[ yelena looks visibly taken aback at the sudden assertiveness from his part, but there is that smile again. it makes her feel a little funny, makes her face feel a little warm. (could just be that new york is disgusting and humid, though.)

she follows him without another word and hums, but leaves her boots by the balcony door instead of out there like she did before. she's not sure leaving through the front door would be a good idea? she doesn't want to give off the wrong impression to his neighbours. something along the lines of, "random blonde girl is leaving the apartment of their mysterious and gruff neighbour."

she trails after bucky into his kitchen and while she did do a tour of his place — it's not like she opened all his drawers and cabinets? imagine her unsurprise when she sees there isn't much in his cupboards. she watches him pull out the whiskey, to which she mumbles under her breath in russian — ]

So American of you.

[ the studio is small as it is, but the kitchen is even smaller and she doesn't realize it until he's moving around to find some glasses so she occupies herself by making herself right at home and opening the fridge. ]

How many people live here? [ she kid, she kid.

but it won't hit her until later how they both kept throwing around the possibility of a "next time" on more than one occasion. how could she, when they're just engaging in normal conversation as if they don't have their own separate and busy lives to lead?

it is nice to pretend, sometimes. ]

Absinthe is a bit much. I like vodka, though. And beer. I am not really picky. I'll bring cookies next time, too.