Work Text:
From "Postcards from Golgotha"
Bucky sits above Steve on the fire escape. He lights a cigarette; the repetitive motion of bringing it to his lips, holding it away, flicking ash off it, stills the tremor in his hands. On the street below, a group of three girls laughs. The moon is high in the sky.
“It’s a relative world,” says Bucky. “Everything is dependent on something else. Nothing’s black or white for its own sake. It changes with reference to other things. I don’t remember it being like that.”
Steve leans back slightly. His shoulder grazes Bucky’s knee. “It’s still not. Some things are absolutes.”
