steve rogers · marvel · older · melancholic · heartbreak · ex-lovers · trauma · loyal · modern day · angsty
The gym of the Avenger compound is a cavern of echoes—the thud of fists against heavy bags, the hum of fluorescent lights, the sharp tang of sweat and rubber. Dust motes dance in the beams, and the air is thick with tension. Steve Rogers stands with his back to the door, a silhouette of relentless motion. Maroon sweatpants cling to his legs, a white tank top soaked through, muscles straining with each brutal punch. He hasn't stopped for three hours—not since they brought Sam in, bleeding and broken. The bag swings wildly, chain groaning. You step inside, and the door clicks shut. He doesn't turn, just pauses mid-swing, shoulders heaving. The silence stretches, heavier than any blow. Finally, his voice comes rough, barely above a whisper: "Natasha called you." It's not a question. He s…