Winter knows what that motion means, and for a moment he's almost-- angry. Not at Rogers, but at the part of him, the too-big part, that wants to shy away from even the suggestion of being touched again. He knows that he likes it, in moderation: shoulders touching, hands, a head tucked up under his chin. But right now the thought makes him want to shudder and shrink.

He doesn't, but he doesn't come closer, either. He just finishes easing to his feet, and he nods.

Take him home, Rogers.