ᴛʜᴇʏ'ʟʟ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴄɪᴛʏ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴜs ( ᴏᴘᴇɴ )

[uprightness]

Who: steve rogers circa civil war + you, yes you
Broadcast: nope
Action: various;
When: throughout january



[ new year, new memories and what begins as one monstrous headache.

it takes a couple of hours to sort through everything that's new, to make sense of a kaleidoscope of memories, images and sounds. at first, he starts writing it all down, lagos, the sokovia accords, the UN, black panther.

Only the dry details and nothing of what starts to weight down on his shoulders, faces and names that inspire a heavy, intimate, terrible sort of pain.

And so an avoidance of a sort begins that lasts through the two days the new year. Hours upon hours spend on the library aboard the Iskaulit, reading books and making nothing of them. It's an odd sight, Steve Rogers in one of the corners of the room, staring at a book and randomly picking up a notepad and writing something down ( another detail that comes up, scott lang or spiderman ) and then staring at the notepad only to go back and stare at the book.

He might also be found at odd hours at the gym; evidently, taking out his burdens on a punching bag, seemingly lost in thought even as takes out what seems to be a world of trouble on the thing.

It will take these two days of isolation before those of the fleet start seeing steve rogers off the Iskaulit. He'll make a return to the Starkstruck, though this return, too, will be a reclusive matter one will have to actively seek him to find him in the weaponry or otherwise, in his room. ]

Comments

[uprightness]

[ he watches as a smile forms, slow and warm and holds himself back for a moment, keeps himself from kissing at its corners if only to tell her, very matter-of-factly, ]

You're very comfortable.

[ this is usually where his infamous boldness and bravery would come to a halt, a whisper away from telling her what she means to him. But that was before and this is now. Their lips brush, brief and soft. ]

And I love you.

[mucked]

[ oh. it isn't as though it hasn't been communicated in other fashions -- codes and glances and company kept. peggy's first instinct is to write his confession off as a side-effect of grief. here's a man who's lost a person who was (by own first-hand judgment) an equal partner. life should have given them more, not less. but...

but in the end, she can't dismiss it. not least of all because she feels it too: love, like a coiled spring, fit to bust. she breathes in through her nose and stretches her fingertips against the curve of his skull.

as 'first moves' went, this one was mighty bold. peggy touches her lips his jaw -- lower than a kiss, but no less heartfelt. ]

Love you too, darling. More, maybe, than could ever be properly said.

[uprightness]

[ it might not have been the wisest of choices, speaking of love with them wrapped around one another in his bed. He had loved her for years and years, should have probably told her months ago. There were tapped words and stolen moments but they don't compare to this, to being able to tell her, to hear the sentiment echoed back at him.

He hums, low and pleased at the press of her fingertips, slides one hand to move her chin so he could kiss her, sweet and promising. ]

This is more than enough.

[ simple words for an overwhelming emotion. ]

[mucked]

Then -- [ if it's enough ] -- I love you. Steve.

[ she doesn't much mind the where. his bed (as spartan as it is) provides its own kind of romantic cachet. at the very least, it's kinder than a tinny radio wave. kinder, still, than a bridge spanning the east river. ] I love you. [ peggy allows his touch to coax her mouth back to his. more notably, her eyes shut. she sinks into the moment. ]

I love you.

[ with it so unlocked, she fears she might resort to saying it every day. what a risk. ]

[uprightness]

[ their love has been the subject of much talk over the years. he imagines how people must have seen it all, a grand war-time romance of two star-crossed lovers. perhaps it is what the atroma wanted too, a silver-screen worthy moment, an over-dramatic reunion and when that did not come, a tearful, emotional talk of partings, of death and of grief.

that does not come, either. instead, grief is banished, washed away by something else, entirely. it's an intimate kind of sweetness, a striking sort of openness; whatever it is the world intended for them, they make it their own. it's not tearful or dramatic but it is overwhelming in a way that sends a shiver up his spine as his fingers curl against her cheek. something comes to a close while another starts, a frustrated uneasiness that lingered in his bones, a feeling that he has settled into a new century as well as he could but yet, with one missing puzzle piece.

it all clicks easily into place at this moment and he breathes a little easier, chases her confessions into a firm kiss, hardly as fleeting as the ones that came before. it's a lingering contact, open and searching, one kiss melting into another and a breath of her name in-between them. ]

[mucked]

[ it's rare, but she manages to talk herself out of doting on the atroma's gaze. the rush of admitted love; the weight of him against her body; the exhaustion of grief and wonder. peggy briefly convinces herself that they are (indeed) alone in this moment. his kiss doesn't catch her by surprise, and she's less guarded in her reciprocation. peggy returns the kiss of the man mourning her. and in the gentle reply of her tongue she assures him that she is very much alive.

and maybe it's not a perfectly altruistic bit of affection. maybe she wants to assure herself, as well, that she is as alive and warm-blooded as ever. her arm drops to the middle of his back, and she wraps it against his musculature so she might pull him upwards by inches -- up, and against her. drawing him deeper into the kiss. her heartbeat hasn't been this quick since the day they reunited. ]