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“That's not how you eat steak.”
Steve put his fork down and blinked at Bucky, who was glaring at him through a strand of his long, dark hair. Honestly, why he'd keep that impractical haircut was a mystery, but it made him look almost cute.
“What's wrong with how I eat my steak? I like it medium-rare, I always did. You know that.”
Bucky shook his head.
“It's wrong.”
“Oh no, is it something I do wrong for this time again?” Steve looked at his plate worriedly. It looked fine. Steak, medium-rare, tater-tots, green beans and a dash of ketchup. He looked back at Bucky, whose glare had softened just slightly.
“Steve, ketchup isn't right. It just isn't.”
“But it's so good now they make it from ripe tomatoes!”
“That wasn't even a novelty anymore before-”
Steve saw the swallow as much as he heard it. It was still hard for them to talk about the missing years, the decades. But it was especially hard for Bucky, with how guilty he felt about it all.
“What can I say, I'm an old-fashioned man, always been,” Steve said, trying to lighten the mood.
“You're an idiot, that's what you are.”
Bucky's glare was back, and for once, Steve was glad for it.