[Zemo finds himself rather-- content with the contact. One arm stays around Bucky, fingertips idly brushing over his shoulder as he explains the local dishes -- plenty of familiar ones from goulash to chicken paprikash to various kinds of other delicacies he'd had as a child.

It strikes him somewhere how domestic this has already become -- and how he should truly be more guarded against it. He's never been a foolish man before, but this feels like something a fool would do, setting themselves up for another loss.]

This is strange, isn't it? I would not have guessed the day you found me in Berlin that I would be sitting in your home, making plans for dinner...