That's not an order he's familiar with. This isn't a situation he's familiar with, not in the context of objective or mission. Steve's arms come up around him and he freezes momentarily, statuesque and stiff. If anything, he breathes a little more quickly, a hair under hyperventilation.

It's soft. It's gentle. It's comforting. A choked sound forces it's way out of his chest and the water bottle in his hand drops. Clatters to the floor, bounces around unspilled, rolls under the bed.

He obeys. Wraps his arms around Steve's waist.

His eyes clothes. Breathe, soldier, he's ordered. His eyes squeeze shut, and there they stand, embracing each other in the darkness, Bucky trembling like an addict withdrawing, but accepting despite that.

"I... don't..." he murmurs into Steve's shoulder, and cuts himself off abruptly. Loses his words.