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Bucky sat straight up in bed, chest heaving from his nightmare, sweat plastering his hair along his scalp and the sides of his face. Steve was wide awake in a split second, light sleeper that he was, and he pulled Bucky’s face into his chest.
“Breathe with me,” Steve instructed, like Bucky used to do when they were kids. Bucky blinked away the last visions of the nightmare and forced himself to focus on the solid muscle under him, on Steve’s even breathing. “Was it a nightmare or is someone here?”
“Nightmare,” Bucky answered, almost at a normal volume. “I’m fine.”
“It’s okay to not be,” Steve said. He started to thread his fingers through Bucky’s hair, unsticking it from his face, untangling the knot. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Bucky hesitated, then pulled away from Steve. Their breathing was matched to one another, their hearts beating in tandem. He paused before weaving their fingers together.
“I’m glad you found me,” Bucky confessed into the quiet darkness of three in the morning. Steve pulled his head in with a hand at the back of his head. He pressed his lips to Bucky’s forehead, and Bucky bowed his head slightly, shutting his eyes.
“You’re safe with me,” Steve promised him. Bucky nodded.
“Thank you,” Bucky whispered. Steve tipped his head down so their cheeks were flush.
“Thank you,” Steve murmured back.