Steve couldn't help but feel like he was fucking up this conversation. Like every word out of his mouth was the wrong one, like he was tripping over his own clumsy feet. Bucky was being nice about it, was being the very picture of the best friend a guy could ask for, but he still deserved better than this, better than Steve fumbling his way through platitudes and awkward attempts to ensure Bucky he was still - that he meant - even if Steve didn't love him like that -
Bucky was in love with him.
There was no doubt that Steve was still processing that knowledge, this admission that had come so entirely out of left field, and maybe that's what was making him stumble so badly through his responses. Easier to focus on other matters than confront what this might mean. Like, for example, jumping on Bucky's casual mention of Stark.
"What the hell does Stark have against you?" Steve asked, and he was zero to bristling in no time at all, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, arms folded across his chest. It was the exact sort of look he'd worn when he'd been five foot two and ninety pounds soaking wet, staring down someone he thought was out of line. In this case, this particular look obviously wasn't intended for Bucky, but for Tony Stark, wherever he might be. Which was idiotic to the extreme, since Stark was one of the few people who seemed to be on Steve's side - for now, anyway. Steve couldn't afford to get into it with him, but if the man had started up something with Bucky, well, chances were good Steve would have something to say about that.