Nomad | Hawkeye FF ✓

LANGUAGE

SHE felt suddenly naked with merely her t-shirt, the ends of which draped halfway down her thighs, and underwear on. As if she lacked confidence in herself, she grasped the hem of the shirt and pulled it down, in doing so, she thought it would make it longer. Or something along that train of thought.

Right in that moment, a throbbing pain shot through the side of her temple. She let go of her shirt, squinted and drew her shoulders inward, and shut her eyes completely while she massaged her temples. Ugh, this headache is killing me, she thought irksomely.

Steve heard the faintest of what sounded like moans of pain come in Sophie's direction, and when he pivoted his head back around, smirk still plastered to his lips, his face fell into concern. "Sophie," he said, "are you okay?"

When she heard her name being used from the unlikeliest of people, she stopped rubbing the sides of her head and looked up. Her face was contorted in displeasure, that was evident enough, before the symptom was wiped clean from the owner who held it a second ago. Her lips wobbled to say something, but then clamped shut; her mouth formed into a thin line.

In all despair, her eyes traveled to the couch, arms fell at her sides, and her legs slightly bent at the knees, when she leaned back against the bedroom door and thought, am I?

The simple question obviously meant for something else entirely, and yet, the significance of the query felt as if it had a deeper suggestion spun together in its midst for her. She felt a more sensitive topic began to bloom to the surface, and gave the only honest answer she knew.

"No," she breathed, eyelids fluttered closed. "I have this stupid headache, and..." she trailed off, and held her head as she lowered it, uttering inaudible words.

The soft patter of running shoe's hit the floor the next minute, becoming distinctively closer. "And what?" Steve had asked, his voice not sounding as if it had come from across the room like it was a second ago.

She forked her fingers through the thin locks of her hair, and glanced up at Steve who stood in front of her. Tears shone in the poles of her eyes now, and in a blur, she had vaguely made out his white t-shirt, navy track pants, and running shoes that he wore.

"And what do you think?" she whispered, desperation hung on the end of each word. What she was desperate for, or of, Steve had no clue. "If you were me, how would you feel? Answer the question yourself blondy." Her tears stung harsher this time, dangerously blurring even heavier in her sight.

To her surprise Steve never snarled back his opinion, but rather his face softened and he too, ran a weary hand through his short cropped hair. "Sorry," he told. "Stupid question." He was about to ask how she was feeling, but quickly tossed that out the window.

Sophie crossed her arms in front of herself, and drew both eyes to the floor as her shoulders curled inward. Her right leg nervously hooked in behind her left calf. In the corner of her eye, she saw that Steve was reaching down to her, and began to panic. She did the only thing that came to her mind in that moment.

She untangled her arms, and speedily swooped under one of his. "I don't want a hug, okay?" she snarled, her voice rose as she faced her back to him. "What is wrong with you?" she asked, and spun around. "Why are you acting so weird towards me—is it because of." She halted the next few words that were about to fly off her tongue, or more like, name.

"Sophie, it's—" Alright. Steve once again stopped himself from saying another ridiculous comment. He bite down on the inside of his jaw, frustrated that his familiarity on how to deal with these situations proved to be sticky more and more. Then again, he never dealt with teenagers on a daily basis. The super soldier desperately required more acquaintance with young adults, perhaps Sophie would be the start of something knew for him.