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Steve hates it when he’s sick.
He’s already went through six of Bucky’s handkerchiefs and four of his own and his nose is still dripping. It’s to be expected, he supposes, but Bucky never gets sick in the winter like he does. The rasping in his chest that never seems to go away only gets worse and the coldness of his toes only grows colder.
Bucky’s doting-ness only gets more doting.
“Stevie, you all right in there?” he asks from the other side of the bathroom door.
Steve wipes his mouth in the back of his hand and clears his throat before flushing. “Yeah,” he says, knowing full well that he doesn’t sound like he’s all right. “Just give me a second and I’ll be out.”
“Okay,” Bucky replies.
Steve rinses his mouth and blows his nose on yet another handkerchief. Looking in the mirror, he can understand why Bucky’s so concerned for him, but it does look a lot worse than it feels. Really, he’s not that much different than usual, even with the vomiting and the perpetual dizziness.
He pushes through the bathroom door and all but falls into Bucky’s already opened arms. He lets himself be carried back to their bed, lets himself be tucked against Bucky’s chest and cradled like a kid. He doesn’t even mind it, especially with Bucky’s fingers combing his hair off of his sticky forehead.
“’s there anything you need?” Bucky asks after a few minutes. His hand is heavy over Steve’s waist, but he can’t bring himself to care. He snuggles backwards and hides a smile with a cough.
“No,” he says. When Bucky makes a move to climb out of the bed, Steve snuggles further back against him and wraps his hand around Bucky’s. “Can you stay?”
He feels more than hears Bucky chuckle behind him, and when his arms squeeze snug around Steve’s middle, he can’t help but grin.
“That better?” Bucky asks once his leg is between Steve’s and an arm cradling Steve’s head.
Steve yawns before he answers, a little dopey, “Yeah, that’s better.”