[In the dim light, with only a sliver of silver from the window making Art's outline on the bed visible, it takes Bucky a long moment to realize he isn't hallucinating, that the voice speaking back to him isn't simply some hopeful effect of his mind (it wouldn't be the first time, would it, when his mind had conjured images of people he knew couldn't be there).
But no, it's real, Art is real, and far more importantly, he's awake. His mouth opens to say something, anything, but the words can't get around the sudden lump in his throat.]
... Art. [It's all he can manage, his voice still shaky, until the disbelief passes, only to be replaced by a rush of overwhelming relief. Art's awake. There's a smile on his face, completely unrestrained, and for a moment, he simply looks at Art, almost like seeing him awake is the single most miraculous sight he's seen for a long while, like he can't tear his eyes away for fear that when he looks back, Art will still be sleeping.
But the moment passes, and whatever spell of restraint was on him breaks away - and in one heartbeat, he's crossed from the chair to the bed, to throw his arms around Art, a wordless greeting because right now, if he were to speak... well.]