Poor Steve is still crouched naked, his robe covering Bucky's body from view and even that feels like a flimsy shield. He wants his own clothes, the prosthetic that hides his new deformity and the hidden weapons he keeps in secret pockets that his therapist would not be happy to hear about.
He can't give up the robe, he just-- he can't be naked again, but he pushes Steve towards his own pile of clothes with a shaking hand.
"I don't suppose we could just forget this happened, could we?"
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Poor Steve is still crouched naked, his robe covering Bucky's body from view and even that feels like a flimsy shield. He wants his own clothes, the prosthetic that hides his new deformity and the hidden weapons he keeps in secret pockets that his therapist would not be happy to hear about.
He can't give up the robe, he just-- he can't be naked again, but he pushes Steve towards his own pile of clothes with a shaking hand.
"I don't suppose we could just forget this happened, could we?"