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there are some days where steve feels as if he's back in the war, when the flashbacks are so vivid that he can't distinguish them from reality, when his peaceful dreams meld into nightmarish scenarios in which he can’t wake up from.
it's terrifying, not being able to escape. no one really understands the length a traumatised mind will go to, to bring back buried memories of an inescapable past, of things and events that we wish we could take back, that we wish didn't exist.
there are days he has to stay in bed, curled underneath a weighted blanket with his eyes squeezed shut, or else the comfortable sight of his room will melt away into burning hot sand and destroyed buildings, the sound of his fan rumbling will ricochet off the walls into gunshots, any and every little thing will take him back to the war.
it's one of those days.
steve's hair is matted with sweat, stuck to his forehead as he trembles in fear. he's got a death grip on tangled locks, nails scratching at his scalp as he desperately tries to snap himself out of it. everything that usually helps doesn't - he can't keep his eyes closed, he can't keep the memories from resurfacing, can't keep himself from shaking and thinking the worst.
captain lays next to him, peacefully sleeping and blissfully unaware of the hell steve's mind is conjuring up. steve doesn't care - captain needs his sleep, captain doesn't need to be burdened down with all of steve's issues, not when he's dealing with his own trauma.
captain is there, in steve's eyesight. he’s alive, he’s breathing, he’s there beside him. steve can see him, he knows he's right there, but at the same time, it seems unreal. he wants - needs- to hold captain.
he's scared, though. he doesn’t want it to be an illusion, doesn’t want to pull captain closer, only to discover he’s dead. he shifts closer to the older man, shaky fingers turning captain’s wrist over and pressing into his radial pulse point, feeling the steady beat under his fingers. it soothes him, somewhat, and he sighs quietly, trying to calm himself down.
usually, it helps. checking captain’s pulse, making sure he’s alive, he’s there, but this time, it feels unreal, it feels fake, it makes disgusting bile rise in steve’s throat. he presses his fingers deeper into captain’s skin - he’s warm, and yet somehow ice cold to the pads of steve’s fingertips.
the younger man is spiralling. there are limpid tears that make their way down his cheeks, soaking into the pillow underneath him. captain can’t be dead, he isn’t dead, why does steve’s brain tell him captain’s dead, why does the soft, sleeping figure of his lover twist into the disfigured corpse of a once-living person? a noise like an aborted sob slips out of steve’s mouth, too loud and grating to his ears, but he could honestly care less.
captain shifts on the bed next to him, rolling over to face him and blinking blearily. steve’s eyes widen and he shifts away instinctively, tries to hide the tears streaming down his face and his trembling body, to no avail.
his partner’s face turns from one of sleepiness to worry, and steve can't bring himself to move away as captain gently reaches out, soft fingers brushing against steve's cheek, thumbing away the tears that pool in his eyes.
"hey," he whispers quietly, drowsy and still half-asleep, and steve chokes out another sob, shuffles closer to captain until his face is pressed into the shorter man's chest. "i'm right here, alright? i'm here and we're ok. we're here. you're safe, steve, i promise." captain's lips brush against the crown of his forehead, soothing and soft.
the gentle assurances that flow effortlessly out of captain's mouth makes steve cry harder, and he weeps softly into his partner's sleep shirt, gripping the thin fabric as if his life depends on it. captain's hands stroke across his back, pulling him close and the contact between them helps steve calm down.
his eyelids slip closed as he listens to the steady beat of captain's heart, and when he finally brings himself to open them again, he's back in his room, captain pressed against him and he's safe.
he's safe and he's home, wrapped in his lover's arms, and he's so fucking glad captain here with him.
this happens to a lot of soldiers, he thinks. as strong as everyone seems, they all have their days where they're going through horrific flashbacks and panic attacks because of nightmares. steve isn't alone - he's been through his fair share of them, he's been with captain when he has his own, and although they may differ from person to person, steve is so lucky he has captain with him to help, and he's so lucky he can return the favour.
"steve," captain murmurs, carding a hand through steve's hair, and he looks up at him, bleary-eyed and drained, "i love you so much, y'know that?" another soft kiss is pressed to his forehead, and steve almost cries again - of an overwhelming feeling of happiness this time, of being supported and cared for and loved. captain makes him feel so many good emotions, it's unreal, unfamiliar, but at the same time, not unwelcome by any means.
he smiles, ignoring the way his dried tears make his cheeks stiff, and tilts his head up to press his lips to captain's. "i love you too. i'm so, so lucky to have you here with me."
they lay in bed for the rest of the day, safe in each other's arms, and steve cherises every moment.