A THREAD featuring STEVE ROGERS ( @dauntlessresolve ).
disassembled, dishevelled. thoughts that surpass the boundaries of the perennial sources that exhale more conundrums. crafted alongside the syllables of afterthoughts, aftermaths… he sometimes does not dare look back into the mirror, his reflective measures almost a shame, to admit to himself that once, before the fall, before the lapse, before the kills, he harboured a pool of sentiments towards steve rogers. that might be dated back to pre-serum, before captain america’s descent… or so as far as he can retrace, years of memories hiding beneath the seams of erasure so potent he can only recall certain fragments of them. there is indubitably something forlorn sutured along the edge of these thoughts, the cranial pressures sometimes too much for him to endure on top of the sins gauged in lungfuls.
he isn’t into the idea of entertaining the thoughts of steve rogers all the time, but it isn’t like the man has given him a lot of choices to start with. the perseverance that comes with the symbol of the nation himself, it carves more weight in james, the heavy of the haunting past a systematic embed into the system. the askance brandished is a nomenclature to the feelings that he can no longer retain, for he knows steve is better off without a man who doesn’t even know how to atone for the historical poltergeists. the hanging guilt that constantly hovers above his head, and still, steve doesn’t cease the chase. james barely made it past three steps ahead of steve this time, and that was when he believed that it was time for him to put a stop on the game. even if it shouldn’t be branded as such, since the only string tugged back and forth is the filament of their shared archives, and for that, eventually, james decides to desist the run. he cannot keep splintering his own ankles trying to outrun steve.
four years. it’s been four years since the potomac, and he still hasn’t mustered enough courage to look at the massive parts of his past in the eye. except, tonight it matters naught, whether or not he has it.
this is against the turning tides. everything that fights past his elusive nature; it is so unlike him, the ghost story of hydra, but he has shed that identity after hydra collapsed. he has been avoiding the truth, perhaps, the mauling ignominy keeps clawing at his chest but he has decided to place the floodgate back in place. there is no penance to be implored, for tonight, he enters steve rogers’ abode uninvited, reminding himself of the slugs that he drilled past the walls in the attempt to eliminate nick fury. it’s been too long since, but steve has always maintained a sense of his old life in his surroundings, as proven by the stacked vinyl records, alongside the rather nostalgic interior. he imbibes the sight in as he stands in the darkest corner of the room, understanding there’s no sense of belonging that he should be entitled to at this point of time.
steve’s entrance into the apartment is later than usual, james notes. his presence is sensed almost immediately, the way he notices the shift in steve’s stance upon the realisation of having an intruder inside. the front door is closed silently behind steve’s back. the way he treads into the living room is far too careful for someone to return home as typical. james stands quietly, still, until the flood of dim lights illuminates the space between them. he uncrosses his arms as he faces the aghast looks on steve’s demeanour. he compels himself to maintain his gaze where it should be: on the homeowner, since he’s the uninvited guest in this situation. he holds back an exhale as the tension surges. he loosens his set jaw, before clearing his throat awkwardly. “i would like to… talk,” he prefaces it finally. “nothing hostile, i promise.”
