person (derogatory)

You hop off the counter, taking your stupid drink with you because pouring it down the sink would probably look entirely suspicious.

Not that there was anything to be suspicious of.

In fact, this is what you wanted.

"What do you think?" he asks abruptly

You send him a wry look. "I don't think anything."

“We noticed,” Bucky says immediately. Like breathing. It makes your heart curl until it withers away. “What do you think about this?”

"Ask her out. Or don't. I don't care."

"You're a terrible friend."

"Devastating," you say monotonously.

Seriously, what the fuck.

Bucky locks his phone and puta it away, watching you slowly drag yourself out of the room before you say something worse.

Behind you, there’s silence for a beat before Bucky locks his phone and follows.

Bob looks back and forth between the both of you before deciding he actually wants nothing to do with any of this, contrary to his earlier belief

"You got a problem?" Bucky asks, the silence of the hallway cracking under his audacity.

"Many. Take your pick."

"Funny."

You hum, praying that the fucking elevator gets here faster.

"You don't want me to ask her out," the says, too close to you for your liking right now

"I don't even know her."

"Does that matter?"

You press the elevator button harder than necessary.

Not really. You noticed this whole thing the second it started. The texting. Him checking his phone more. Smiling at it sometimes, which was frankly irritating to witness. Something ugly lodged itself in your chest after that and never really left. Slithered it's way down to your stomach, and legs, and arms, and had just stayed there, stagnant.

You close your eyes, still turned away from him.

"You said this was nothing," he says, voice hard. "Not me."

He was right.

"it is nothing."

“Then you won’t care if I ask her to get coffee this weekend.”

The elevator dings open. You exhale shakily.

You step inside. He follows immediately.

Annoying.

You stare at the glowing floor numbers instead of him.

This was nothing. You’d repeated it enough times that eventually it stopped sounding ridiculous to yourself. You knew there was no hope for the both of you, that this was fruitless, so why waste each other's time.

At least until someone else entered the picture.

Now you feel vaguely homicidal over someone you actually really liked.

"You didn't answer."

"I already said do whatever you want."

"What do you want?"

"A bagel."

Bucky let's out a heavy exhale, like he's tired.

It feels like you're speed running the 5 stages of grief at once as you prepare for the inevitable distance you would have to put between the both of you.

You glance at all the fucking floors left to go and realise you're stuck here for longer than you want.

You can feel him looking at you. Terrible experience.

“She’s nice,” he says after a second. “Likes documentaries. Hiking.”

“Wow,” you mutter. “Soulmates.”

You’ve watched documentaries. You’ve also nearly died on several mountains.

The lift moves with the urgency of a fucking melting stick of butter down a hill.

“Tell me not to go.”

“I don’t care.”

“Bullshit.”

You finally look at him.

His brows are drawn together slightly. Tired. Irritated.

Like this is somehow your fault.

Funny.

You always assumed if this thing ended, it’d be because you eventually got your shit together and moved on.

Didn’t really account for him getting there first.

You're well aware of your hypocrisy.

“Right. I'm gonna go cry in my room about this” you mutter. “I’m gonna go journal about it.”

His expression flickers. “You journal?”

“Christ, no.”

That almost gets a smile out of him.

The elevator finally opens.

You step out immediately.

“Just be honest for once,” he says behind you.

Your jaw tightens.

You could do it.

You could tell him you thought you had more time.

That the idea of him sitting across from someone else, smiling at them the way he smiles at his phone lately, makes something sharp twist in your stomach.

You could tell him you already miss him, which is pathetic considering he’s standing ten feet away.

“Do whatever," you say. "It doesn't matter what I want."

The elevator doors start sliding shut.

The last thing you see is Bucky’s expression tightening, like he’s angry at you. Or himself.

Hard to tell with him.