She reaches over and fastens it for him, two straps around the back of his head so that it covers his face from the eyes down. He can breathe through it, but he can’t. It feels like a muzzle. His chest constricts, some wire tripped inside him at that feeling of the mask against his skin—fight it. He wants it off, and he hasn’t even put it on properly.
I hated this for him. When I read this it felt like I was being suffocated as well. My poor Bucky!
