He doesn’t want to answer. His breath curls from his lips and catches in the edge of the hoodie against Bucky’s neck. It seems so dumb now, admitting this. Bucky sounds angry, and that’s exactly what he doesn’t want. Not when this extended embrace is something he’s wanted for over a year. Or two years— When’s the last time he held Bucky like this? When was the last time this was all right? He shifts his face so his cheek is against the curve of his own upper arm, dreadfully thin, and does his best to man up.

“You were gone.” It’s not enough of an explanation and Steve tightens his grip, as if he’s afraid Bucky will dump him to the floor or lift him up physically and drop him outside. That’s a ridiculous thought. Steve might be small and compact but he’s not easy to toss around. Bucky would know that for a fact. “I didn’t know what to do with myself when you were gone. I know why you did it, I know it had been a guaranteed pay day and health care and you could get your sisters back and maybe this is selfish but I should have been allowed to go with you. Maybe I can’t shoot a gun right, but I could do something. Pilot a drone. Or... I don’t know.”

Steve feels useless.

“I wanted to help.”