[As it is, reading a book thoroughly with just the one hand is a bit of a balancing act. So, when Sam grabs a chair near a table, Bucky's keen to the idea. He follows, albeit a few feet behind, and settles in a chair a few feet from Sam. Shaking his head, Bucky focuses on the book and calming his breathing. One to seven. Breathe out. The fingers on his remaining hand play at the corners of the pages, but he's not doing much reading, though he is listening.
Going for a run earns a glance at the least, but he's not sure what that entails. He doesn't go for runs, he doesn't exercise on his own, since he's never needed it as far as he knows.
The glass curtain rises, releasing billows of steam as ice meets warm air. Trying to find his feet fails and strong arms lift him from the floor.]
no subject
Going for a run earns a glance at the least, but he's not sure what that entails. He doesn't go for runs, he doesn't exercise on his own, since he's never needed it as far as he knows.
The glass curtain rises, releasing billows of steam as ice meets warm air. Trying to find his feet fails and strong arms lift him from the floor.]