The sweater itself was like a cocoon, pale flecked wool twisted in textured cables, huge and enveloping. Instead of fitted sleeves it had... Bucky wasn't sure what to even call them, wide drapey folds of fabric with cuffs at the ends. He could put his hands through them so they were outside where he could use them, or he could pull them inside like he has no hands at all. If he wanted, he could pull his head through the collar and his feet up through the hem and tuck himself right into the sweater like a tortoise in its shell.
Bookmarked by bookmarc
19 Apr 2018