The music is old. Familiar. From a time so long past it’s hard to hold onto, try as he might. Things were easier then. Simpler. Or it’s just the rose-colored glasses of looking back. Hard to say, sometimes.

As silent on her feet as she is, Bucky still knew the second she had entered the house. There was a sudden shift in the air. A feeling of knowing he is suddenly not alone. Steve returning from his supply run, maybe.

But Steve doesn’t bother with sneaking around, not when Bucky still doesn’t feel like he can trust himself, no matter how much trust Steve has in him. They’re at odds on that fact, but it’s okay, they don’t have to agree; Bucky is just glad he still has him, that everything he’s done didn’t put a wedge between that couldn’t be removed. He would be in a much darker place without that, he thinks.

Her footsteps are light, and the knock on the doorframe makes his whole body go tense. His fingers twitch at his side, itching and eager to grab the knife tucked into boot.

But the familiar, low pitch of her voice lets a portion of that tension ease out again. His eyes slide shut with the soft sigh that escapes him. After a moment, he abandons the bookshelf to turn toward her, “You need to get better about announcing yourself,” he says and it’s somehow both a warning and a teasing jab all at once.