The words You're the one meant to be here, right now, hit Bucky in the stomach like a punch - but a good one. It lets his shoulders relax, a little, as he sinks down in the seat next to Steve. He frowns a little at the box, but more in thought than anything else; he's maybe not surprised, that of everything, Steve might keep those memories closest. Steve never had a lot of friends, a lot of confidants. The Commandos were a close-knit bunch, but of all of them in that little unit... Steve was closest to Bucky and Peggy. It seems like that's true, no matter which Steve it is.

Sometimes, it feels like they fought that war together for so much longer than they actually did. A lifetime.

Bucky lets himself be pulled up out of those thoughts by the way the screen lights up, laughing softly because, "I got you drunk on a lot of your birthdays. And you had a good time."

He has to squint a little at the shop name, but - "Yeah," he breathes, feeling again like he's been smacked in the stomach. It's fucking hard to really process just how many things are exactly the same, given how many things are also different. But it feels like the differences are far outweighed by the similarities. "Yeah," he repeats. "We went there." He glances sidelong at Steve. "And it wasn't even my idea, so now I know your idea of a bad influence is absolutely wrong."

He jostles Steve's shoulder a little, eyes flicking back to the screen. It's like watching home movies, he guesses - which is something he's never fucking done. Not for his life. The closest he's ever come is seeing those newsreels flash across screens in that exhibit they've got for Steve in the Smithsonian.

Well. Steve and him. It's just fucking weird, to be on display like that. He's only been once, since it opened, and he'd stuck to the bits about Steve, painful as they were. Painful seemed easier than guilty and weird.

"Is Peggy still alive? In your, uh, timeline?" he asks, quietly.

Well. That was probably not the best thing to ask. Way to bring down the mood, Barnes.