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[wipedclean]

[The soldier is usually pretty stern, intimidating, all that jazz, but right now he's downright grumpy. And... snarly. Clearly he's not in a good mood.]

Why. The fuck. Are these fucking fireflies everywhere?

[Speaking of, here's one fluttering against his shoulder right now. His hand slams down on top of it, squashing it. He growls.]

They are getting in the way and they are making Steve forget he has to eat. Is there a way to stop them other than crushing them one by one?

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[prespangled]

[Steve doesn't wake the whole way back, doesn't even come close. He's not aware of how the warmth in him actually intensifies either, even after Bucky's let some of the fireflies go.

He sinks into his oddly shaped bed, which is still nicer than his old one with its mattress worn so thin that sleeping on a sheet of paper would probably have been just as comfortable. Steve rolls onto his side, one hand reaching out to hook two fingers in Bucky's sleeve when he turns to go, mutual anchors.]

[wipedclean]

[He could have tugged away easily. Steve's hold is light, instinctive. But it stops the soldier in his tracks more effectively than any order. He stares down at the sleeping man, stares at their point of connection, and sits down on the bed next to him.

Staring for a little while longer, and perhaps driven by the warmth emanating from both the fireflies and Steve's sleeping form, the soldier takes Steve's hand in his, lacing their fingers together. He feels calm. At peace in a way he's not sure he's ever felt before. Slowly, he lies down on the bed next to Steve and watches him a while before falling asleep himself, their fingers still laced together between them.]