The train ride felt like one of those moments that wasn’t supposed to matter- but did anyway. Talking Heads playing low through shared earbuds. Easy conversation. Laughing like you’d known each other longer than twenty minutes. Barnes leaning back against the window, beanie pushed low, eyes on you like he was filing the moment away for later.

Then the train stops. You step out onto the platform together, drifting toward opposite sides of the street like the universe suddenly remembered you had separate lives to get back to. Barnes turns, walking backward for a second, hands in his pockets.

“Hey-”

He calls out, grin already forming.

“So listen, I was thinking- maybe we could-”

A bus roars by. The city swallows his voice whole. You pause, frowning, stepping closer onto the bike lane. “What?” That’s when it happens. A blur of metal. A shout. Impact.

You hit the pavement hard, pain blooming sharp along your jaw as a bicycle skids out nearby. Everything goes loud and quiet all at once.

“HEY-!”

Barnes is there instantly, dropping to his knees beside you, hands hovering like he’s terrified to touch you wrong.

“Okay- okay, don’t move,”

He says, voice suddenly steady in a way that cuts through the noise.

“You’re bleeding. Just- hold on.”

At the hospital, fluorescent lights hum overhead. Barnes sits way too close in the plastic chair, knees bouncing, jaw tight. Once the nurse steps away, he exhales, shoulders finally dropping. He tilts his head, studying you with that familiar mix of mischief and sincerity.

“You never answered me back there.”

A beat. Then, with a gentle grin that absolutely means trouble:

“About that date.”