One of Steve's arms was around Bucky's shoulders, following the curve they made as Bucky leaned the top half of his body into him and tucked his head under Steve's chin. He could feel every point of contact between them, the way Bucky's hands gripped him, secure but gentle. It felt as though he was discovering the right way for a pair of bonded to touch, to feel safe and loved, contained within themselves; and at the same time it seemed like something he had always known, as though this ability to curl himself around Bucky was written into him. It was true what Bucky said: Steve Rogers was well-acquainted with what it meant to be alone, and to lose everything that was more important to him than his own life. What that had left him with, for a long time, was the feeling of simply existing, carrying on the steps of a routine simply because there was nothing else to do.

It was different now. Now it was as if he could feel his soul awakening after a long and dreamless sleep, and he wanted to make Bucky understand that, understand how much he meant to Steve, whatever there was of him that had come back.

He took a deep breath as if to say it--and then, instead, Steve slid his hand into Bucky's hair, cupped the nape of his neck to tip back his head, and kissed him with raw, desperate longing, wrapping him up so tightly in his arms as to creak bones. "I know," he said huskily when the kiss ended, the taste of Bucky lingering on his tongue, "I know exactly what I have, you don't need to tell me. I'm so happy you're with me."