His hands still once Zemo touches him, and he glances up, managing a small smile. It's a small encouragement that might not have meant much to Zemo, but progress feels difficult for him, and any positive sign is one he will happily take and mentally squirrel away to mull over later.

"I'm not going anywhere." He made vows. Vows that mattered, to the both of them, and even if Zemo doesn't remember them, he would know roughly the gist of how those vows might have went. Bucky turns his hand over, curling his fingers under Zemo's, brushing his thumb over the backs of Zemo's fingers and letting his touch linger until their mains are served.

Squid ink pasta really lives up to its name. The noodles are a terrifying glossy black colour. Bucky doesn't seem too fazed though, but, you know, considering he'd eat out of the trash...