When he dreamed that night, it wasn't of Germany or Brooklyn or the seven decades he'd spent under HYDRA's hand. Eventually, even the coldest of winters changed into spring. Everything that had happened in the hotel came flooding back. When he woke up, it wasn't with a jolt. His eyes slowly opened. There was a weight across his middle and he turned on his back. He stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes, blinking as past and present tried to melt together in his mind. His hand absently moved to touch Steve's arm. He hadn't tried to move it. Why would he? He liked it when his boyfriend cuddled with him.
Yes, that was right, wasn't it?.
Bucky turned his head. Steve was still sleeping. He smiled and looked back up to the ceiling. There was a slight pain behind his eyes, the memories of the hotel and everything outside of it having a hell of a time mixing like two really weird ice-cream flavors. He raised his good arm and pinched the bridge of his nose in the attempt to alleviate the pressure. It worked a little. When he dropped his hand again, he let it land on Steve's arm.