Living on a razor's edge, danced with demons, tasted death

Bucky isn't sure what that apology is about, and he might have asked for clarification if not for the soft brush of lips against his own. Every thought he might have had in that moment is simply gone, lost in the abyss that forgotten words and memories go, because... for that brief handful of seconds, that kiss is the only thing he knows.

"What was that for?" his voice is a whisper, like maybe if he gets any louder than that, some spell might break. He thinks he knows the answer. He thinks this is something that might have happened anyway, eventually, if they hadn't ended up here; there was always supposed to be more time, but there may be none left. Something about unfinished business or not dying without letting it be known. One last confession of a man with no reason to think he's making it out alive.