[ bucky's caught off-guard by yelena just scrabbling into place into the crook of his arm, rather than forcibly moving him or simply telling him to budge over — but then again, maybe he should've predicted that. he set it up and dug this grave for himself by waiting for her like that. and when she asks the question, he cranes his left arm away so he can stare up at the ceiling, too. ]

It's probably not not weird?

But I like having you here. And people like us— I'm not sure if we're really that good at 'normal'.

[ spoken as someone suffering the same. he's reminded of a disastrous trainwreck of a date with a very nice bartender who deserved more than a man who had to lie through his teeth with every single thing he told her about himself. at least with yelena, he can be honest. even about the ugliest parts of himself, because hers mirror it.

he exhales, and she can feel the rise-and-fall of his chest beside her, since she's nestled so close with her head against his arm. and after a moment, he screws his courage to the sticking place — how come it's easier to jump out of airplanes than to do this simple thing? — and shoots yelena another sidelong look. there's an order to these things. they've been doing everything entirely out-of-order. maybe that's inevitable, but in some gentle, hapless attempt at resuscitating some of that order, bucky works up his nerve and says: ]

Can I buy you dinner sometime?