Steve replies with such urgency, and it's so difficult to endure. He has to fight the sharp urge to turn off his phone and shove it back into his jacket pocket again, nerves itching for distraction to allay the stifling feeling that keeps bubbling up with these excursions, but Bucky manages to swallow it down after a few moments to reply.

no

I need space to process

it's a lot

He's being more curt than he'd prefer, but it's difficult not wanting to lash out in some way while he feels all this still. The problem with therapy, particularly during the process of finding a good therapist, is the toll it takes from needing to reveal yourself over and over again to even know if you can be helped. And while he has been nowhere near as exposed comparatively to that of others who might find themselves seeking therapy, it still takes so much out of him.

How was he even meant to go about it when letting Steve see how difficult it was, how draining and still so aggravating feeling half of it at all remains, would only make Steve even more worried and overbearing and—

Fuck, fuck. Walk it off. Just walk it off. He has a baseline now, at least, even if it's still miserable. But it's better than nothing. This is still good. Probably.