Steve hated the cold, and he hated tight spaces. Both were hell.

Both happened in front of Bucky for the first time.

It was wintertime, and Bucky Barnes, his boyfriend of three months, wanted to go outside and goof off. And, like a good boyfriend, Steve had happily agreed.

"C'mon, slowpoke," Bucky called as he jogged ahead, turning to grin over his shoulder at him. Steve smiled fondly after him and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

When he had been in the army, he'd done training to fly a plane, get his license -- not his ideal choice, but his best friend Sam had stubbornly said he was going to with his buddy Riley. So, mainly for support, Steve said he'd try too.

It didn't end so great for him. Long story short, he crashed his tiny plane into the icy plains and he remembered lying there, freezing, for hours and hours until hypothermia had taken him, then pneumonia.

It was a miracle he was still alive.

He fell into a coma lasting just over eight months, and developed (among other things) quite the nervous tick when it came to anything to do with the cold or tight spaces.

"Hey, watch out for the pond," he said, his tone playfully taunting but feeling anxiety grip him as he watched Bucky step right up to the edge of the frozen lake.

"What's gonna happen?" He tested his weight on the ice, and Steve clenched his hand into a fist to stop the trembling.

"Buck, c'mon... " He offered him a hand and Bucky took it, then gently tugged him closer.

"It looks so cool, Stevie." He grinned over at him, raising his eyebrows as it dawned on him. "I made a pun! You proud of me?"

Steve managed a smile as he looked over at him. He glanced back at the ice and felt his body tense, felt his hand begin to shake. He stuffed it in his pocket.

"It looks very ice... nah, that doesn't work too well... "

Bucky busied himself with ice puns as he carefully edged onto the surface, testing it. Steve's hand clutched his wrist tightly.

"Don't fall in, I don't wanna have to jump in after you." His eyes flickered nervously between him and the ice. It looked so dark down there, constricting, he could feel the ice pressing into his chest, filling his lungs and mind.

He couldn't breathe properly. He stepped back from the pond and Bucky followed him, aware that something's off but not sure exactly what.

"Ooh, Steve! Look!" He pointed excitedly to an igloo someone had left sitting there, just big enough for both of them. Bucky's eyes were bright as he looked at him. "Can we check it out?"

Steve paused a minute, unable to describe how much he absolutely cannot do that -- his hand was shaking terribly now. He wondered how Bucky couldn't tell. If he found out, he wouldn't like him anymore.

Steve liked him. He didn't want to be judged for something so small, so trivial. Besides, he was a soldier. Sometimes they did stuff they didn't want do. They compromised.

Clenching and unclenching his fist, Steve finally nodded and followed him in, taking a steadying breath. He was surrounded by the ice, in the dark, his shoulders pressed against the sides. He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't breathe at all. Bucky was commenting on how it was cosy, and Steve couldn't bring himself to respond. His mouth tasted dry and suddenly he couldn't talk. Suddenly his vision was shrinking and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe --

"Bucky," he choked, feeling the walls press in, the cold was soaking through his clothes, he was freezing again, he was going to pass out. Bucky was talking to him, his words dulled, concerned, until he finally crawled out and pulled Steve with him.

Steve didn't respond, eyes wide and glassy as he hyperventilated. He shut his eyes -- he was shaking like a leaf. His hand trembled and he shook his head desperately.

"Steve, talk to me, baby," Bucky pleaded, holding his head in his lap. Sweat beaded his brow and he couldn't breathe.

Bucky talked him through it best he could.

"I -- I can't -- I can't -- breathe, I can't -- "

He couldn't form the words, he was shaking, his words were stuck in his throat -- no matter what he tried he stumbled over his words, his head was reeling and --

"Steve," he said urgently, holding him steady. "Deep breath in, okay? Do that for me, I need you to try."

So, he did. Keeping his eyes closed, trembling, he did as asked until he could breathe evenly, his muscles relaxed and he was okay. He was okay.

He was okay.

"Oh my God," Bucky finally breathed, his shoulders slumping. "You scared me. Are you okay?"

There was pity in his voice. Steve swallowed and didn't dare open his eyes, face still pinched with anxiety.

"I -- anxiety," he finally murmured. "I don't -- I don't -- I can't."

"What -- "

Steve took another steadying breath, afraid to lose control again and spiral further, trying to concentrate on the feel of Bucky's hands tangled in his hair. "I just need a second," he finally uttered and rolled to a sitting position, in front of Bucky, hanging his head. Bucky was silent as he waited, focused on the ground as he allowed Steve time to collect himself. 

Steve sat back and shivered. "I was in a coma for eight months because -- because of this," he said thickly, with a vague gesture to the rest of the snowy ground. "There was a crash, and... "

"Jesus, Steve." Bucky shook his head incredulously. "You never told me?"

"Didn't know how. I didn't want to scare you."

"Steve," Bucky said gently. "It's okay. I just want you to be all right."

He hesitated, then carefully took his hands. Steve lifted his head and met his eyes, and Bucky was surprised to find them teary. He wiped them away with a gloved hand and Steve smiled a watery smile. "Thanks, Buck."