AN,

Had to halve this chapter because it got too long, will double update instead! See you in the next chap in a day or two <3

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ROSS hosted only one party a year.

For a boy who is seen in everybody's social media in a party backdrop, constantly seen mingling, having fun, being gorgeous in the background with a glass, mid-laugh, or an arm around a new girl- if he's not outright featured in people's photos, locked arms with them, then he was playing beer pong or making out with someone in the background.

The Pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving party was something of a small legend that his brothers before him- two older ones who attended the same school while their actual oldest finished at Oxford - initiated.

It happened right after early dismissal with Thanksgiving tomorrow, some students already left and gave it to fate whether there were any big announcements just before the holiday.

But most senior students- and even some of the sophomore, while the few freshmen who had guts to go - knew of Ross' party and anticipated.

Every year played out the same- we would party hard at the Pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving party, ride out the hangover all morning, before driving home to our respective families. Most of the time we'd be carpooling if we were too drunk, going with someone who also lived around the area or if we were like Ella (which we never were)- who had a chopper that would pick her up straight to Manhattan, to one of her father's apartments if they were celebrating Thanksgiving in America.

I've seen the girl celebrate it in Greece on insta wearing a shirt that said, 'CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS CAN SUCK IT' and the caption, 'Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!'

The classes were slow and sweet like honey, droned on with everyone already half a foot out the door. You could even feel it in the professors; some kinder, knowing leniency when it due. Others get particularly strict, piling more coursework since a 'holiday' is a lot of free time to study.

A few hours before party time, campus flushed out its students, swarming the halls and out into the last bitter cool sunshines. I had a tote bag on and several of my finished projects this semester stuffed in my arms, one of my last sundresses already covered in a cardigan and boots. But I can still feel the sun, its warmth, claiming my skin.

It was a nice reprieved, especially days after harsh winds and storm warnings.

Even today, the sun battled with the cold, the wind ripping and nipping at my dress as I trudged on, arms closed tightly around my canvases and portraits. As soon as I waited by the bus and got in, smiling at the bus driver, I slowly assembled my things beside me over at a two-seater and sat back down, calm and willfully exhausted.

I was just about to close my eyes when my phone rang. Before the caller ID popped up, I had forgotten to reply to the messages Daniel sent me during class but I couldn't think too much of it when my screen disappeared to Bucky's photo in my phone. It had been taken sometime between exams. I was studying in his building, finding myself hanging out with him more with less the precipice of helping him date and flirt to just... getting comfortable.

He had an easy silence to him and a comfortable aura that helped a lot during hell week.

And I also found out he was an architecture student.

"Oh my god." I watched, transfixed, as he designed in straight, rigged lines, an incredible building in just a Double A, a special pencil that you can only buy in art boutiques, and the hands of a magician.

I leaned back, having found enlightenment."You know what?"

"What?"

"You should think about setting up a class. I need the lessons."

He made a sound that was a cross between a sigh and a groan. "It's a messy sketch..."

"The more I need the lessons then." I smiled when he shot me a look. "Though, I honestly didn't expect it. Architecture. I thought it'd be... I don't know, something brainy." Then I looked at his folder full of graph paper and formulas. "But I guess with the mathematics, it is brainy."

He scoffed as I left for a quick vending machine run after spotting one close by. We made plans to study together in the library, but every table was full and the private lounges were all booked and brimmed, so we made plans to see each other in his building. Exam season had everyone bent over papers, drinking energy drinks, and mumbling with heavy eyelids. Apparently, not even Bucky was saved from this. He wore a familiar hoodie, his ever long-ish, swaying hair over his shadowed eyes, and his piles and piles of papers.

He was left-handed, as the side of his palm darkened with pencil marks, and he had a hobby of biting the end of it where I had the pleasure of flicking his hands. I made it into a punishing game, and I think I was the only one enjoying it.

I was going to surprise him, but the way he sighed made me re-think, and instead, became fascinated by the prowess he displayed on paper.

But it wasn't until I got back, a cold can of latte in hand, that I realised he was wearing glasses. Thin, square-shaped glass that had thin metal edges.

"What is the definition of brainy?" he asked, still focused on his papers, when he heard me approach.

I sat opposite of him.

"I guess this is brainy too. And also glasses. Glasses, really? I'm getting scenarios. None of them very innocent."

He muffled a snort beneath the back of his hand, clutching his face after another languid, troubled sigh. When he raised his head, though there was an air of exhaustion hanging there, I still had the satisfactory grin that I could bring his face into a healthy dose of blushing.

The glasses is definitely doing things to that blush.

"Please stop. I need to study. You need to study too."

"Okay." I focused back on my own papers, my planner that was stuffed to the brim with to-dos and lists and notes. "But I'm not going back on my statement. Glasses are definitely sexy. Especially in the right scenarios."

I didn't watch the way his face flickered back to me, continuing my fifty billion tabs on my laptop while also opening through my printed Art History notes.

It was sometime after all this, buried in work, comfortable not technically talking and just... minding our own businesses, that when I was stretching my legs, and he was reading through something- I had the perfect sense to take the shot.

He looked serious, but dorky. Of course his flat, knuckled expression was more serious than dorky, but it was Bucky. Associating him with dorky was the precipice of who he is.

He didn't hear the click and I kept the photo safely in my phone since.

I picked up his call now, feeling warm and happy at the memory. "Hello. You're coming to the party, right?"

"Only if I know what to wear. I don't know what to wear, by the way. What do you wear to a Pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving Ross Beauchard-styled party?"

"Semi-formal, usually club clothes. There had been a few parties where he makes it themed-"

The horrified tone when he repeated the word, "Themed?" could rival every final girl in any horror movie ever.

I laughed. "Hold your horses, cowboy. This year's party isn't themed. So. Club clothes. For women, it's about something tight that appears comfortable and nonchalant but is actually deliberate. For guys it's almost the same, really. It should look half-hearted. Half-hearted is somehow eye-catching. It makes you sexier when you look like you've just thrown on whatever you're wearing."

"So..."

"Black sweater would look good? And I guess jeans. Boots. Something casual. Also with a black sweater, it wouldn't be too hard if you get stains on it. Sloshing liquids aren't good. Plus, it's cold and I will not be responsible for your freezing ass."

He laughed. It's a nice sound. Men laughing always spark something in me.

"Okay, thanks. See you there."

"Oh, wait, hold on. About what I said last night- or, well, this morning. I really didn't mean anything by it. I was just curious. And when you deflected the question - I tend to pry, okay? Please don't like, uh..."

He sound amused as he spoke, "Don't feel pressured to have sex?"

In the confines of the bus, I told myself that he could not see if I was blushing. Really? Me? Nadine Lynch, are you in high school?

Before I could babble, he continued. "It's not that you were prying- I get it, okay? It's an intimate thing and it should be handled carefully."

"I don't know about carefully..."

I said it so low, I wasn't sure if he didn't hear it or was just ignoring when he continued.

"Truth be told, I've had lessons on this. From the birds and the bees talk from my parents to, well you know, firsthand experience." He chuckled. Without seeing his face, I couldn't take note if he was already blushing since his voice was leveled. Almost as if he wasn't getting affected anymore. Something about that private, low laugh sent chills down my neck.

"But I should show something for it, huh?"

"Bucky," I started slowly, half scared now. He's been so serious these past few days because of hell week that I didn't really mind, but even now... "I'm not -"

"I know you're not," he said evenly. I couldn't discern his voice. It was too... blank. "I don't think you're really understanding what I've been saying considering you keep trying to apologise." There was a sound in the background, someone's voice, then a bunch of laughter. "We'll see first how the night turns out .Making you understand can go many different ways. Nothing might happen, you know?"

"I am intrigued but also very confused. And half scared. But you should go."

"Don't be. Scared, that is. Intrigued, I like. I'm not entirely hopeless. I do know a thing or two. I've had relationships." Before I could pull apart and dissect that statement, there was another call, a shout. "Gotta go. I'll see you at the party, okay?"

"...Okay?"

He laughed again. It was the same as the second one.

"That's a question, Nadine. Goodbye."

"Bye."

"Better," he teased, before dropping the call.

Settling the phone on my lap, I blinked, wide awake, my exhaustion half forgotten.

I was just going to apologize, make him see sense that I really didn't want to pressure him just to prove he knew about the birds and the bees, but...

But why when I was talking to him about it... I couldn't stop picturing him?

I've seen him half naked before, I've seen how he acted when he flirted intentionally and unintentionally, and my mind... my foolish, imaginative mind... brought up the scenario in my head.

'Making you understand can go many different ways.'

"What the hell does that mean?" I groaned, burrowing my face in my hands as my neck felt hot. The thoughts and imaginations that shouldn't see the light of day- flashed in my head. Bucky's face, his hands, his eyes... me. Me. So many delicious scenarios.

And those fucking glasses.

Jesus Christ, Nadine Lynch. Get a grip.

"I'm going to take a cold shower," I muttered to myself, gripping my dress.

Damn you, Bucky Choi.

But also.

Damn you, Nadine Lynch.

- - -

Yes, the reason this got long because I wanted to make Bucky flirtier. I wish I felt regret.