Embers, Not Ashes

“You okay?”

The outline of Steve’s hands, balled into fists inside his pockets, looks too sharp despite the wool barrier. His nice pants. Standing there in his fucking church clothes and all it makes Bucky want is to walk over there and rub him through them until he’s in just as much of a state as Bucky is.

The laugh that catapults out of Bucky’s mouth tastes like bile. “Nope.”