Bucky drinks in the sound of Sam's laughter. There's not enough of it these days, or the light that blossoms across the shared space between their minds. They don't hide the natural gravity pulling them together, but they do try to shield the strength and vibrance from the other Hosts. Once upon a time, Bucky would've shied away from the affection, whether in private or public, but after years he's grown used to it, familiar and comfortable, and seeks out Sam when he walks into a room. He curls one arm lazily around Sam, brushing his knuckles along his broodmate's skin. Each pass of his fingers sends a gentle pulse of comfort up his arm, soothing the shrill cry of the Nest.

Burying his face into the crown of Sam's head, he breathes in deep musk that has become comforting in its own way. He remembers once being separated on a mission and how finding rags of Sam's pack kept him going for what felt like an eternity. Or how when they finally reunited how he refused to let go of Sam for days on end.

( You sleep okay? ) He already knows the answer, but he still likes to ask.