[ That jerks him out of the dream. Not all the way out of it, like a long fall into dark water. But enough to realize that he's not alone, here.
Which makes it better? Which makes it worse?
(What happens, usually, when his mind shows him this particular memory is: he tells her that it is not a bad thing at all. And she says that she'll show him, and he forgets about the rain altogether.) ]
I'm—
[ Still lost, a little, as he puts it all together. Bucky loves Paris, the way only an American can. ]
I'm sorry. I didn't—
[ He pulls himself back, awkwardly, almost slipping on the slick pavement. The rain comes down like a sheet between them. ]
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Which makes it better? Which makes it worse?
(What happens, usually, when his mind shows him this particular memory is: he tells her that it is not a bad thing at all. And she says that she'll show him, and he forgets about the rain altogether.) ]
I'm—
[ Still lost, a little, as he puts it all together. Bucky loves Paris, the way only an American can. ]
I'm sorry. I didn't—
[ He pulls himself back, awkwardly, almost slipping on the slick pavement. The rain comes down like a sheet between them. ]
This is real awkward.