This is a newcomer’s guide to the gym from a social perspective, focused on the trans* experience. This is not a workout program.
This guide draws upon my own FTM experiences, feel free to add your own experiences.
Disclaimer: I live in a diverse city and go to a left-leaning university. My circumstances could be drastically different from yours. Use your best judgement.
The Locker Room
Bring a friend (who you’re out to) along, they can affirm or stand up for your identity if anyone questions your presence.
Rarely is anyone looking at you while changing, especially in male locker rooms. Find a nice little corner and face the walls, or go to a stall to change. You’d be surprised at how many cis people do the same. I’ve changed tshirts in the locker room while wearing a binder tank after 4 months on T without any problems.
You can also try changing in a bathroom that has less traffic first, then walk to the gym. If the weather is cold, wear a hoodie or sweats on top, then take it off at the gym.
Avoid going at peak hours if you are uncomfortable, it is more likely that you’ll have to change in close proximity with others.
Avoid changing next to old people. They are very comfortable nude and will strike up conversations randomly.
I have never showered at the gym, but bring a towel to dry off my sweat, and deodorant to keep the scents fresh.
I find boxers to be easier than boxer briefs. If I’m wearing briefs, I either pack, or find a really good corner without people. Packing is personally uncomfortable after a especially hard session, due to shifting and sweating. Boxers sort of hide everything, and I feel comfortable standing in them for a bit to cool off.
The Gym (mostly the weight room)
You are NOT the only person who doesn’t know how every equipment works. You can:
Ask a staff for help
Watch YouTube before your workout. I sometimes pull up exercise videos during my workout to check how a machine works because I’m too introverted.
If you don’t like to talk to other people and want to avoid chit-chats:
Stare at the equipment as if you’re formulating your workout plan
If someone is at an equipment you want to use, you can ask them “how many sets do you have left”, which means how many more repeats of the exercise they will be doing. A common etiquette is to let you use the machine right after, if you’re hanging around. Be courteous and give the other person room to finish their workout.
Don’t walk between mirrors and the people training in front of it.
It’s ok to not like looking in your image in the mirror if it triggers dysphoria, but still try to make sure you are performing the exercises correctly by bringing a friend along to form check.
You are not weak. Everyone starts somewhere. The huge guy in the corner? He was once a lanky teenager. It takes immense dedication and discipline to reach the level you see in the media.
Here you go! It’s slightly longer than usual! I tried my best to make it as sweet as possible without it being overly sappy for someone like Jughead :) Enjoy!
“Jughead,” you seeth, eyes ablaze, “Get the hell out of my sight,”
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head in what looks like to be disappointment, his eyes filled with hurt and anger, but turns around and leaves anyway. You deflate a little, the argument that just happened sapping the energy out of you and you collapse onto a nearby park bench. It started innocently enough but it somehow just grew out of proportion, and into one of the worse fights you’ve ever had before. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes and you stubbornly wipe them away, unwilling to let your emotions get the best of you as the words he said to you echoes in your head.
Well, here’s a thing kinda inspired by the “knights”-thing. I apologize for the not-all-to-high quality, and for some liberties I took with the campus.
There are several clubs on the campus of Elsewhere, run and staffed by students and young faculty members. Of course, these less traffic than similar institutions at other universities. Who would go clubbing, when being out at night means the risk of being abducted, after all? Even more so when the alcohol flows, the music sounds through the night, when the blood sings in your veins from the rhythm and the exhilaration.
Well, turns out that there’s still enough night life for these clubs to stay open. But people are weary of the dangers, and measures for safety are taken: The doorways are salted (“Drinks are spilled, and we don’t want people slipping”), many drinks are sold in iron mugs (“They don’t break, you see?”) and the spaces in front of them are well lit.
But each of them also has a special position, one that is never spoken of in public. One that doesn’t exist, officially. It is hard to pin down, since the formal designation and job description vary from club to club. Sometimes it is the medical treatment in case something happens, taking care of those who drank to much, responsible in case something happens, an extra bouncer and so on. And one might think of it as a coincidence that all of them are experienced students, or alumni still working in the area. That almost all of them happen to be students of law or chemistry or engineering. That they always come to their shifts with bags full of iron (powdered and solid), dust of aluminium and stores of sweets and pretty baubles. That no club would ever open without one of them.
Or one might recognize them as the militia they are. Not looking for confrontations with the gentry, wary of provoking them, but somebody needs to protect those who would walk home alone over dark paths, those who danced a little to well and may have attracted unwelcome attention, those who might be drunk enough to strike unwise deals.
Their reasons for risking this role are almost as many as there are souls willing to fill it. Most do it out of genuine concern for their fellow students. Others do it so that the rules might not be compromised. But some few… Well, some just lost a bit to much to the Others, and are not willing to let the same happen to more students or are even outright looking for payback.They know that they can’t hurt Them this way, not really. But denying them something They want, well, that might just appear to be worth the cost.
So, something’s been on my mind since last night when I was driving on the highway and had nothing better to do than think about Andrew Joseph Minyard and what an amazing character he is. Andrew’s somewhat reckless when driving. And since, on a good day, he isn’t particularly interested in living or dying or doing much of anything– I can only assume that attitude carries over to when he’s behind the wheel:
(i.e. “[Andrew] pulled at the wheel, sliding the car from one lane to the other without bothering to check the traffic around him.” i.e. “’Don’t be so afraid to die.” i.e. “the car kept gliding across the four-lane road to an exit ramp.” i.e. Andrew literally getting into a car wreck to kill Tilda.)
And Andrew’s one hell of a speeder– When he traded in his old car for his Maserati, he had to drive all the way to Alpharetta from the Fox’s Stadium. Columbia is roughly 10-20 ish? minutes away from where Andrew picked up Neil, but the drive from Columbia to Alpharetta should have taken at least 3 ½ hours, depending on traffic. Andrew made it in less than two (“They were the longest two hours of Neil’s life.”) He cut an hour and a half outta that trek. Mark me down as scared and horny, I’m incredibly impressed with this suicidal asshole and his need for speed.
But… What about the drive back to the Fox Tower? Andrew had two cars at the time– The Maserati that he and Kevin were driving, and Andrew’s old car that Neil had to drive back to the other dealership back in Greenville. Neil followed Andrew, but he said that the drive to Greenville felt shorter than the drive to Alpharetta. Which it shouldn’t have, because that trip should have only taken them about 2 ½ hours, maybe less (again, traffic, rush hour, etc., etc..)
Unless Andrew was speeding. Now, before I went through the books to check my receipts, I thought that maybe Andrew would bite the bullet and go the speed limit for Neil’s sake, let him cruise behind him at a leisurely pace. Which was a beautiful visual in and of itself. Grumpy af Andrew wanting to speed but forcing himself not to because he knew Neil was having a bad day and he should #chill.
But no, lmao. This asshole sped like a motherfucker down the I-85, weaving in and outta traffic like the reckless bitch that he is, cutting people off left and right and letting Neil handle his own devices and try to keep the fuck up. Like… Being in a car when somebody is doing that is one thing– but trying to follow a car that’s doing that is the worst fucking thing in the world. Imagine poor Neil giving the little I’m-so-sorry-my-boyfriend-is-an-asshole wave when he passes the driver that Andrew almost made swerve off the road. Kevin being all “Jesus Christ, Andrew, will you slow down?” And Andrew ignoring him and pressing harder on the gas pedal, just to spite him and Neil.
Just.. Andrew Minyard being an asshole behind the wheel and not giving a single fuck about what you think.
(notes! Four out of thirteen done! Thank you to the anon who told me to keep writing, I appreciate it dearly!)
•So this one is that whenever you get hurt, your injuries appear on the other
•if your soulmate takes care of the injuries they hurt less
•if your soulmate dies, you can physically feel it
•some people have passed with their soulmates
•Okay, so your parents split up when you were pretty young
•you went with your dad, but your mom gets you on some holidays
•with the divorce going on, and then the after affects, you didn’t really care about soulmates per say
•like If you met yours great!! But if not, you’d be fine
•you wanted to fall in love with them of your own will
•not cause the universe decided that you’d be a good couple
•your father owned a chicken restaurant and when you weren’t at school You were helping out
•making deliveries, cleaning up, being a waiter, however you could
•subsequently you had a lot of little injuries
•and you were pretty clumsy to begin with, but funnily enough your soulmate didn’t seem to get hurt
•you felt a little guilty knowing that they felt the same pain as you so you tried your best to not get hurt
•but you couldn’t really help it, you just moved to quickly, your body moved quicker then your brain
•you were one of the people with the “do it first then think about it” mentality
•you’d been making deliveries since you were thirteen
•recently your dad had gotten you a moped, so it would go by faster
•and it helped
•so one day when your dad got a huge order of chicken
•he was gonna send it with one of the men who delivered in a car
•but you were like nope I got this
•so you loaded it up, and waved bye
•and drove off
•since you were allowed to drive on the sidewalk and streets
•you usually ride on the one with less traffic
•today that was the street, so on the street you went
•speeding up so you wouldn’t be late, you continued going up
•When the gps told you that you had arrived
•you parked on the sidewalk
•and went to get off your moped
•but like I stated, you are as clumsy as a just born gazelle
•so you tripped, badly
•twisting your ankle, as you fell down
•letting out a gasp as you felt the shock go through your body
•it the back of the moped, you kept bandages and gauze
•wrapping your ankle in the gauze, you squeezed your foot back into your sneaker
•making your ankle throb, but that was the best you could do right now
•taking the chicken out of the basket on the moped, you went into the building
•looking at the receipt that you were supposed to give, you found that it was on the fifth floor
•and there was no elevator…
•letting out the biggest sigh you could manage
•you started walking up the stairs
•trying to not put pressure on it, making you limp
•halfway upstairs, you saw two boys who were fooling around
•"you guys should wait till you ma-“
•you were cut off by one of the boys starting to fall backwards
•dropping the chicken, you put your hands up to make sure he didn’t topple over
•bracing yourself, you felt the boy lean into you
•having to put weight on both of your ankles, making you let out a shriek
•you didn’t fall over, and he didn’t get hurt so it worked
•"you really shouldn’t play on stairs”
•picking up the chicken that luckily hadn’t fallen
•you smiled at the two boys who were still shocked
•and limped around them
•determined to make this delivery
•besides having to take a small break on the fourth floor
•you were fine
•when on the fifth floor, you could hear the boys trailing behind you
•trying to pay attention on not falling, you ignored the pain, and their voices
•knocking on the door finally, you waited for an answer
•but the two boys were behind you, shifting their weight from foot to foot
•"can I help you?“
•you were a little irritated, but you were still polite
•the one who fell opened his mouth as if to speak but at the same time the door opened
•"Vernon! Seungkwan! What took so long, seungcheol’s soulmate hurt their ankle!”
•a boy at the door said quickly at the males
•not noticing that they weren’t the only ones there
•"uh hyung, we uh were waiting for the food.“
•the boy who had fluffy brown hair and sass in his voice said
•letting out a soft snort at his response
•"that’ll be 28.95”
•making yourself known, you asked for the payment
•so you could go home and be done with this
•"okay let me get coups’s wallet!“
•he smiled, his eyes closing, then walking to get a wallet
•the two boys looked at you
•looking up and down, they looked at the ankle that you were avoiding putting weight on
•before they said anything the boy with eye smiles came back
•"here you go!”
•trading the currency for the chicken
•you thanked him before limping off
•hearing the door close behind you
•you let your brain wander as you attempted the trip down the hall
•'he said that guys soulmate hurt their ankle’
•'nah, probably not me’
•as you were about to make it to the end of the hallway, you heard a door slam open
•effectively making you freeze in your steps
•did the sauce spill on the chicken? Why was he yelling?
•as he hobbled towards you, you turned yourself around so you would be face to face
•when he was close enough to you, that he wouldn’t have to scream
•seeing him open his mouth and then close it
•"did you hurt your arm, and then split your lip in the same day recently?“
•He asked you, while running his hand through his black hair
•"yeah, why? oh”
•realizing what that meant if he knew
•you smiled at him, looking at his ankle, which had pink bandages on it
•looking down, his cheeks started turning the same shade
•"I think your friend might eat all the chicken"
•you said at him, trying to ease the tension
•"Yeah, they might. Wanna join us?“
•he asked motioning towards his apartment
•"I’d love too.”
•Both of you hobbling towards the door, he had slammed open
•he introduced himself as the dad of twelve kids
•making you giggle
•"I guess I’m a mom now, huh?“
•making him blush once more
•but smiling at you, falling in love wit you rapidly
•his eyes twinkling and you’re sure your eyes are doing the same
•seungcheol kept bandages on hands since you were so clumsy
•and you were right
•you adopted twelve kids, even though jeonghan would still ask chan
"Who’s your baby”
•which would make you giggle and ask him the same
•you and Him were the mom and dad of the group that everyone came with their problems
•heard hoshi call him coups that one time and now won’t let him live it down
•"ay yo coups!“
•makes him turn red, making you laugh
•little do you know that it’s because he likes the way you say it
•so haha jokes on you
•except not really because now he just starts to get a hard on when someone calls him that
So apparently there is a sport called fire hockey which is played at night where in the puck is a roll of toilet paper wrapped in chicken wire soaked in kerosene and lit on fire. If you use good toilet paper it burns for about 10 minutes. This is the PERFECT sport for Mick.
Len squints at the scene before him in morbid curiosity.
“On fire? Yep.” Lisa is completely deadpan.
She points and he follows her finger through to - ah. Mick. That makes sense. He’s standing in the goal post at the end of the cul-de-sac.
“How long has it been going?”
She shrugs and crosses her arms, leaning against the power company box that marks the end of the lane. “About an hour? He rounded up a bunch of the boys from Ells street playing street hockey and dragged them over here where there’s less traffic. Guess he got bored of you taking forever.”
“I was making plans.”
“Don’t tell it to me.”
It’s then that Mick seems to finally notice them and waves. His eye was fixed on the fireball that was their puck before that, but it appears to have burnt out finally. His stick is a little singed but so is everything Mick owns. Though he doesn’t normally play hockey, let alone street hockey, so Len doubts it’s his stick. Probably a donation from one of the neighbor boys, all of which are closer to Lisa’s age than his and Mick’s.
“Hey Lisa!” Mick calls, waving, “toss us another?”
Len’s ready to roll his eyes. “We’ve got shit to do, Mick!” he calls back, hands cupped around his mouth.
“One more round! It’s fast!”
Mick’s grin is wide and Lisa grabs a – is that toilet paper? She lobs it in Mick’s direction and he’s quick to catch it.
“You gotta be kidding me.”
She’s smiling now. “No clue where he got the idea but I gotta say, Lenny – your friends are creative.”
He nods, bemused, and watches Mick wrap it up and douse it in what can only be one of the many flammable fluids he likes? Butane? Kerosene? Either way, the layers must keep it burning. Len can see how it works, the appeal, at least for Mick.
Now if only the jerk would stop stealing what’s clearly his home’s toilet paper and go to an actual hockey game with Len instead of complaining about the cold.
“One more round,” he says more to himself than anyone else and leans opposite his little sister.
Plot - Betty has been looking at Jughead all day, leading him
to become overrun with curiosity. Why? What on earth does she want? He decides
to really find out, pushing them into an area they never expected to find
themselves in. This takes place after the events of Episode 5.
Looking at You
Jughead felt eyes on him again. He looks up and towards her,
where he knew he would catch her gaze on him, as he had several times that day
at school. He was right. Betty Cooper had been looking at him from across the
classroom. WHY. It was beginning to
get ridiculous at this point, because never had he caught her looking at him so
much before. He stared off into nothing, a moody expression resting on his
Prompt:“dan being late for work or something, racing into the train station, running into phil, falling onto the ground with him, falling in love with the guy below him, and then he tries to run into him every day, getting to know him more and more, as he drops his stuff every day. one day he’s not there, but his business card is, and he decides to visit him.”
Okay, so I work at a golf course and I am one of the 2 female employees, so I use the women’s bathroom. (yay cleaner facilities and less traffic.) 99.9% of our customers are male. So, I have been job hunting and got bloodborne pathogen training for a job I was applying for. Unfortunately, I did not get the job.
The other day, I was working the closing shift and male customers had been in and out of the bathroom all day, so at the end of the day, I go in to clean it.
THERE IS BLOOD EVERYWHERE.
I mean, the sink, the floor, and in the trash can…
I was taken by surprise because I normally have the standard unflushed urinal, pubes, and the sanitizing to do.
I rushed out, grabbed proper equipment to clean it and wondered why NONE OF THE CUSTOMERS SAID ANYTHING.
All the men that had walked past me to get to the bathroom had no apparent injuries. So they used a bloodied bathroom and didn’t bother reporting it to me so I could clean it!
The Causes and Cures of Insomnia (according to Oikawa Tooru)
He told him not to call. But he wants to so badly. Every fiber of his being except for his racing brain urges him to hit speed dial, because of course his number is the one that would be there. Oikawa looks at the picture on his nightstand but it’s just a blur in the dark. He turns on the light, hopes that will help, but it doesn’t. It just makes the image seem small and not nearly enough.
A whimper escapes his mouth and he throws his phone across the room. Why? Why can’t he call? He’s so used to calling Iwaizumi that doing anything else feels wrong. He’s cold, and his mind is lost. For as long as he’s known, Iwaizumi’s been the only one who could find it. How will he find his way, now?
With this manner of thought on repeat, the night passes slowly. Oikawa leaves the house as the sun rises, though it’s still about three hours too early to go to school. He tries not to look at the house next door. Wills himself to focus on the brilliance of a sky that looks dull to his tired eyes and mind and heart. Tries to zero-in on the birds chirping back and forth, but that only makes him remember how alone and ungrounded he is. Attempts not to break down because Iwa-chan is so close but so incredibly far away and fails miserably. He relents and turns his head and freezes.
Because there he is, sitting on the step in front of the door to the house Oikawa had tried so hard to ignore. “Iwa-chan…” he whispers. Iwaizumi can’t hear him. There’s no way. But he apparently see’s his lips move, because something in his expression shifts. He offers Oikawa a somewhat tentative wave and Oikawa tries to stop his hand from shaking. When that fails, he returns the wave with a nod.
“Good morning, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, walking over. The expression on his face is one which he’s been wearing more often recently, but Oikawa still can’t identify it’s meaning. He finds himself thinking that it almost looks like disappointment and wonders irrationally if Iwaizumi really can read his thoughts. “You’re up early.”
“I.” Oikawa suddenly can’t speak. “Mhm,” he manages.
They stare at each other for a few seconds, and then both speak at once.
Then they fall silent again. Iwaizumi’s lips quirk up into a smile and Oikawa’s stomach drops.
“What’s going on, Oikawa?”
But Oikawa just shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. He remembers, finally, how to act normal, and urges his lips to find that wide smile he normally wears. “It’s nothing, Iwa-chan! I just had to get up to do my hair!”
With a fluttery wave and a peace sign, he’s moving back into his house, leaving Iwaizumi looking after him thoughtfully but eventually returning to his own home to prepare breakfast.
They both emerge later to walk to school together in their usual silence. It feels a bit more tense than normal to them both, but neither comments. Iwaizumi notes that Oikawa’s smile looks more painful than normal. Oikawa notes that his smile is a bit more painful than normal. He attributes it to lack of sleep.
For Oikawa, the day passes by in a blur of loud noise, half-closed eye lids, and sore cheeks. He is glad when it is time to practice, but finds even the familiar motions of setting to be a struggle. Since he’s at the center of his team, everyone notices. Iwaizumi scolds him, but nobody else comments. The coach tells them to go home early, and for once Oikawa is grateful instead of angry.
As soon as he starts walking home, he can tell Iwaizumi isn’t going to let this slide. It could be his imagination, but Oikawa can practically feel the anger and disappointment rolling off of his best friend in waves.
“Hey.” Oikawa looks up. Iwaizumi doesn’t sound angry. He doesn’t look angry either. He looks… tired. And that might be even worse than angry. Guilt wells up in Oikawa’s chest.
“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan. I’ll practice extra–”
“Oi, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi’s words are harsh, but his voice is still quiet. “That’s not– I wasn’t– I’m not mad at you. Or disappointed. Or anything. I just– well. Are you okay?”
Oikawa hums. He wonders how Iwa-chan can look so mean but be so nice. “It’s nothing, Iwa-chan, really.”
Iwaizumi grunts but doesn’t push it. They part ways in front of Iwaizumi’s house and Oikawa lets his smile drop with great relief as he turns away.
The relief fades quickly as he enters the empty house. His shoes fall of his feet and he falls onto the couch, not even having the energy to go up to his room. But he doesn’t sleep. He thinks about everything that went wrong today. He thinks about how he should be studying for his test tomorrow but can’t remember what class the test is even in. He thinks about how he could at least be practicing to make up for playing terribly today. He thinks about Iwaizumi, and why he had pulled away from him. He wonders if he finally became too annoying for Iwa-chan to deal with. Too loud. Too arrogant. Too much. He wonders if Iwaizumi knows that he can only act like that because Iwa-chan is there. Because he thought Iwa-chan would always be there.
Eventually he decides that lying there doing nothing is the absolute worst feeling, so he gets up and grabs a volleyball from the garage. It’s chilly outside, but the bite of the wind feels good. It keeps him awake. He practices some light sets at first, but quickly progresses into angry serves that don’t ever seem to hit the driveway right where he wants them to. It isn’t until one of them hits a vase filled with dead flowers near his garage that Oikawa snaps out of his stupor. The thing just shatters, and Oikawa shatters with it. He crumples. His knees buckle. Now his stoic expression falls. So do tears. Breathing becomes impossible. He wonders if he’s dying.
And then Iwa-chan is in front of him, arms crossed, looking down, and Oikawa wants to run. He doesn’t want Iwa-chan to see him like this, doesn’t want to be more of a burden. But Iwaizumi reaches out and catches his arm before he can flee. Desperate, Oikawa attempts to rub the tears off his face, but they are quickly replaced by the now steady flow.
“Huh?” He says, trying to play it off. “Iwa-chan, let go. I’m fine. I just- just have something- in my eyes. Both eyes. Really. Iwa-chan. Everything–” He swallows. “Everything’s fine.”
But Iwaizumi won’t let go. He leads Oikawa to the Iwaizumi’s car and deposits him in the passenger seat.
“Um. Iwa-chan. What are you–”
“We’re going on a drive.”
“I don’t think your dad–”
“It’s fine. He’s on a work trip.”
“Do you even know how–d”
“It’s fine, Oikawa, just relax,” Iwaizumi shushes him and starts the car. “Seriously. Take a nap. Or just sleep the whole night.”
“Go to sleep, Shittykawa.”
With his eyes already growing heavy, Oikawa has no more energy to protest, and he drifts off without another word. Always a light sleeper, he wakes up when he feels the car come to a stop.
“Where are we?” He asks sleepily. Iwaizumi scratches his chin.
“Not entirely sure.”
“What?” Oikawa looks out the window in alarm. “Iwa-chan, are you kidnapping me or something? We’re in the middle of nowhere! How long have we been driving, anyway?”
“About two hours. It’s fine. We have more than enough gas to get home. And there’s less traffic here. Just get out of the car already.”
Not sure what else to do, Oikawa complies. And when he does, the view takes his breath away.
“Iwa-chan, the sky…” He trails off.
“Yeah.” The sky is full of stars. It’s incredible, to say the least.
“But, Iwa-chan, why–”
“Because you haven’t been sleeping. I thought it might help. I wanted… to help.”
Oikawa is immediately overcome with confusion.
“But, Iwa-chan, you… Why? Why didn’t you– Why did you tell me not to call?” Oikawa shakes his head, presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, wonders if he’s still dreaming. “Iwa-chan, you help me sleep even better than the stars. I thought– I thought you didn’t care.”
A blush creeps up Iwaizumi’s neck - the other reason he’d decided to take Oikawa to the darkest place he could find. Still, he isn’t cruel enough to leave him in the dark forever. If he were more courageous, it wouldn’t have taken him even this long to fix.
“Oikawa.” He tries to swallow but his throat is suddenly dry and he coughs instead. “I– Well. It wasn’t anything you did. I guess, if anything, it was because I care too much.”
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says breathlessly. “What are you trying to say?”
“Just. I think. I somehow… fell in love with you. And I didn’t think it was right to keep sleeping–”
Oikawa sacrifices hearing what exactly Iwaizumi thought wasn’t right in exchange for silencing him with a kiss. It’s soft, quiet, lighter than air and, in that moment, even more necessary.
An hour into the drive and Dean was going 90 down a road with one hand on the wheel and the other holding a half-eaten, condiment-soaked diner to-go burger, a soda sitting in the cup holder and a container of fries resting between his legs. Sam enjoyed a vegetarian burrito and an iced tea and you just got a large fry to snack on.
And if Dean’s messy eating habits weren’t enough to gross you out, he then proceeded to belch with gusto.
“Those bruises on your neck,” Sam starts, a few days after Steve breaks them out of prison.
“It’s nothing,” says Steve, firm, final, a clear order: back off.
“That serum makes you heal faster than normal,” Sam continues anyway. “So to leave a lasting mark like that, I figure you’ve gotta be getting the same injury daily. Or nightly?” He looks at Steve significantly.
“Forget it,” says Steve in the same tone of finality.
“Hey man, I’m not judging,” says Sam. “As long as you’re staying safe, whatever gets you–”
“It’s not like that,” Steve interrupts, flushing slightly. “We’re not– Bucky has nightmares.”
Sam presses his lips together and gives a noncommittal hum leaning toward disapproval.
“He just doesn’t always wake up right away,” says Steve, a little defensively.