They'd sat like this countless times before, but it had been years ago, back when Steve had been nothing but a short, skinny ball of frustration and indignation with a whole host of health problems. Now, it felt like they didn't line up quite right. Bucky's arm had too far to reach to curl around Steve's broad shoulders, and Steve was too tall to settle into the crook of Bucky's neck, to rest his head just underneath his chin. It was unfamiliar, but it wasn't bad, and Bucky still smelled the same, at least, still took the same, steadying breath when he was gearing up to say something he'd been sitting on for a while.
All his words were about Peggy, and Steve still had a hard time understanding how he could bring her up so casually, when he knew it probably hurt Bucky to do so. It had to, right? Feelings didn't just go away, didn't disappear because you'd decided to step aside and let someone else slip into the spot you wanted to be yours. It spoke volumes about how much Bucky really did care for Steve and his happiness, but it also left Steve with a sick, sour feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Some days it felt like all he'd ever had to offer Bucky was pain. At the very least, he was a burden. He'd been one when he was a kid, and he was undeniably one now; that weight pressing down on Bucky's shoulders wouldn't have been nearly so heavy if Steve hadn't gotten himself so thoroughly in trouble, taken on a fight he didn't have a hope of winning, and one in which Bucky couldn't intervene.
He already knew he wouldn't be accepting Bucky's offer. At least, not the way Bucky had framed it. He couldn't stand the idea of pocketing that flask and bringing it to Peggy, the two of them stealing some last moments of happiness while Bucky sat here, alone.
Bucky deserved far, far better than that, even if he was obviously sincere about this, his voice as soft as the smile on his face.
Steve reached out, but he didn't take the flask; instead, he curled his fingers around Bucky's left wrist, the metal cool and unyielding beneath his hand. Bucky had shied away from letting Steve near it, so Steve didn't really know if there were maybe sensors that would allow Bucky to feel Steve's touch. Still, he offered Bucky's wrist a gentle squeeze and smoothed his thumb along one of the grooves at the edge of a plate.
"If this is meant to be about giving me something happy," Steve said quietly, "then you'd better be right there with us. Wouldn't feel right, otherwise."
It was greedy, he didn't need anyone to tell him that, and probably selfish, too, but Steve didn't want to have to make a choice. He was out of time, and that meant he and Peggy were never going to have a chance to build their own history, like the long years he and Bucky had spent in one another's pockets. And it meant he was never going to have the opportunity to work through what Bucky had confessed to him, figure out if maybe his feelings for Bucky did go beyond the strictly platonic, and if so, what did that mean for Steve and Peggy.
He was out of time, and he didn't want to choose. If this was his last chance to be happy - well, there wasn't any happiness unless he had the both of them with him.