Raw wounds don't stay raw for long.

Because your body protects you, even- and especially - in spaces where you aren't even aware of it. Wounds scab. Sometimes they scar, sometimes they don't, becoming the same soft flesh that you've always worn. Good as new.

All you need is time and care, and sometimes, force.

BUCKY CHOI: I'm out front

NADINE LYNCH: im inside! table on the left by the windows!!

BUCKY CHOI: I see you ❤️

The heart was new, and though I suspected it's something he's learned from dating Coffee Girl (Lucy, he said her name was Lucy)- the subconscious mimicry of someone you adore bleeding into the seams and niches - and Bucky uses it as a period in certain sentences.

It's a change. A sweet change. It could make someone bitter, but I try not to.

(Fuck, I try not to).

I didn't see him as he approached, didn't see him as he spotted me and made a languid beeline, trying to center myself by focusing on making a dent on the report I came here to do.

It was his voice that broke through the concentration, warm and smooth, reminiscent of 60% bittersweet chocolate.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in a while." I looked up to Bucky's soft and bright smile, and though it tugged at my chest, it made me smile. "I've missed you."

"Really." I arched an eyebrow. "How's your Getty's project going?"

He groaned and I stifled a laugh. It was one of the biggest reasons we hadn't had time to see each other in a while, too busy with responsibilities to focus on anything but our respected lives until two days ago. The messages were scattered and stretched in between- cursory, kind, expressions against someone else's message - until he told me he'd love to hang out and study together at the library near my building. He set a date, this Thursday. I had no pressing thing to do so I agreed. Apart from the fact that our library had more diverse content on art and literature, especially the extensive line of historical art and classic books, it also was the most modern with the best heating for frigid winter air. For god's sake, there was a section for bean bags.

Thank you, Patrick J. Greene for your wonderful donation.

"Don't remind me. It's just three more mistakes before I'm banging myself against my drafting table that I spent a fortune on, thanks. Might be a better use of it to date."

I snorted and he grinned, running a hand through his hair. It was lengthening again, curling at the edges, rousing the memory of when I first saw him with it; back at Blu when I had to break his heart. But instead of wearing a suit that was too big for his frame, he looked good in a white hoodie tucked under a thick red sweater and nicely cut dress pants. But the shocking change came from the light dust of five o'clock shadow on his face, and the square-rimmed tortoise-designed glasses perched on his nose as he hummed, offering me a cup of coffee.

I took the coffee, warm to touch, still quietly observing him, impressed to say the least. "Thank you. Are those your real glasses?"

"Yeah," he said, consciously pushing them back from his nose. "You said I should get a more 'stylish pair of frames'. These are the ones I saw on the pinterest board you made. Had a fun time trying to find the right shape."

I blinked at him, trying to dampen my growing grin. "And you... bought them. Just like that?"

He blinked right back. "Should I not have? I trust your tastes. You made a pinterest board for me with just about twenty four different sections. With notes. How could I not?"

Dear God. I took a sip of the coffee- deep roasted to the point that you could taste the tang, just a dash of milk and honey. Just like how I liked it. This isn't right, I thought, staring at him as he waited patiently, a slow dust of pink staining his cheeks and ears and there was a small, sadistic part of me that enjoyed flustering him that helped with continuing to sip and ignore answering him.

The worst thing? He started to pout.

And then he started to ramble, getting conscious as he tugged at his outfit.

"I thought I looked good... I got two different compliments just coming here..."

"No, no, you do look good." I smirked because of course he got complimented just from coming here. "I even like the five o'clock. I thought it was hard for you to grow a beard?"

He touched his face, chuckling. For god's sake, he even wore gold rings. I made a comment 'would probably look cool on you!! vv hot!!' on said board I made him. Rings on nice hands? God. "It took a while to make it the nice thickness it is right now... Don't I look good?"

How the fuck am I supposed to answer that when you're asking while looking at me under your goddamn lashes, Choi, how the fuck?

Instead I said, "Yes. Of course you do. You look like a DILF in training." He froze, I shrugged with a grin. "Just my type, I guess. Alright, sorry, that was too much, I'm just trying to make you blush."

He hummed. "So... this isn't actually your type?"

"It is. But you don't need to look like my type to be attractive. You're already very pretty."

"Hm."

"Anyway, we came here to study." I checked my watch, then my word count and stifled a groan. "I still have about seven pages to finish."

"Of course. Good luck, Naddy."

I smiled. "Good luck, Buck."

Four hours, idle chatter blending with the sound of keyboards and piles of playlists, we finished with stretches, cracked backs and numbed legs in Bucky's case. We walked to the entrance in a lingering silence as if neither of us wanted to end our day so soon. I didn't have anything else to do today, but I clenched my laptop to my chest, unable to give myself the reprieve of asking.

After all, what if he had plans with his girlfriend?

"Are you busy?" he asked, bringing me back to him. "Any plans tonight? It is Friday."

"No, not really. Just getting everything done for The Getty's. You?"

He smirked, half victorious. "Already done."

"Congratulations, any chance of bleeding some of that inspiration?"

"Sure. Mix paranoia, coffee, and no sleep."

"At all?" I teased.

"At all."

"Sounds stupendously horrible, I will try."

"So..." He tilted his head. "Those are your plans for tonight?"

"Wasn't really planning to, I mean I can try and crush my brain to get something out, but creativity rarely bends like that for me, I'm afraid. And I don't want to work on something I hate, so probably not tonight." I shrugged. "So no, no plans."

"Now I'm wondering if you still wanna hang out. My place. My cousin has a functioning DVD player and the TV at the house can actually adapt to said DVD player."

"A wondrous miracle."

"Uh-huh, and my oldest sister-"

"- Beautiful, wonderful Leia who has impeccable tastes in chocolates -"

He rolled his eyes. "- has the entire Indiana Jones franchise. If you're up for it...?"

"Oh, hell yeah." Then I remembered the glaring reminder of his girlfriend. I was a jealous person by default, and I know I wouldn't like being sidelined just for my boyfriend to have a movie night with someone else. "What about Lucy? Don't you have plans with her?"

He blinked. "No, uh, she had a long shift tonight and then she's going out with friends. She actually encouraged me to do something other than Quasimodo my way over my drafting table."

There was a sweet smile on his face at a memory I couldn't permeate, nor make heads or tails. I felt the thin prick of heartbreak and my own jealousy that I squashed just as quick. Who was I to be jealous? It was one of those odd, irrational feelings when you know who you are, who you're supposed to be, even what you're supposed to feel- but feelings are intangible. You can't control them even when you know they're wrong.

"That's good." I nodded slowly. "She's right, you know."

He nodded empathically, hitching his bag. "She usually is. Firm advice, that one. And very violent. Come on, I parked right over there."

I couldn't help it. "'Violent?'"

"Yeah." He laughed through his nose. "Like, 'if you don't get out of your house and hang out with her, I'm going to curb stomp you a new asshole' kind of violent. That was literally what she said when I called this morning."

"Holy shit." I laughed. "Wait, she knows about me? I mean, I know she knows about me, you know what I mean." I rubbed my nose as I felt myself fluster, too eager to know that they talked about me. Shame settled on the pit of my stomach. Here, I was with my PTSD response to trust and here was Lucy, comfortable in her position in Bucky's life that she didn't feel threatened by the female presence in his life.

Fuck if that isn't pathetic.

"Well yeah." His smile was gentle as we climbed his car, reaching over to pull my seatbelt when I had focused on pitting my laptop properly, mumbling an apology while I replied with a hasty 'thank you', before he ran his hand through his hair again, tugged at the ends. Then he booted up the car and checked the slow rush of the heater working to life. "You're one of the most important people in my life, Nads. Of course she knows about you."

That was both sweet and made me want to hurl myself off the vehicle once it reached a good enough moving speed.

Instead, I nodded, throat thick through a smile so false I could feel the red on my nose. "Right. She's sweet. You're so lucky to have her."

"Yeah." He shot me a weighty look. A small smile. Another memory in his gaze that made me feel spikes all over again. "I am."

[BREAK]

One thing you easily forget about watching a movie in a Spielberg franchise- you don't put a stop at just one. You devour another because you chase the rush and movie magic that the last one gave you. So you get comfy in stacks of pillows and comforters, between comfy chatter or two, admiration and even disgust at certain parts of an old movie that no longer transcend well in today's climate- and before you know it, it's way past dinnertime when you're alerted by your own stomach rumbling.

"Shit," Bucky said, popping his head out of the fridge. "We didn't go grocery shopping. Both of us were too busy to do shit."

"Shit indeed." I checked the time. "My favorite dimsum place is already closed. Shit."

"Shit indeed." Bucky peered back into the fridge. "I think... I can make a good tub of fried rice. Can you check the rice under that- no, that one, yes, it's in the blue container."

"And I'm assuming the maroon container contains the kimchi?" I teased at an empty bin slapped on with tape and black marker.

"It is. There's still one here in the fridge, that's the one we've already finished. My mom makes enough for a month or so."

"I am jealous enough, Choi, calm down up there."

He huffed a laugh. "Can you check the blue bin if it's enough for the two of us?"

"There's like a month left of rice here." I hummed. "If a zombie apocalypse ever happens, you can ration it well enough to last like, two and a half months."

"Amazing. I can kill my cousin too so I can extend it for longer."

"Smart man."

He made a fake bow. ""Yeah, I can make fried rice." He was holding a bottle of sweet soy sauce and a spring of leek that was only just slightly wilted when I stood up.

I clapped my hands together, feeling just a tiny bit awkward around a warm kitchen that's obviously well worn. I wasn't much of a cook, to be honest, and spent a lot of time trying but ultimately picking takeout. Still. It felt rude not to at least offer.

"What can I help with?"

He snorted, smirking. "Nothing, just sit there and look pretty." We both paused. He laughed awkwardly. "You know what I mean."

I smiled softly. "Yeah, I do. I'm pretty as fuck."

"That you fucking are, go confidence."

And when we laughed, we settled in another comfortable silence as he cooked and I made myself useful by checking through my emails then making iced tea (through his guidance because there's a surgical precision of feeling when making the perfect sweet tea according to one Bucky Choi, and who am I to disagree when he makes the best goddamn beverages?).

"I'm making you a suit by the way," I blurted once he got the stove running.

He paused, turning at me while he pushed back his glasses again. "Huh?"

"Yeah." I smiled softly. "Nothing, thought I'd make you one too. Not a full suit mind you, just like the jacket. I'm making Ross one too but I'm also making him pants. I can make you pants too, to be honest, so it matches. I mean if you want to, of course," I rushed, feeling myself turn pink at his continued intense stare. "I don't know, I got real nice fabric- this nice wool twill blend I've had for so long because I planned to make a suit sometime ago, but-"

"- Nads, hey, Nadine." I quieted when he reached over and placed his hand over mine. His smile was kind, sweet. Gaze so soft I felt human and ethereal altogether. "I would love to wear your creation."

"Good." And because this is wrong, so, so wrong to have such softness, even platonic, I'm not used to it. I remove my hand and smile. "I only dress the prettiest people."

He nodded, laughing. "I'll send my parents flowers then. As a thank you."

I nodded, glad and feeling light that he was playing along or maybe it has always been this way, and it was an easy reminder. "You really actually should."

It was probably the lateness of the hour, the fullness of our stomachs, that hazy buzz you get when you've marathoned a really good series and you're in really good company- and fuck, there was an spunky song in the background from a neighbor's window somewhere, not loud enough to understand anything but a few words, but enough for you to hear each thump, to hear the flow, and I looked at Bucky and I smiled; I smiled like a sunflower finding warmth in sunlight, and offered him a hand as I stood, slowly swaying to the sweet hum before making windmill, wide hand movements.

And he didn't need to accept my silliness, but it was probably the late hour, and fuck it, Bucky took my hand and we danced all silly, swinging around like little kids not knowing how to dance but there was music, and why wouldn't you?

And it was only just dancing, it wasn't even a slow dance and fuck. Fuck. It felt good, it felt nice.

He was warmth and sunlight and for fuck sake, I was in love with Bucky Choi when I know I shouldn't. And maybe because I know I couldn't have him, because I know there won't be anyone who will step forward and try something- because trying requires courage that I had no well of to gamble - because this is safe, isn't it?

This is safety.

I was fine here.