Steve is biased. (So is he.) Difficult to get a neutral opinion on it. Guess that must be why therapy matters, even if it feels like he's still just carrying everything to his eventual grave. Maybe it will change with time. Bucky really can't tell. Even knowing how he feels, there's just too much attached to everything, so much weight clinging on to every word. Nothing is plain anymore. Nothing can be plain anymore.
He's not what Steve needs.
Thirty-four minutes later, he unlocks the door to their apartment and steps in, stack of pizza boxes balanced on his left hand. There's a smaller carton stacked on top for the garlic knots.
"'m home." Assuming Steve is around. He should be around. Right?
Bucky can't ever imagine being so positive anymore, which is likely the core of the problem. He tries, and sometimes he even succeeds, but overall, a shadow seems to hang over most of his thoughts, especially as they relate to Steve. It's hard not to think he must be the problem, with Steve being fine with everything. But if he is, would Steve even care?
Smiling gently with some relief, Bucky sighs faintly as he answers, "Thanks. Sorry for the delay. Hit some traffic." He's usually not that far out, so his shorter estimate was a tad too generous.
"How was your day?" he asks, as if he wasn't completely unreachable for the last several hours.
"Oh, pretty good. I reorganized the pantry. Did you know we had a sourdough starter back there? It definitely died, so I cleaned out the jar. And the crackers are stale so I think I'll make them into breadcrumbs."
Bucky likely doesn't care about the random goings-on in their kitchen, but that was what Steve did with his day.
"Do you. Want to talk about yours?" Sometimes even that's touchy. But Steve sits down and opens the pizza boxes, grabbing himself a slice and sitting down on the couch to eat it.
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augh work stressing my out sry
He's not what Steve needs.
Thirty-four minutes later, he unlocks the door to their apartment and steps in, stack of pizza boxes balanced on his left hand. There's a smaller carton stacked on top for the garlic knots.
"'m home." Assuming Steve is around. He should be around. Right?
no problem! also fyi super busy this wknd
It's a relief to have him around, still moving forward, still healing. And so he greets Buck at the door with a big smile and grabs the pizza.
"Hey, welcome home." It's not even that Steve's pretending that nothing's wrong. Steve is just so positive.
k! hope it goes smoothly for you c:
Smiling gently with some relief, Bucky sighs faintly as he answers, "Thanks. Sorry for the delay. Hit some traffic." He's usually not that far out, so his shorter estimate was a tad too generous.
"How was your day?" he asks, as if he wasn't completely unreachable for the last several hours.
you too <3
Bucky likely doesn't care about the random goings-on in their kitchen, but that was what Steve did with his day.
"Do you. Want to talk about yours?" Sometimes even that's touchy. But Steve sits down and opens the pizza boxes, grabbing himself a slice and sitting down on the couch to eat it.