"Well, I'm not looking to distract the chef. I like my meat a little less well done than charred," he said, although he might have been blushing, just faintly. Steve might never, ever get used to the idea of distracting anyone.

He glanced down at the touch, nodding a little. "I guess so. I'm not complaining. Beats being bedridden for a week or few," he said, like he knew what that felt like - because he did. He managed to find a shirt that fit, pulling it over his head carefully. Next were some shoes, and then he was ready to go. "We should bring something for Bucky - later," he said, carefully. He knew if he brought something to Bucky, he'd want to talk to his friend instead of eat. And he was starving. But after he'd eaten... he wanted to make sure Bucky got what he needed, too. "I still hate thinking of him as a prisoner."