[ The walls don't slide back up. The guise of Captain America stays tucked away a while longer, for as long as he has the pressure of that knuckle against his chest, he feels human. The soldier, the icon, all of that falls away and for the first time in what feels like years, Steve Rogers can breathe. ]
You're probably right. Nothing can be boring with you around, you make sure of that.
[ A tiny jab breathed on a laugh, because Sam has commentary for everything, has a story for every quiet, dark moment where sleep evades them. Sam takes up room without permission, but Steve gives it willingly, letting jokes and stories fill the cracks in his foundation, where the weight of everything has begun to splinter him at the base.
Where Sam's hand relaxes, Steve's flexes, drawing the other's in against his chest, however brief. ]
Thank you, Sam. For staying.
[ The smile returns, but it's the blues of his eyes that cloud with something grateful, something warm, as if his very heart has climbed up out of his chest and made a new home for itself. Without the walls, without the weight of the shield on his arm, it's easy to be Steve Rogers again.
He releases the hand on his chest, but the one planted on Sam's shoulder gives it a squeeze, a small shake, as if he can't quite relinquish contact, as if Steve Rogers is a man who has been drowning, and has only just found harbor, connection, deprived of touch for so long. ]
It's not too late. We might be able to find that pizza of yours, if you're up to the task. I'm going to call this fight for the oven, I think we're 0-1.
[ sam feels something like relief, in those following moments. in noticing the walls don't go back up. in seeing the way steve seems to let some of that weight and responsibility and captain america fall from his shoulders. normally, sam would simply feel accomplished. would feel a kind of finally in the back of his head. but something about it, right now, feels a little different. like some part of this steve that he's seeing - the man, the person - is new to even sam.
steve breathes, and sam feels himself caught up in the moment of it. of seeing him. of being here. the smile on sam's face feels a bit too young, then, because of it. a bit too wide, a bit too soft. or maybe not too anything at all - maybe the smile simply matches the man standing in front of him. that smile is soon propped up but an eyeroll - oh, is that how we're playing this echoed in the back of the room. ]
Yeah- and you know what? You don't really make it easy, what with your stoic staring and serious faces. I have to work to make this shit fun.
[ sam loosens his hold, then, aware of his own tendency to hang on for a bit too long. to keep touching, even when the moment has moved on. and that is when steve's hand tightens, flexes, draws him in. it's not that steve rogers surprises him, really, but there are moments when sam is reminded of what brought him here in the first place. the genuine nature of it. the belief in who is he, as steve. the smile is back and his eyes are so freaking blue that sam almost wants to get lost in them. in the face of something like that, it's no wonder that captain america - that steve - can make anything happen.
there is the habit, the reflex, to make something of a joke at the thanks. the urge to roll his eyes and say something about steve being a huge softie or don't make this weird or of course, if i wasn't here, you'd be eating boiled eggs or whatever you losers did in the 40s. but something about the tone, even in his own head, doesn't feel right. so instead sam simply returns the look - something equally warm, something equally unafraid of the honesty looking back at him. ]
I'm here for as long as you need me.
[ and its the truth, a kind of heavy, solid truth that fills the space between them. sure, sam has a family. a life. people to go back to and places he calls home. but he knew the day he met steve rogers that whatever plans he might have had weren't nearly as important as whatever this is, whatever this will become, and sam is confident in that.
steve releases his hand, then, and sam almost regrets letting him. feels the loss of the grip as soon as it's gone. the loss is mitigated by the hand on his shoulder, though, and sam finds himself quite okay with it staying there. leaning into the shake just a bit as he laughs. ]
If you're buying, how can I say no? We're coming back for this oven, though. I demand a rematch.
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You're probably right. Nothing can be boring with you around, you make sure of that.
[ A tiny jab breathed on a laugh, because Sam has commentary for everything, has a story for every quiet, dark moment where sleep evades them. Sam takes up room without permission, but Steve gives it willingly, letting jokes and stories fill the cracks in his foundation, where the weight of everything has begun to splinter him at the base.
Where Sam's hand relaxes, Steve's flexes, drawing the other's in against his chest, however brief. ]
Thank you, Sam. For staying.
[ The smile returns, but it's the blues of his eyes that cloud with something grateful, something warm, as if his very heart has climbed up out of his chest and made a new home for itself. Without the walls, without the weight of the shield on his arm, it's easy to be Steve Rogers again.
He releases the hand on his chest, but the one planted on Sam's shoulder gives it a squeeze, a small shake, as if he can't quite relinquish contact, as if Steve Rogers is a man who has been drowning, and has only just found harbor, connection, deprived of touch for so long. ]
It's not too late. We might be able to find that pizza of yours, if you're up to the task. I'm going to call this fight for the oven, I think we're 0-1.
no subject
steve breathes, and sam feels himself caught up in the moment of it. of seeing him. of being here. the smile on sam's face feels a bit too young, then, because of it. a bit too wide, a bit too soft. or maybe not too anything at all - maybe the smile simply matches the man standing in front of him. that smile is soon propped up but an eyeroll - oh, is that how we're playing this echoed in the back of the room. ]
Yeah- and you know what? You don't really make it easy, what with your stoic staring and serious faces. I have to work to make this shit fun.
[ sam loosens his hold, then, aware of his own tendency to hang on for a bit too long. to keep touching, even when the moment has moved on. and that is when steve's hand tightens, flexes, draws him in. it's not that steve rogers surprises him, really, but there are moments when sam is reminded of what brought him here in the first place. the genuine nature of it. the belief in who is he, as steve. the smile is back and his eyes are so freaking blue that sam almost wants to get lost in them. in the face of something like that, it's no wonder that captain america - that steve - can make anything happen.
there is the habit, the reflex, to make something of a joke at the thanks. the urge to roll his eyes and say something about steve being a huge softie or don't make this weird or of course, if i wasn't here, you'd be eating boiled eggs or whatever you losers did in the 40s. but something about the tone, even in his own head, doesn't feel right. so instead sam simply returns the look - something equally warm, something equally unafraid of the honesty looking back at him. ]
I'm here for as long as you need me.
[ and its the truth, a kind of heavy, solid truth that fills the space between them. sure, sam has a family. a life. people to go back to and places he calls home. but he knew the day he met steve rogers that whatever plans he might have had weren't nearly as important as whatever this is, whatever this will become, and sam is confident in that.
steve releases his hand, then, and sam almost regrets letting him. feels the loss of the grip as soon as it's gone. the loss is mitigated by the hand on his shoulder, though, and sam finds himself quite okay with it staying there. leaning into the shake just a bit as he laughs. ]
If you're buying, how can I say no? We're coming back for this oven, though. I demand a rematch.