Bucky was sprawled across the bed, the book open awkwardly in his hand. He had showered, his hair curling at the ends and clinging to his face - he had long since given up pushing it back, it was intent on sticking to his face. He was in the same clothes as before, but they were wrinkled in a way that suggested they had been washed and dried in some haphazard way, namely Bucky had washed them as best he could in the tiny sink and spread them out to dry.

"See, told you he was okay."