[Sam doesn't need to say it, as the sentiment brightens the broodlink. Bucky looks away, as if turning from the sunlight, but the mention of a razor brings him back to Sam. He frowns, brows knitting as he tries to think of what Sam means by razor. First, of course, he thinks of a razor blade, then a barber's straight razor.
He carefully slides the blade up his face, already dressed in a black suit for the funeral, hair slicked back. He'll grab Steve on the way. Silhouettes blur around a grave, at first up close, on a grey afternoon. Then, farther away, three figures gathered under a tree, but none wearing black.
Blinking, Bucky comes out of the set of memories, unsure of if any of them are real. He sees Sam smirking at him and attempts to do the same, if just to return to the conversation.]
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He carefully slides the blade up his face, already dressed in a black suit for the funeral, hair slicked back. He'll grab Steve on the way. Silhouettes blur around a grave, at first up close, on a grey afternoon. Then, farther away, three figures gathered under a tree, but none wearing black.
Blinking, Bucky comes out of the set of memories, unsure of if any of them are real. He sees Sam smirking at him and attempts to do the same, if just to return to the conversation.]
Yeah.