A/N:

Thank you for being patient with me. I love you all x

- - -

How do you tell someone you like that you may have fallen in love with them- that you could see the potential of taking that risk, of leaping that faith - when you know they're very much in love with someone else?

I wasn't sure that Bucky was in love with Coffee Girl. Louise, her name is Louise. I've been trying to remember her name because it feels a disservice not remembering her name. Like I'm not a girl's girl if I don't remember her name. You know when people deny to name something so it feels objective from you, put it outside of your bubble so it doesn't feel real, as if it's not happening, not really.

Like if I don't remember her name, I was being a horrible person denying her existence. So I do the opposite. I file as much information as I can about her.

She works at the coffee shop in front of the Anthropology Building with that warm, mustard wall that has this mural from an art student some few years ago. Their coffee cups have artsy hand-drawn prints of scrolls and dinosaurs.

I know what she looks like. I'm a girl. It's not that hard to stalk someone through social media by the sheer power of bouncing through friends list and tagged photos. I know she has dark curls and a gorgeous aquiline nose that she highlights with nose piercings. She's not devastatingly pretty, but it's enough for my fucked up head to imagine.

My false memories of them sitting on Bucky's threadbare couch with his infamous hot chocolate that hook lines all the ladies, one of his grandma quilts that his sister made, regaling her with the same stories he's told me and possibly everyone who has ever seen him pull it out (how Hermoine Choi is going through an intense knitting phase, how she's trying to figure out how to make stuffed toys and how happy she was at the links I sent Bucky of tutorials, how she promised to make me one too), and he looks at her and the moment feels right.

The day feels whole, a memory filing in the corners of sorrow-hewn existence. There's Bob Barker on the TV because for some reason, Bucky's cousin has DVD collections of game shows - and it's cold but they're warm, and he's stained by her lipstick, her grin marking him.

In my imagination, her preferred lipstick is a coral pink. Pretty. Simple. The Perfect Girl Next Door color. Her favorite canvas is Bucky's neck.

It's deep self-flagellation because if it was me, that would be my preferred canvas.

My own thoughts curse me. I felt the pang shudder all the way to my toes. It's self destructive but once your mind wanders, it's hard to stop. If I could bang my head against a wall and hope it works better, and you know, not get a concussion, it would be part of my daily routine.

But the world rarely bent to whim and want. Half the time, it waited to see what you would do with new things they threw your way. Like a psychological experiment made to see how resilient you could be.

If I could tell the entity in charge of my current predicament that I had no resilient left, I could.

And sometimes, a toxic mind is the last of your problems. Especially if your brain jogs a few seconds late after your body and you find yourself at the very last place you should be- if you had just taken the time to process your emotions and made smarter decisions.

Because sitting in the cafe in front of the Anthropology building, nervously fiddling with the loose thread of my sweater's hem.

Louise was pretty. And bright. It didn't matter that it was a bright Tuesday morning and patrons came and went in quick demands of espresso shots to those who dawdled, firmly stood by to make conversations; she entertained them all. She was efficient and well liked, and I could imagine all the ways she interacted with Bucky.

And so here I was, wholly detached of mind and body. I watched and felt shame and peace, coddling my mug of hot chocolate that tastes nice but doesn't taste right.

The longer I contemplate, the more I could let go. Ease on the idea of telling Bucky and then promising to be normal about it, to hand over a cracked, beating heart and throw away the lock. Because if I was already feeling relief from just thinking about confessing, knowing the outcome would be blatant rejection, seeing the ending for what it was- I could make steps; prepare myself.

I can checklist through an inevitable heartbreak and move on. It's what I've always done.

A voice, one that sounded very much like Ross, was arguing back, and I smiled. I had people who love me. I could survive this.

I just have to make the first step.

Once my drink was more warm than hot, I took out my phone, perusing Bucky's contact, and held my breath. One call. A message. I typed and re-typed. In the back of my head, I was hoping he couldn't see the bubbles dancing and stopping but at the same time I wished he did just so he could save me from myself.

I was being absurd, I know, and yet I didn't know what compelled me to look up then. Because I did.

Because there was Bucky, and for a minute or two of blinking, trying to figure out if my brain had been deprived of sense and decent judgment for so long that I was imagining him here, phone pressed to one ear, breathless, turning to Louise who nodded in my direction, and he met my gaze, and oh, oh he's here. He's walking toward me and I am just staring, mouth hanging open I think. Is my mouth open? Yes it is, might close that I think.

"Oh."

It's not a word, it's sound and air, but it's the only thing I could come up with when he was right in front of me, breathless and beautiful.

"You haven't been answering my calls." He lowered his voice from one look around us that he, indeed, caused a few turned heads. "Or my messages."

My eyes darted back to his girlfriend who was staring at us. Smiling.

I pulled my torn sleeves down to my hands, trying to hide my fiddling as I wrangled my voice to keep calm. To be normal. To not look like I was tearing through the edges myself. "So you had your girlfriend watch out for me?"

"No- Yes. No? Not like that." He took a deep breath as I studied him. He looked worse for wear with dark circles under his eyes and windblown hair. An awful part of me relished in it. "She texted me that you were here. And I came here. For you, if it wasn't any clearer."

There was a burst of laughter, sardonic and self-hatred, a sound I knew well. Emotion swelled from my breast bone to my throat, and I barely just wrangled it down from reaching my eyes.

I wasn't one to back down from crying in public in front of strangers, but I was not going to start bawling in a cafe, on a campus I go to, in front of Bucky Choi and his supposed girlfriend.

"Naddy, please," he begged, eyes softening. "I just-"

"Excuse me," a recently familiar voice floated between us as Louise sidled up next to Bucky, a comforting hand sliding across his back as she firmly kept a smile on. "How're you guys doing, doing good?"

Bucky and I looked at her, lost for wear. She snorted, turning to me fully while all my guard went up.

Oh god, she knows we almost kissed. I half expected her to be hiding steaming hot coffee behind her and just wrist-tossing it like holy water; I would have ducked out of instinct but by no means would I think I didn't deserve it.

"I know this isn't any of my business," she said, amusement dancing in her eyes, "but I strongly advised you hear him out. I adore the guy, I do, but I'm a barista not a therapist, and there is only so much I can do as a flagrant co -conspirator." She nodded at the counter. "I've got two more hot chocolates ready to go, and yours is on him. He's got a tab. Nice to meet you, Nadine."

There was kindness, a hidden joke in her smile that wasn't biting or mocking. I know a thing or two about unkind smiles that bled scorn, but she looked genuinely happy to meet me.

"You have a lovely girlfriend," I whispered once she left.

"I don't," he said firmly, waiting for me to look at him. To see the emphasis in the grunt. "Yes, she is nice but no, she's not my girlfriend."

I took a deep breath.

He nodded, moistening his lip. "Walk with me?"

The Anthropology building was actually a cluster of connected glass and brick brutalist designed blocks that conjoined many of the same subjects; from Archeology to Library Science. One of it's most notable building however, was the curated museum that was housed in its oldest building. It used to be the medical school back when students were into grave robbing. Now it was home to a small collection of archeological finds donated and borrowed by patrons.

It was where Bucky led us, a nod from the entrance desk being manned by a teaching assistant with too many mugs. Free entrance for students. We walked on in silence, not even feigning interest in the exhibits.

"What do you mean she's not your girlfriend?" I prompted, too strung up in different directions. It could be bravery, or you could call it exhaustion.

There was still fear in hearing his answer that I refused to look at him, looking solely at a point forward and all too aware of him swallowing in my peripheral.

Neither of us touched our drinks.

"What it means. Louise and I have never dated. I lied."

Breath escaped, lungs tightened. "Why?"

"Because I liked you." He was walking close, our shoulders by a hair's breadth width between but I could feel his heat. His presence. His words that were struggling to push and pull between thought and teeth like his mouth was a dam he was trying to control not to scare the fragility between us. "And because you were scared of liking me."

I bit my lip. "You knew?"

"Not immediately, but I got a feeling. When you started 'dating' Ross. I know what it looks like to be burnt too many times, to look like you're holding yourself back. To know a comfort and to stay in it. I've been in that state too many times, and I realized... so did you."

I could be going into shock, my mind so wonderfully blank. No thought kept firm, only the pressing atoms of my brain registering Bucky's words, translating what they meant, what they could mean, and my subconscious drawing forth useless but beautiful details. The quarter of an inch height difference, the smell of sweetened evaporation and an empty room and something so earnestly Bucky I had to stop myself from inhaling deep to keep it with me, pulling anchor home.

"So you... decided to lie?"

"No, well, not really." He sighed, frustrated. "Not at first at least. I... sought out advice but I one hundred percent take the blame. It's not like they forced me to it."

I frowned. "Who gave you the idea?"

"Esther... and Ross. And Louise, technically."

I stopped, air pulled from my lungs. Bucky worriedly fluttered.

"What? The three of them- what?"

"Yes, just- I'm sorry. I was desperate. There were so many things I wanted to do just to keep your eyes on me without hurting yourself in the process. You were scared and I didn't want to force you. But I was selfish too, because I couldn't help wanting you. Because I wanted to try even when I saw how much it scared you." His eyes held so much depth, and I was drowning in him, breathing him in, hooked like a bee to a rare flower. Hypnotized by the deep brown, the hand that reached for the side of my face in a touch so barely felt but found empty spaces inside my soul and filled it.

Thick like molasses, cloying and difficult to get out of.

I leaned in, following his touch, his soul, just another insect unable to see past the comfort and loveliness of a pretty flower, of safety. There was not a lot of fear here; against his chest, feeling his warmth beneath my fingers, his jaw against my temple. The plushness of his lips that brushed against my forehead that gave me the courage to look up.

But I wasn't really just looking up, I was drowning in him and seeking more. Nothing that felt this comfortable could be bad, couldn't it? Not in the way that he was looking as if he was drowning in me too? And when I closed my eyes as our yearning met, it didn't feel so bad surrendering to a kiss that feels too desperate to be innocent but it was.

Blossoming under the hold of his hands on my face pulling toward him as if he couldn't get enough, as if he had waited for so long.

In this suspended moment in time, nothing mattered more than kissing Bucky Choi. One without regret but with unrestrained want broken through with sighs and my name murmured roughly against my own mouth. I took it all and gave back in equal fervor.

We only stopped once we struggled for breath, laughing and giddy and childish and wanting.

The wanting doesn't stop, I thought with an excitement that bled.

I held onto his shoulders but Bucky kept hold of my face, reluctant to release as he pulled kiss after kiss in relentless greed until I managed to focus and kept a firm hand against his chest, shaking my head with a grin.

It wasn't just his kisses that were addicting but the blatant want that was dizzying. He rested his forehead against my own, gathering me close, unwilling to part.

"Everyone was rooting for us," he murmured. "And I wanted to do it right but I didn't know what right was. I wanted to wait for you but I wanted to be in your mind. I was too selfish. I wanted you to keep thinking about me, keep wondering, figuring out the problem with your feelings by yourself but I wanted to be there. In the end, I couldn't stop myself from trying something, as stupid as trying to make you jealous, but I have never, ever wanted you to think that you were going to break something up or that I was a cheater. It kinda just... snowballed."

I snorted. "To think the man you were concerned was going to make a cheater out of me was part of the plot."

"To be fair, Ross wasn't in the planning. He just... was there. It was mostly Esther. And Louise."

I pulled back, looking at him. He pressed a kiss on my head. Then my nose. He was like a man addicted. "How did that even happen? I don't even think I know Louise at all."

He blushed, trying to hide against my hair. "I was a... mess after I found out about you and Ross. And Esther was just... there. We kind of theorized what was happening, her mostly based on what she knew about you two, and me just being a very sad sack of a person, and then Louise was roped into it- it was a mess. It is a mess."

He leaned back, frowning. "T-though, this doesn't mean anything." My stomach plummeted. "No, no that's not it- I mean, this is still all your choice. But I'm here. I'm yours. I can wait, I-I can stop. It's all up to you."

"What do you want?" I whispered, winding my arms around his middle and his gaze melted, a hum deep in his chest that I wasn't sure he was even aware of.

"Haven't I made it any clearer?" He laughed, eyes closing. "You. Just you. Here. Now. Always, if you'll let me and I hope you'll let me. I want to keep kissing you in this very small and empty museum corridor. That's the main thing I want right now. Someone could walk in and I'd act like we were part of the exhibit. A human rendition of 'The Kiss'."

"Just in this very small and empty museum corridor?" I teased, grinning.

"Everywhere. I just want you, Nadine."

My arms tightened and he responded in turn.

I kissed the corner of his mouth. He chased it with his own.

"We're still going to have a serious conversation about you and the dangers of entering contracts and deals without thinking about it," I teased. "Especially by me and people I know apparently. We can't have the love of my life played like a fool like this."

He laughed, low and throaty, and I felt greedy. God. He wasn't mine (but he wants to be, he was willing; it was a bright sound, a loud, wondrous feeling like sharp sunlight) but I was already coveting every laughter, every softened gaze, every hum when his lips press against an inch of my skin.

I kissed the edge of his lips and he met me before I could do it again, putting a hand on the back of my head to deepen it until I was dizzy. A fond fact I was slowly figuring out apart from the addicting quality of kissing Bucky Choi: he didn't just kiss once. He pulled at least three; lingering more after a one that leaves you breathless and stupidly in love.

"You called me the love of your life."

"I did."

"I really want to go on a date with you."

"I really want to go too." I bit his lip and he chased me mine with a groan. "I'll show you real New York."

He laughed. "There is so much I want to do with you. I want to go back dancing with you. I want to finish going around this place holding hands. I want to watch you work. I also want to find an alcove and keep kissing you there because the way you're looking at me right now is making me feel insane."

A reprimand of his name that was more murmur than anything else, far sweeter, far gone, had him smiling.

He blinked. "This does mean we're dating, right?"

I laughed. "I did break up with Ross sometime ago, so no worries. I'm not making you a sidepiece either."

"Thank god. I don't think I'm made for that. Obsessing over you feels like a twenty four hour experience and I can't dedicate that time from the side, to be honest."

I took his hand in mine and he intertwined it without thought. I blushed as I remembered about cameras and hope that anyone watching would forgive two love sick fools making out in front of some dead guy's bust. And although my head was doped up in every happy hormone that conjured up hope and thrill, a fearful cloud threatens from the edge of my spine.

It was funny how, no matter the kind of happiness that can consume you, the fear makes itself known. The trauma knocking at the edges; though not demanding, it begs to be seen. Noticed.

Bucky immediately noticed the change me, a frown puckering his forehead before I could try and work something out to pacify him.

I started to shake my head. "I'm so-"

"Don't apologize, never apologize for something you can't control," he said. "We'll take this one day at a time. I'll take whatever you can give me."

"I don't want to do that to you."

His grip tightened. "All I ask is that you give me a chance to fight back, okay? To tamper down any fear, any insecurity. Just like how you would do for me. You deserved to be love the way you love, Nadine. And although I'm clumsy and will make mistakes, I'll work hard with you for this because I want it. I want you. Okay?"

The insecurity doesn't bade, not fully, but the relief was there. A spear of hope in the form of Bucky's confidence, his smile.

Healing is a long, heavy process. I will stumble. I will scream. I will try to hide and disappear because the burden will scare me so much, I would rather just give up all the same.

Knowing that, and knowing this, I didn't feel as scared when I took his hand in mine, holding him just as tight as he was holding me, an anchor to a corner against the great big, beyond.

I still feel it. But I let go.

I didn't feel as scared as before.