Arthur is breathing too heavily as the silence stretches on, enough to make him feel uncomfortable and overdrawn, enough to swallow that down to fuel the heat of his ire, that even when he's just fucking explained himself that Bucky isn't giving him anything.

The knife gets switched into his other hand so he can run his fingers through his hair, correcting the flyaways he can feel when the light breeze changes.

"Tell me things. I need you to tell me what is going on so I can see." It's almost as much a command as it is a despairing plea. And then another flicker of irritation as he snaps, "When was it going to occur to you to fucking tell me anything, in fact? Why the fuck did we stop?"