”I worry about you enough.” The couch groans gently as it takes all of Bucky’s weight on the arm. Steve’s always had this funny little quirk about not being able to look Bucky in the face when he was too busy being stubborn about not letting the serious stuff dig into him, so Bucky hopes that by elevating himself and curling an arm around Steve’s neck to tuck his head against his ribs, it will be enough to get him to open up.    ”I can sit here like this all day, punk.”

   ”You’ve been mopin’,” Bucky amends, this time with a little more emphasis.     From what he remembers, Steve has never been a fan of the cold—to think that temperature didn’t make a difference to him anymore now that he was jacked up with super soldier serum wasn’t far off-base, but… yeah. He gets it. Doesn’t like the way the chill gets under his skin and just sits there either.    He slips out of the bathroom, where he’s been attempting to shave his scruff off with varying degrees of success, and drags the quilt off the back of the couch, draping it over Steve’s broad shoulders. “Call it what you want, but I call it mopin’.”

                         ❝ What’s a soulmate? ❞

              ❝ It’s a..

                        Well, it’s like a best friend, but more.

   It’s the one person in the world that knows you better than anyone                                                                                                                           else.

It’s someone who makes you a better person, well, actually they don’t make you a better person…

                  you do that yourself— because they i n s p i r e you.

              A soulmate is someone who you carry with you forever.

                  It’s the one person who knew you,                                 and accepted you,                                     and believed in you                                                         before anyone else did                                           or when no one else would.

                   And no matter what happens.. you’ll always love them. ❞

   ”Look, I ain’t your fuckin’ therapist, but you’ve been mopin’ for three days—so if you need to get something off your chest, just fuckin’ do it already. Ain’t goin’ anywhere until you spill.”

[ the feeling of falling and then ice in his lungs, crashing through  but moving slowly. time. he was always given time when he didn’t  need and had it stolen away when it mattered most. ]

   Bucky makes a face at the pot like it’s personally offended him and shoves it back onto the burner, capping it with the lid.    Sweet potatoes. What the fuck was he thinking?    ”What the hell are we doing—how do we even do this,” he shoulders Steve out of the way and takes the veggies from him, finding it easier to have a minor meltdown whilst slicing the shit out of some tomatoes rather than just standing around like a flickering light post, “I don’t know if us celebrating Thanksgiving by ourselves is sad or incredible. Pass me that cucumber.”

Steve can't help but let out another chuckle and he realizes he shouldn't. He's not sure what is really causing the distress in Bucky just yet, or if it really is just dinner that's bugging him, but he intends to find out. The Captain easily steps aside when the other comes charging in, but should he have expected anything less? It was just like the days when they were in Brooklyn, Bucky taking charge of dinner and Steve just hanging back to watch. He doesn't feel as useless these days though. "Why not just got with incredible and leave it at that?" Steve steps into Bucky's space, and presses his palm flat against the small of his back, "hey...relax okay?"