, children of my loins." Dad popped, his brown hair peppered with white, full grin, and wrinkled eye smiles. His sweater had an elf impaling another elf, adding sound effects on the bells on their hats.

Jingle, jingle indeed.

You gotta love the new Lynch tradition.

I made a face, Aslan rolled his eyes. He leaned closed to whisper. "He said that out loud when he was picking me up from school. The headmaster was so shocked, he tripped."

I laughed while my dad pulled out his phone and took a snap. I stopped smiling.

"Dad, seriously."

"Nadine, seriously. I hardly see you guys anymore. I'm just taking memories and storing them."

I raised an eyebrow. "Our shrines say we're fine in that department." As if this adds to the creepy charm, our dad has his fair share of contribution to the household; he has two side tables set for us in the living room, each of us, Aslan and I, have a decorated one full of pictures from Straight From the Hospital candids, award ceremonies in school, and up to now with Aslan's boarding school in the background to when my dad first visited me in college, one lunch date after another.

Our dad, dark hair, light eyes, that stocky body with that easy grin, offered nothing but another smile. "It's not the same thing, honey. Come on, you'll miss Tom Yum Goong and Tom Kha Kai. Nika made it extra spicy."

We rolled our eyes but trudged on, another new tradition in the household was Nika showing off her expertise in cooking, traditional recipes from her grandmother passed down through generations. They had a good kick and always warmed me from the top to my toes. At the dinner table, aside from one, each plate had an accompanying milk for reimbursement.

Heat so intense, it gives an acid trip.

Something that would definitely help whatever remnant of Ross' party brought.

"I think we're going to die," Aslan whispered as we sat down. He checked the box. "This is one liter of milk."

When Nika turned, dark haired and smiling as if the bright red chili peppers on the food she was holding didn't glisten, she set it at the table.

"Who's hungry?"

I never really knew if I was an open book. The only person who could see through my emotions was my mother, but I wrote that off as mother's instincts. And my mom and I were fairly similar.

Though people always say Aslan and I were a good blend of our parents, a lot of my mother's mannerisms, her posture, her way of speaking sometimes, I had adopted. Some of them, admittedly, were just a girl copying her elegant mother in hopes that when she became an adult one day, she should be seen as just as elegant.

In a lot of ways, a daughter really copies the mother.

But even Nika must've sensed something, because the evening before I returned to school, things packed though I didn't have much to begin with, huddled on the corner of the front porch as neighbors' lights lit up and warmed the cold streets— I felt a nudge on my shoulder.

I didn't even turn enough as Nika gracefully sat beside me, an overflow of a long, dark purple skirt and a thick, white sweater. Her long brown hair that I envied a little bit was bunched up in a messy ponytail that strained to one side, and her face was lit up warmly, like she had drunk a couple of wine, and offered me a warm mug.

I sniffed and smiled. Hot cocoa. "Thanks, Nika. This smells great."

She raised her tiny glasses with just a scrunch of her nose and inclined her head. "It looks like you need one. Cold out."

"It's amazing."

"Is there... anything you're worried about?" When I turned to her warily, she smiled gently. "Don't worry, I just noticed how quiet you've been. I mean you've always been quiet, but it seems like you have a lot in your head type of quiet, if that makes sense? You're pondering, that's the word."

"Just a lot... in my head." I winced. "I'm sorry it's really just... confusing, I guess?"

"Topics?"

"Boys," I admitted, rolling my eyes.

"Ah. Well you know how boys are." She smiled. "I'm sure you got this one in the bag."

"Well." I wound a circle over the rim of the mug with my finger. I know I should've kept it there. Nika and I were fine, I liked her well enough as a person and she matched my dad very well. I liked how they love each other so obviously, neither too shy to make out in front of others, or profess undying love for each other, you would think one of them made a mistake.

But we weren't the type to have heart to hearts out of nowhere— hell, I wasn't the type to have heart to hearts out of nowhere, she and I knew that.

It was maybe the cocoa, the offer of an ear, or the turbulence in my mind that I couldn't quite quell, but after feeling the warmth of the mug and cold bite my cheeks, I unwound my hesitancy and spoke.

"I hope so. Soon. He's... well, he's my friend." I tested the word, rolled it off and blinked.

Bucky was my friend. I shouldn't be feeling weird about this. Maybe it was that short span of helping him, getting close and taking up all of his time and attention that got me reeling. I knew what I was getting into when I took up the job. And Ella is Bucky's ex. It's almost natural for some people that they find themselves with their exes and ghosts.

The heat of memories.

It wasn't new. Lord knows I've had my fair share of those.

"Well," Nika said now, the silence stretched and taunted. I took a sip of the cocoa consciously, swallowing the warmth and barely tasting the sweetness. "Friends are always harder. They're so... platonic that you can't help but bare a lot more without actually going bare, you know what I mean? You have to trust them with all of you with nothing but that trust and companionship. But when it works, it works."

"...No matter the complication?"

"Depends on the complication," she admitted at my wry laugh. "Relationships are just complicated in general, I guess. The best we can do is make foresight to find the best foot to place forward. True friends won't make it too complicated though, you know?" She tucked a hair behind her ear. "The people around you and those you consider a friend, shouldn't make you worry or confused."

"... Doesn't that also apply to romantic relationships?"

She nodded. "Especially there."

Maybe it was just because... all this time spent around him had made me think I was the alpha to his... whatever the hell. Sure he spent learning how to flirt, casual date and the entire circus, but they were part of our plan. It made me feel like I was someone special, I guess.

And Ella was... Ella was supposed to be part of the past. Where hers ends, mine begins.

But there was that distinction.

Ella was a girlfriend. I was— and still am — just the girl, now possibly a friend, who helps him.

Keys in my hand, bags stock full of homemade food (more broth than sense), I was lugging everything, huffing and exhausted from the travel, but feeling a few pounds lighter since I left.

Before I could get to the building's door, I was ambushed by the thick scent of vanilla and ylang-ylang, and was met with Ella Ambrose herself. Face pinched, mouth pouted, and a naked glare laced with worry.

"If you're mad at me, Nadine Lynch, you should tell it to my face, instead of letting it stew for days and —"

I was chuckling even before she finished her sentence, propping my bags down and wrapping my arms around her, gathering her up for a hug. "Calm down, dragon lady. I didn't realize my phone was dead until I was packing and remembered I had a phone. I spent all of break catching up with my brother that I forgot I had a phone to speak of. And my stepmother made sure to pack our days with activities. We went camping and kayaking."

"Your family is so disgustingly athletic sometimes."

I laughed, unwinding us, and she blinked at me, dumbfounded as her speech blistered on her tongue. "And why, pray tell Yelena Ambrose, should I be mad? Hooking up with your ex is obscenely normal, and regardless of that, I'm your friend as much as Bucky is mine."

"Oh... well, I guess it was because I was pestering you about romantic notions, about him and you a while back. But listen." She grabbed my hands, her eyes wide and honest.

Here's the thing about Ella that you can be sure of, of anything else. Her honesty is solid, even in the parts that one would rather keep to themselves. Especially those parts.

"Whatever Bucky and I have is well and truly gone— it was the heat of the moment, nothing more. Bucky could be obscenely... good." She had the good graces to blush. Then turned a pointed stare at me. "And it's also your fault."

"My fault?"

"You created a lovely monster, Dr. Frankenstein. It's absolutely maddening to be around him now without even considering getting into his pants. But I won't! I promise. Everything else— out of my system." She exhaled. "Everything I insinuated between you and Buck— I actually do support that. Him and I — we were a one time thing that's over and done with, thank goodness. You and him on the other hand —"

" - are friends. We're very good friends, Ella. I like it like that. I would rather have that. And are we just going to ignore Bucky's position in all of this?"

I smiled ruefully, slinging an arm over her shoulders. "If you've got nothing else to discuss with me– nothing to do with Bucky or exes or one night stands —" She closed her mouth. I laughed. "I'd rather we just go for food. Haven't had lunch yet, you know. And I just know a good pizza place off 42nd that I'm seriously craving."

"Oh so you're welcoming bribes now?"

"Bribe is too strong of a word, but for a good pizza, I can do worse."

She laughed. "That's very New Yorker of you."