Please. You say that as if they even let me use it. And it's not really much of a discount anyway, it's insane how much a cup of coffee costs these days—

[ Somehow, thanks to her always prodding at it, Bucky's age has become less something he's sore about and more something he can laugh over; and he can let himself settle into that crotchety 'back in my day...' mentality without being self-conscious about it. It's comfortable, and it's almost terrifying how comfortable it is. It's been months since he lost his last main tether to this world, to other people.

It would be so easy to lean in and get lost in her again, get carried away and see where that particular road led — he'd be lying if he said he wasn't thinking about it — but they're in a small bunk in what equates to a semi-public dormitory, and someone's already checked in on them once. Probably there's a line. Probably they shouldn't cross it.

(As much as, he's realising, he would like to.)

He stops tickling her, but he does flop back against the pillow at the head of the bed, and nudges Daisy's knee with his. Tries to consider what he wants to say, and in the end he can't express all of it, but he does settle for: ]

Thanks for dragging me onto a plane.