when captain america requests your presence for a meeting, you can’t exactly deny it. to be brutally honest, he had been a hair’s breadth away from telling him no due to this being rather unprompted ( and, well, who ever said he’s liked to have one-on-one meetings with the man? ) ; but, of course, out of the oh so good nature of his heart, he’d told him his availability would open up in thirty minutes. enough time to grab his belongings, pop into a shower, change, and show up on time. and he does arrive, of course, five minutes early.
there’s no clock in the room, but there’s one in his head. tick... tick.... tick. the cold of the seat warms. his right leg jiggles, hands joined and sitting idly in his lap as he stares at the blandness of a darkly painted wall. when the door opens, his attention is cut, and his leg finally pauses its incessant, repetitive movement. perhaps some young agents would be standing up faster than they could blink, but connor’s never quite had that level of respect for the star-spangled man with a plan.
“ — y’know i can’t stand your face. ” a bold claim, given they look eerily alike. “ especially when you look like... ” he trails off and then hands disconnect from where they lay in his lap, one hand waving vaguely in his direction, his own brows furrowing a tad. “ ... that. ”
@rejectory plotted.
