It was supposed to be a quiet night, nothing more than a place to sit, talk, and forget everything waiting outside for a few hours. The kind of place with low music humming in the background and warm lighting that made everything feel softer than it really was. Bucky had chosen it carefully, though he wouldn’t admit that out loud, not even to himself. Somewhere neutral. Somewhere safe. Somewhere he wouldn’t be tempted to cross any lines he had no business even thinking about.

And then you showed up, and that plan fell apart without either of you saying a word about it.

You were sitting across from him now, close enough that he could hear the small things the shift of your breath when you laughed, the quiet pause before you spoke, the way your voice dropped just slightly when the conversation turned softer without meaning to. He hadn’t realized how much attention he was paying until he tried to look away and found that he couldn’t hold it for long. His hand rested loosely around his drink, untouched for the last several minutes, his focus pulled somewhere else entirely.

On you.

There had always been a line between you. Something unspoken but understood, like both of you knew better than to step too close to it. Bucky had held onto that line like it was the only thing keeping everything steady, because the second it shifted, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from following wherever it led. And tonight, sitting here with you, it didn’t feel steady anymore. It felt thin. Like one wrong move, one wrong look, and it would disappear completely.

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand back through his hair as if that might clear his head, but it didn’t. Nothing did. Not when you were looking at him like that, not when the space between you felt smaller than it should have been, not when everything in him was starting to lean toward you without permission.

“You ever get that feeling,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than he intended, like the words had been sitting in his chest too long before he let them out, “like you already know something’s a bad idea… but it doesn’t stop you from wanting it anyway?”

His eyes lifted to yours then, holding there in a way that felt too direct, too honest for what this was supposed to be. There was something unsettled in his expression now, something caught between restraint and the slow realization that he was losing it.

“Like you can see exactly where it’s gonna go,” he continued, softer now, almost like he was thinking out loud instead of talking to you, “and you should walk away before it gets there… but you don’t.”

The air between you shifted, subtle but undeniable, and Bucky felt it the second it happened. His arm brushed yours when he leaned forward, and this time he didn’t pull back right away. His gaze dropped without meaning to, just for a second, catching on your lips before he forced himself to look back up again, jaw tightening like he was still trying to hold the line together.

“You shouldn’t kiss me like this,” he said, quieter now, the words slipping out like they didn’t belong to him, like they’d been pulled straight from the feeling sitting between you instead of any real decision. There wasn’t any bite to it, no real warning just something honest and a little unsteady. “Shouldn’t make me feel like this.”

He let out a soft breath, almost a quiet, disbelieving exhale, his hand shifting just slightly closer to yours against the table, not quite touching, but close enough that the space between your fingers felt intentional.

“And I shouldn’t want you to,” he added, voice lower now, steadier in tone but not in meaning, because the look in his eyes said the exact opposite. “But I do.”