“Sorry...?” Steve pulls his knees up as he sits, bracing himself on one elbow. Bucky doesn’t look good. He looks stressed and exhausted. He smells a little like sweat, like worry. It bothers Steve, it makes him feel like his gut is turning. The last thing that Bucky needs is to worry about him. “I’m fine, look!”

And he really is fine. He feels a little achy, maybe a little feverish, but he also feels good, like he’s been breathing all wrong for years and is now just noticing how much better it can be if he does it properly.

“I’ve been— Shit, it’s dark?! Did I sleep all day?! Oh my God, I missed work...” It’s just too late to call now. Everywhere is closed. That doesn’t stop him from sending furious texts.