Not so sneakily, Steve leans forward as the door closes to watch the shadow of it receed before he looks back at Bucky.

He’s warm, a little sticky from whatever ordeal they had been through still, and in illfitting clothing, but he’s never been happier just to look at someone before. He can feel himself huffing at the way he’s behaving and lowering his eyes to the hand wrapped around the beer he probably won’t drink.

“I didn’t picture after the war quite like this but at least you’re here. With me.”