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“I made a selection already but I’m not sure how to slim it down and which ones I should pick”
Yelena gives you a single, confident nod that tells you she got this and silently motions for you to hand her your phone, her lollipop standing by itself inside her mouth as she carefully looks through the different pictures you selected to potentially put on your profile, scrolling through them with the same focus she reviews mission plans with.
She had helped you come up with things to write down for the descriptions on your profile, but you knew damn well that this was the most important part, the main object of attention, the thing that would make your first impression on those men you could potentially date. And you had to admit it was fucking terrifying in some way.
“Oh this one is nice. You look so cute” she says as she picks the lollipop out, stopping on one picture. “It’s definitely going up on your profile.”
Before you can respond, she swipes again and nods decisively. “Oh and this one too.” she says it like it’s a fact, not up for discussion. “Your eyes look like you might want to kill someone, which is probably attractive to some people”
You huff out a laugh. “You say it like it’s a good thing”
“I told you, I wouldn’t be surprised some would be into it,” she says with a shrug as she sticks the baton back between her lips.
You chuckle and nod in appreciation though you're filled with a strange mix of feelings, caught somewhere between excitement and anticipation. It's all new to you, it's not something you have tried before, and you can feel a stress blooming at the bottom of your stomach – picking pictures for dozens of strangers to see is a bit intimidating, even when your face is already known for working as a New Avenger; it feels widely different to choose how you’re wanting to be seen, to put yourself out there for others to judge.
You watch as Yelena continues swiping to the left. “Oh I took that one!” she exclaims, face lighting up with pride as she points proudly to the screen. “Yeah it’s got a little kick. You didn’t even know the picture was being taken so it looks natural. Brings out your casual charm”
You snort up a laugh and nod. “Okay thank you,” you grin, picking your phone back to set the couple pictures she chose and add them onto your profile. “Hey, thank you for helping me with this” you nod, giving her a grateful smile. “I know dating is not your thing so I appreciate your involvement even more”
“Sure, anytime” she tilts her head, giving you a shrug and a friendly smile. You go over your whole profile, assessing the final product, watching how it’s all supposed to reflect you for good now.
Yelena turns around when a couple of knocks hit her door, and she allows entry, her face brightening when Bob reveals himself behind the door, a smile over his face. He greets the both of you sitting cross legged over Yelena's bed, and you reciprocate the smile as he steps inside.
“Oh Bob, good thing you’re here we need a masculine input” Yelena swiftly takes the phone from your hands, showing Bob the set of pictures over the screen. “This looks alright to you?”
Bob steps closer, eyes moving across the images slowly. “Yeah?” he shrugs positively, nodding genuinely, eyes darting back and forth between each picture of you on the screen before they land on you for real. “I mean you look great, what’s that for?” he asks, unsure what is expected of him.
“Dating app” Yelena says as she hands you your phone back. You look up at Bob, quickly feeling a slight heat creep up your cheeks before your gaze darts back down at your phone.
“Oh” Bob’s voice drops a little before he catches up with a smile. “Well you’ll do great,” he nods, his voice sincere. “I mean, whoever matches with you, they’ll be lucky”
“Thank you, Bob” you genuinely smile.
Yelena glances up and watches as he fiddles with the hem of his sweater, and chooses not to say anything.
Bob lightly clears his throat before he talks again. “Well I was just checking up on you, I’m gonna get going,” he says, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “Good luck with that,” he smiles.
You nod, watching as he heads for the door and closes it behind him with a soft click. Yelena raises an eyebrow at you once the sound fades, a little something in her gaze you can’t exactly define. “What?” you ask flatly, but the heat remains on your cheeks as she looks at you accusingly.
“Nothing,” she shrugs. You know she means the whole opposite of it.
—
This past week hasn't been the calmest, but then again, nothing ever really had been – not for Bob.
He had been used to carrying the discomfort his whole life, tossing it quietly at the corners of his mind, letting the mess grow until he couldn’t handle it anymore. Like everything else, it had just been a matter of dealing with it, pushing through, and trying to come to terms with it.
Bob sits in his usual spot of the common area when he reads, but now, it's not really what this is about, as he can't seem to focus and rereads the same line over and over again without ever truly grasping its meaning and the image that is supposed to be painted inside his mind.
Because the only thing he can think about is you, knowing that you're dodging movie night tonight to go on that date.
You had just mentioned it earlier this week – hadn’t made much of a show out of it, just told the team you wouldn’t spend that Friday evening with them the way you did every other Friday, the way your routine as a group had set it.
And you didn’t even specify what it was, where you were going, what you were doing and who you were doing it with.
But it made sense and spoke for itself, but still, as Bob heard Alexei ask and you answered him with what was implied, it still hurt.
This whole dating app profile thing shouldn't have him overthinking it so much, because technically, there was no reason for it to.
And the worst and most confusing thing was, it wasn't even jealousy or something – being jealous would imply he had something to lose, but there, he didn't have anything to begin with, not rightfully.
He knew damn well he could never be enough for you, that was something he had figured out the moment he realized the feelings he had for you.
So he didn’t feel angry. He felt less than. He felt small.
And he hates feeling so deeply about it, hates that an overwhelming ache grows inside his stomach every time he has to think about it, hates the insecurity that creeps up his thoughts and gnaws at everything else until it's all he can think about, until all he can hear is the distant voice of the Void telling him he could never be worth it, could never deserve someone like you. He’s used to it, but it feels different now that it involves someone else indirectly. Hurts in a whole different way. Especially when he truly wants someone to make you happy, even if it involves it not being him.
“Bob” Bucky calls, watching him from a distance, noticing Bob’s gaze unfocused, away from his book, not even pretending to read anymore. “You alright kid?” he asks once Bob’s head perks up, giving him his attention. The team had taken the habit of snapping him out of it whenever it looked like Bob was too deep inside his own head, to distract him with something else before his thoughts got too intense – though Bucky knew for a fact there sometimes was no use trying to chase it away, that if it had to crawl back and consume you whole, it would.
“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Yeah I'm fine” Bob smiles.
That was the default answer, no matter how he truly felt, despite having been wanting to be more honest about his feelings as per his therapist’s advice – it wasn’t supposed to be that deep in this specific case, it was just some teenage-like feelings, so lying about it wasn’t so wrong, it didn’t feel like the kind of thing worth confessing, wasn’t the kind of pain that deserved air.
Yet it still hurt.
Bucky nods, barely convinced, but chooses not to say anything, not to push it.
He knows better than anyone else how much it costs to be honest about whatever the hell goes on inside your own head.
—
You stumble out of the elevator, gathering the little focus you have left to try not to trip over your own feet as you make your way inside. Your eyes are glassy, your gaze unfocused and the view around you is scattered from the alcohol poisoning your blood, but the force of habit makes you quick to join the couch and finally sit down. Your limbs somehow feel equally heavy and light, but your legs ache in a whole different way, one that makes you dread the fact that you’re going to have to drag yourself to your bedroom – it makes you consider crashing here, on the couch, without even taking care of removing your makeup and getting into more comfortable clothes, because you swear that once the thought lodges itself inside your brain, it makes you convinced you could fall asleep right then and there.
That is until a soft shuffle draws your attention, and you notice Bob quietly sitting in his corner, turned to you. “Hey,” you smile, the muscles of your face numb.
“Hey” he responds gently, standing up to join you. “You okay?” he asks as he sits beside you, a worried frown transforming his usually soft face when he sees how glassy your eyes are, how tired the lines over your face make you seem to be.
“I’m so drunk, Bob” you whine softly, hand coming to rub at your eyes, smudging your mascara even further.
“Happens,” he shrugs with an easy smile.
“‘m sorry, I didn’t want you to see me like this, ‘figured everyone would be sleeping” you apologize.
He hums quietly and presses a hand at your back. “I’ve seen and been way worse, believe me” he pinches his lips into a small, compassionate smile. “Come on, let me help you get to bed”
“I’m okay,” you wave him off just to be polite, already embarrassed enough that he has to see you in this state. You get up and he’s quick to do the same, grasping your wrist when you almost lose balance.
“Yeah, sure” he snorts a small laugh, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to stabilize you as he starts to lead you towards your room.
You lean against him, instinctively trusting the way he guides your stumbling feet towards the room. “I just– don’t wanna be a drag” you mutter.
“You’re not,” he assures you. His face grows warm when you wrap your arm around him for more balance, the path of your feet shifting slightly before he rectifies the trajectory. “I would have liked having someone to care for me back when I was using”
Once in your room, Bob turns the light on and helps you sit down on the edge of your bed, a soft sigh of relief escaping you when you're finally there and finally able to rest your aching legs.
He has already moved to your bathroom before you can thank him for helping you, coming out with a few cotton pads and your bottle of makeup remover. You watch as he sits beside you, the mattress dipping softly under his weight. “Can I?”
You nod, suddenly feeling the urge to remain quiet instead of wanting to apologize once more.
His hand hesitates with a slight tremble before it gently settles at your jaw, holding your face while the other starts to carefully wipe the makeup away; he can clearly feel the heaviness of your gaze over him while he does this for you, can almost taste the quiet tension filling the air.
Neither of you speaks or attempts to fill the silence, you're way too close to each other to bring yet another layer of closeness, and you're too mesmerized by the way his gaze focuses on you yet remains avoidant anyway.
You're convinced the warmth in your chest has nothing to do with the alcohol anymore – it's intimate in a way that momentarily has you slightly sobering up, anchoring you to reality.
Your eyes flutter shut when he wants to clean the mascara off your lashes, and the gentleness and carefulness he handles you with leaves you weak.
Bob lightly clears his throat when he’s done, giving you a small, awkward smile.
“Pajamas” he points out, quickly walking over to your dresser as if to move on and diffuse the tension that has settled. He rummages through, pulling out one of your large shirts and a pair of shorts before he turns back and hands them out to you.
“Here,” he says, voice dipping, a bit awkward now.
You reach out for them, immediately already pulling your shirt off over your head, not even thinking. Bob practically leaps to turn around, ears burning red. “Oh! Sorry– I didn’t– I’m not looking.”
You giggle tiredly. “You’re fine, Bob.”
The heat in his face barely fades away as he waits, swaying back and forth on his feet, eyes glued to the wall. He only turns back to you once you confirm you’re done, waiting a couple seconds just in case, to avoid further embarrassment.
“Alright,” he huffs out softly. “You all good? Can I do anything else?”
He's too gentle, too devoid of judgement, too caring. You don't answer right away, just stare at him for what you think you would judge to be way too long if you were sober.
Your tiredness hits you in the face at full force, your stomach tightening in a way that is different to the feeling of needing to spill your guts.
You eventually shake your head slowly, vision still swaying. “Thank you,” you murmur quietly, voice cracking slightly.
You know it's over the moment your tears are flooding your eyes before you can even think to hold them back.
You start profusely apologizing the moment Bob rushes back to your side when he sees you breaking into soft sobs, sitting down next to you. “I’m sorry, this is so stupid” you apologize.
He shakes his head immediately, hand reaching and hovering over your knee before he decides to put it over your shoulder instead. “Hey. No it’s not. What’s wrong?”
You shake your head, trying to swipe your tears away, ashamed of how freely they fall now that you have no control over them. “It’s just– you’re so nice,” you whisper, a tremble laced through your voice. “And I’m making a fool of myself while you watch and help and it’s so fucking embarrassing, and now that I’m crying it’s even worse”
Bob huffs out a soft, almost fond laugh. “Come on, I used to be an addict. I’ve embarrassed myself more times than I can count. You think you being drunk and crying a little is gonna change the way I see you?”
You breathe out something between a sob and a laugh, and when you look up at him, his smile somehow makes you mirror it.
Until it all catches up to you and your smile fades as quickly as it came, and the lump that starts forming in your throat seems to be carrying the weight of what you’ve been dragging around for weeks.
You shake your head, letting out a scattered breath. It feels different than the silliness of crying because you’re embarrassed that you’re drunk – it’s like the switch has been flipped, and the precise reason why you got drunk is now floating back to the surface and clawing at your back.
And Bob feels it. He watches you carefully, doesn’t push you, waits for you to say anything, ready to listen.
“It's just– I spent most of the night at the bar down the street after the date” you eventually say. “Just to get drunk and forget about it” you admit, your voice lowering. Bob’s eyes flicker along your face, intently listening. “The guy was nice but I hated it, I think I'm the problem, Bob, and you’re–” you croak out as you look back at him, blinking your tears away when it gets too much before you go on.
His head instinctively shakes, his hand reaching your face to brush away the hair that sticks to your tears stained cheeks. “I thought that dating app thing would be a good idea but it’s not working and it’s barely… keeping me distracted from the fact that–”
“Hey,” he murmurs, a frown over his face. “Just because it didn’t work out this time doesn’t mean it never will” he shrugs, eyes roaming along your face. “I’m sure you will get other opportunities and– and I’m convinced you will eventually find the right person” he nods, a reassuring smile over his face when you look up at him, eyes blinking your tears away. “And when you do… I’ll be rooting for you. You deserve it.”
You nod, holding it back. It’s no use telling him more, not when he made it clear he’s not the one waiting for you at the end of this, not when you’re now set on the idea before you could even unburden yourself of it all.
—
Your dating app is a mess of half assed conversations with good looking but painfully uninteresting men – you’re not pretending to be better than them, but it’s an actual torture to try to go through texting some of them, between the stupid and cringe ones, those who take two to three business days to respond, and those who only want to get in your pants and don’t even try to disguise it.
The nice ones make themselves rare but still can’t seem to do it for you, so it pains you to have to go through the whole process again, but you take a chance at trying to match with some new faces.
You look up from your phone when you hear the sound of Bob’s laugh when Ava says something to piss Walker off, making him roll his eyes and leave the room.
Ava sighs something about him having an ego so massive he can’t even take a joke, and joins you, taking a look over your shoulder behind the couch.
“Oh my god, what is that” she grimaces as she glances at the screen of your phone, an obviously disgusted expression over her face.
“I know,” you sigh, immediately clicking the cross on the side of the screen, making the profile vanish, revealing the next one. “I want to give up already”
“You would probably do yourself a favor”
“Is it really going that bad?” Yelena asks from her spot on the couch, gaze still focused on the show on the television.
“I mean,” you start, taking a breath as you adjust your position on the couch. “I have a date planned in a couple days, and he’s nice and actually cares about me and what I have to say” Ava watches as Bob swiftly picks up his book from the table and flees the scene once he sees the direction the conversation is going, leaving the three of you to it. “But I feel like I need a backup plan in case it doesn’t go so well”
“Okay, I’m gonna need a picture so I know who my next target is if that man hurts you in any way” Yelena casually declares, her slight frown indicating she’s half joking, half serious.
“Mhm, count me in” Ava nods in agreement. “You can also guess their intentions and good faith through their eyes”
You huff out a small laugh before you go fetch the guy’s profile, pulling up his pictures.
Ava sees them first and hurries to climb onto the couch from behind to sit down next to you. “Oh honey, I know what your backup plan is, and he lives with us” she scoffs, mouth hanging in disbelief as she takes the phone from your hands to get a better look. Yelena frowns softly, still waiting to see the pictures, and you’re almost as confused, raising an eyebrow at Ava. “This guy looks just like Bob” she huffs out low enough so no one outside the room could hear if they happened to be nearby, eyes wide as she points at the screen of your phone like she tries to make you see it.
This makes Yelena grab the tv remote and pause her show, reaching to grab the phone from Ava.
“Come on, back me up on this,” Ava urges Yelena.
Yelena’s mouth twists into a small grimace that makes her suspense agonizing. “I mean, they do have the same haircut, yeah” she says before she scrolls to take a look at the other pictures, her head tilting slightly as she goes on. “Yeah he does look like Bob. Like a more pretentious Bob” she eventually declares, surrendering to what’s obvious, giving you an apologetic grin.
“Thank you!” Ava whisper-shouts. “You have to admit it’s a hell of a coincidence”
You chuckle, unsure what to say for your own defense. “We’re in New York, Bob is bound to have plenty of doppelgangers” you declare matter-of-factly with a shrug.
“I’m afraid this isn’t exactly what this is about” Yelena counters in a mumble, looking away when you glance at her, scratching her temple, teasingly pretending she didn’t say anything.
You know exactly what she means. But no part of you wants to talk about it, no part of you wants to admit it, because this is all you have been trying to avoid, this is the reason you have been trying so hard to make something out of that dating app.
“Whatever,” you sigh, suddenly wanting to crawl inside a hole and never come out.
“God, it’s so painful watching you two,” Ava rolls her eyes.
“Ava–” Yelena scolds, throwing her a knowing glance when she guesses where she wants to take the conversation.
“No, come on, I can’t be the only one. I can’t be the only one who sees it, and this evil Bob twin is proof” she insists, trying to get Yelena on her side.
Yelena sends Ava a death glare that you know barely impresses her, but still prevents her from adding more and makes her lift her hands in surrender.
The silence that follows is carrying the weight of everything you don’t want to name out loud, the weight of everything Yelena is trying to hold back from Ava too because it is not their business to resolve, but only yours.
And while you're deep down aware of the problem, you’re not exactly sure how to do it.
—
Things get worse before they get better.
That was all you heard during your whole life, and so far, the saying had proven itself to be true.
Only now, things only seem to get more awful as you go on.
Because you cannot, despite everything you have tried, stop thinking about how stupid everything gets whenever you try to stop thinking about it and eventually end up only thinking about it more.
Because as you watch Bob dig through the crates of the record store while you’re supposed to do the same, you can't help but face the fact that there is no one else you would rather do this with, and trying to bury your feelings only makes them resurface and hurt tenfold.
You know pulling away isn’t the solution and can barely be considered as an option – he’s still one of your closest friends and you don’t want to hurt him that way, and the idea of losing him altogether is unbearable.
And maybe all of this is what makes it all the more complicated.
So trying to find someone else to have feelings for still seems like the best solution despite not going great so far, but you have to give it a try, you have to find a way out of this dead end.
You have to give that date tonight your best chance.
That’s the only solution you see when you stare at Bob.
“I found grace” Bob says suddenly, hands braced on the edge of a crate, tearing you out of your thoughts.
You blink, suddenly snapped back to reality, the distant sound of Soundgarden playing from the speakers of the shop clearer now that it’s not just your thoughts overtaking your brain. You squint at Bob, frowning in confusion. “Huh?”
“The album. Grace. Jeff Buckley” he makes clear as he lifts the record slightly to show you the album cover, chuckling softly when he realizes how it sounded.
“Oh, right” you let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Nice” you smile.
“You can have it,” he offers, pulling it out from the vertical pile.
“Nah don’t be stupid. You found it” you chuckle, watching as he nods in surrender before tucking the record under his arm.
It had become a thing, your thing. To go and search through local record stores after you both had established wanting to get a physical copy of all of your favorite albums – sharing the same taste made it a little more interesting, and it felt special to share that activity. Borderline intimate, even. Which in the actual context, makes it worse for you.
“Are you alright?” he eventually asks, noticing you don’t seem fully present.
You give him a quiet approval, trying to ignore the front pieces of his hair falling in front of his eyes and how much you would want to push them away if you weren’t actively trying to get over him.
“We should go to that place you like. The one with the carrot cake” he suggests, smiling when he sees your face light up at the offer. “I think we have enough time before I have to go to my therapy session”
—
Bob enters Yelena's room without even knocking, much against his habits – he considers apologizing for the matter of half a second before the reason he's here floods back at him in urgency and nothing else seems important anymore. “I need to talk to you about something.”
She raises an eyebrow in interest as she quickly glances up from her phone, letting him know that despite being busy, she's ready to listen. “Sure.”
“It's serious,” Bob adds, voice low with gravity.
Yelena is quick to toss her phone aside and give him her full attention, concerned by his tone, foot pushing to the floor so her chair can spin towards his direction. “Okay, spit it out.”
“I–” he starts, eyes closing momentarily when he lets go of the loose thread he's been pulling at on his flannel to scratch his forehead, an uncomfortable smile over his face. He thinks of backing out, considers it for a moment, but he knows he’s not a coward, knows he shouldn’t be, and knows he has to go through with it before it’s too late.
Yelena waits, watches Bob intently as his mouth opens to no sound, moving like he's unsure how to articulate whatever he wants to say.
“I know,” she eventually grins before he can begin to talk, too impatient to not pull the rug from under his feet and make it easier for him, guessing what it's all about from seeing the nervous expression over his face just from having to word it out loud. And as much as she would like to hear him say and finally admit it, she's the last person who officially needs to hear about it.
“What?” he frowns, confused. “I didn’t even say anything yet” he chuckles, borderline offended that she caught him off guard with such force and ease.
“I know what you're going to say, and I don't even want you to say it because I'm not the one you should be saying it to” Yelena shrugs, mouth twisting into a grin.
Bob doesn’t know what to say, not really. His mouth closes in defeat though it’s barely one, his neck suddenly itching from the anxiety growing from the pit of his stomach.
“It’s all over your face, Bob. Has been for a while. And you shouldn’t even need my opinion. Go for it” Yelena nods, a supportive smile tugging at her lips. “You got this.”
—
You set on wearing the exact same thing you did on that previous, disastrous date.
If you were superstitious, you would probably throw it back into your closet and never pull it out for that kind of occasions again, but it happens to be an efficient outfit on all the other levels aside from whatever factor it was that made your other date bust, and looking good and feeling comfortable is an undeniable privilege that is worth keeping.
You feel strangely excited – it’s so surprising that you start to wonder if there’s not something you’re leaving out of the equation, but you easily roll with the fact that you for once believe things could go well and decide not to question it.
You leave the pieces of clothes folded onto your bed like a physical representation of your procrastination – maybe that the later you will wear it, the later you will start anticipating and feeling nervous about that date, but preparing things so early when your date is far away as four hours already attests to how much you’re deep down overthinking it.
When you join the common room in hopes you will channel your energy into something and it turns out to be completely vacant, you’re not so sure what your plan is; you’re even starting to wish even Walker was here, which attests to how strange everything feels at the moment.
You catch glance of a sheet of paper on the floor and immediately assume it got loose from one of Bucky’s files – you know he likes working here on the rare occasions the room happens to be less than half empty, so you pick it up and put it back over the table so he knows it’s here.
The room is so quiet it has you looking out the window like it is the only thing you can busy yourself with. You’ve grown so used to the view that you sometimes forget how impressive it actually is, that high up above New York.
When you turn around after a few moments of watching the other buildings and thinking about how intimidating they look as opposed to their view at night, you go and pour yourself a glass of water, picking and filling another one when the light sound of Bob’s footsteps echo through the empty room when he finds you.
“Don't go on that date tonight”
The unexpected mention of the subject from him shakes something within you, and you still for a second, eyes meeting him as you put the jug of water back down. “What?”
“Please don’t go on that date.” Bob repeats, his voice gentler this time, less firm.
“Why?” you let go of the glass in your hand.
A short silence hangs for a second before he talks, like he’s waiting and contemplating before the bomb goes off. But there’s no turning back now, he knows that. “I see how much it has you struggling, don’t tell me it’s doing you any good” he frowns softly.
Your eyebrows raise, your gaze shifting back down at your glass of water. He has a point, but in the long run, you don’t want it to remain true, and you don’t even see why it would matter that much to him. “It’s not, but I have to give it a better try, and I’m actually confident about that date, so,” you explain in your own defense, even though it sounds more like you’re trying to convince yourself. “I can’t just sit around and wait for it to happen” you shrug.
“It's happening right now,” he chuckles uncomfortably.
He forces himself to take a steadying breath when he sees the small frown growing from confusion over your face, and he gathers all the confidence he couldn’t get for months before he says it.
“I like you,” he declares.
It should feel like the world stops there, but it doesn’t, so he goes on. “And it’s getting really exhausting pretending I don’t” he huffs out in a nervous admission, hands gesturing at his sides.
No matter how intensely he tries to read your gaze at that moment, nothing gives away the way you’re taking in the information – the confusion is etched all over your face, like a mask that hides everything else.
Your mouth opens before it closes, opening again just a second later. “Wha– why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
His mouth tightens into a strained smile. “Uh… I figured I wasn’t worth it” he shrugs indifferently, like what he’s admitting about himself is barely important. “Still kinda do,” he admits, head tilting slightly. “But my therapist– we've been working on opening up. I've been working on opening up” he nods in earnest. “That's what I'm doing right now” he affirms, voice quieter with endearing awkwardness.
It’s what it must feel like when machines short circuit, because you have no idea how to function anymore, how to go on from there, what to say.
You let out a breath you barely realize you had been repressing, one that holds all the disbelief of the situation, and despite that relief, your chest remains tight from his confession – you don’t think this one feeling is going to go away so easily.
“Bob I thought you didn’t–” you halt, unsure what to pick out to say out of the whirlwind of things coming and going inside your head. “I’ve been trying to tell you” you blurt out. “That night I came back drunk.”
“What?” he asks, face twisting in bewilderment.
You nod, lips pinching into a half amused smile. “I thought you would never ask me out, and it’s the exact reason I put myself on that dating app” you explain.
Bob breaks into a stunned chuckle, hand coming to rub at his eyes. “So you’re telling me it was right there and…”
“Mhm,” you nod, huffing out a laugh.
You both shift into a soft laughter from how you have obliviously made things complicated between you, and when it quiets down, the atmosphere falls back to seriousness again, but now that everything is let loose in between you, the dynamic feels relaxed in a whole other way, like that previous overwhelming tension had been looming over your heads.
“So…” he rests a hand against the table, leaning onto his side. “Date offer can still stand, but, y’know…” his head tilts to the side teasingly. “With me”
Your chest rises with a quiet inhale, shaken by how fast your heart rate has managed to rise. “Okay,” you say softly, grinning at the idea of a proper date with him – it suddenly changes the whole aspect of going on a date for you.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” you smile.
He blinks, then that smile, the one that makes your stomach flip every single time without fail, grows across his face like he still can't really believe it, like he had stepped into this without expecting anything but walked out with everything. “Okay,” he repeats, voice gentler now, like he’s really taking it in.
“Hey, just one thing,” you ask, making him raise an eyebrow expectantly. “I think we should keep it on the low and enjoy it for a little before the team starts to make fun of us.”