Steve who was incredibly touch-adverse when he was younger. Steve who grew up constantly being poked and prodded at by doctors and nurses, with a physically abusive dad, with a chip on his shoulder about needing to be strong on his own. And Bucky, naturally touchy, who grew up with a family of sisters. All of them are clingy and loving. Bucky, who learned how to braid hair, how to take care of small children, how to give the best hugs.
And Bucky knows Steve doesn't like touch, and that's fine. Bucky can show his love in other ways, but god. Sometimes he just wants to pull Steve into the biggest bear hug. Bucky finds excuses when he can. He's always slinging his arm over Steve's shoulder, nudging him and pulling him along. Bucky whos always trying to find some excuse to touch Steve. Steve, waking up in the 21st century incredibly touch-starved. He's living in a society where platonic touching is more common than ever, and the only person he wants to hug isn't there. Steve in the 21st century, who's always giving his friends hugs, who'll braid Nat's hair when she's reading next to him on the couch, who'll join cuddle piles without any hesitation. And then- and then-
Bucky is back. Bucky is back, and the second Steve moves towards him, weapon down and palms open, he flinches. Bucky, who was always the one to initiate touch, now barely able to handle being in the same space as other people. And Steve understands it. God, does he understand it, but it hurts. And he can't help but wonder if this was how Bucky felt when they were kids.
anyway. yeah.
