Steve turns, shifts his feet up onto the bed. The magazine's in his lap, but he hasn't opened it. Bucky's so quiet. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest reassures Steve that he's still actually breathing.

Bucky comments, and Steve starts guiltily.

"It's weird enough already," he agrees, voice rueful. "Sorry, Buck."

He opens the damn magazine, and forces himself to start reading. First article. Forwards, then backwards, then he starts trying to make himself memorise it. It's boring as anything, when what he wants to do is crawl into bed next to Bucky and hold him all night, make him feel safe. He's not stupid enough to actually do that, but the want is thrumming in his blood. Bucky's here, he's coherent, and Steve wants.

He picks up his water, and takes another sip. His swallow sounds unnaturally loud.