he allows himself to wander again. it’s easy to ignore
the flickering television screen and accompanying noise
in favor of trying to force himself to just remember. why can’t
he? why are the memories from the first twenty-six years of
his life so hard to grasp, while the latter seventy pour in with-
out warning? Bucky leans back and scrubs at his face with
his right hand—dropping it when Steve’s voice registers. he
looks over, brows furrowed. he’s seen him with one, but
hasn’t bothered to decipher its purpose.
“ a pen and a notebook? for what? ”
“To draw something, maybe? Or just scribble
some forms and curves on the paper? Or
we could go to the gym more often.”
Or do anything, really. Steve just wants to help,
and it does, in fact, frustrate him that there is
absolutely nothing he can say or do to help.
”Or continue sitting in silence.
Whatever you want…”