Though Steve might admit that he deserved that punch, he was honestly surprised by how quickly he tasted blood and how his whole body had been forced back. That was new. His left foot had slid behind him to keep him from falling over, and he pushed off of that to stand straight again.

“You never liked James. And now I’m getting punched for it? Not sure how that’s fair.” Steve was overcompensating. Or maybe he was too easily falling back into the camaraderie that he and Bucky had always shared.

Being near him just made it click, but obviously the other man didn’t care for the implication. Maybe he didn’t remember him. Or maybe he hated him. Sixty-five years was impossibly long but Bucky didn’t have the answers to any of this and so Steve wasn’t going to ask him. He licked the blood off of his lip instead and cleared his head with a shake.

He didn’t like this accent either, but he couldn’t go back to staring longingly at a friend that might not actually exist.

“Fine. We’ll say I deserved it, all right?”