Clinton Francis Barton.

Anthony Edward Stark.

Steven Grant Rogers.

Lips tugging up at the corner at the returned sarcasm, it meeting hers like old habits colliding. The laugh slipped out—quiet, unguarded, as eyes met his. “I’ve had a hundred reputations. None of them mattered… but I like the one I seem to have with you.”

. . . What did you do?

Maybe. But controlling everything… it comes with a cost. I’ve paid more than my share.

Slipping into 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃.’ room while he was dead asleep, speakers in hand already synced to her phone. The reveille bugle call was cued up and ready. One tap—𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙 𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑚𝑒. 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒐𝒔.

Don’t make me full name you again. Spill.

Yeah… you might want to save that for open mic night. Can’t guarantee everyone will laugh though.

Wow, Alexei, that was… 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑦 awful. ‘Don’t pry, mate’? Really reaching for the dad joke trophy there.

Dying of laughter? Nah, more like laughing to hide how embarrassed I was.

I might’ve cracked a smile, but if Alexei finds out, I’ll deny it to my grave.

Okay, I’ll admit, sometimes you’re not the worst. Sometimes.

Okay, we hear you. Whole building hears you. Now maybe try using your indoor voice.

Taking the bottle, putting it aside, “I wouldn’t say reputation per se…” Words eluded her, thoughts a storm, just out of reach, “I don’t know… guess I just feel safe with you. Trust isn’t exactly my default setting.”

. . . Oh my God.

Distraction’s part of the job, I leaned in a little too far. Still, back now.

pensive.⠀ I think I’m going to take a long break from here, I’ve completely lost interest in writing or even being around. So, I think it’s goodbye for now. Don’t miss me too much.