Bucky is still living in some fantasy land where he's convinced himself that maybe everything won't be fine and they'll get caught - one slipup, one camera shot, one wedding, one international incident the same way Zemo flushed him out - but somehow everything will work out. Somehow he'll know what to say - somehow somebody will listen to him. Somehow things will just not go to shits when the time comes.

He has to believe it, or what are they doing all this for? They might as well just turn themselves in and save themselves the twisting, sinking heartache of being alone, isolated, censured again.

"We'll be okay here." Bucky nuzzles again, relaxing his grip, tugging on corners of the throw to make sure Zemo is covered properly. He's keen to sit up a bit and look for Zemo's clothes, but Zemo is snuggled in so close that he's hesitant to upset this balance.

"Let's just. Deal with it when it happens..."