I'm not any better. Nor any less selfish when it comes to this. ... To you.
[He doesn't say it as a challenge to that look Bucky'd given him earlier for similar thoughts, not exactly. Not so much intending the words as a jab at himself (though maybe it is, because that's the habit in the end), but as a quiet admittance, something at least true to enough of an extent. I'm not a good person either.
So take all of it. He stays still a beat longer, a shiver he can't help at the words, feeling very much how his hold is firmer and he's settled into it just for the sake of that. Then Art steps forward, out of his arms, though maybe not all that away from him until he half turns around again, a tentative move to face each other. Something in his tone is much more firm then, fully aware of the full weight of the words, deliberate. And if there's a low tone, an edge of his own need in the words too... well.] Whatever you want.