Re: Log: Bucky B/Steve R
[In sweatpants and a t-shirt, it's clear Steve hasn't been out of the Tower in some time. He hasn't been to the gym since before the attack. He hasn't gone on a run, and as such, he's almost twitching with excess energy—not the sort that makes you distracted, but the sort that builds up in muscles when they're made to idle after growing accustomed to exertion. But he didn't want to leave, he didn't want to have to smile and nod at the camera phones, at the people behind them. For the moment, he's had his fill of the public, of random commenters on the journals, of the flash of photographer's cameras as he sweeps the street with a brigade of volunteers in Boston—he's done with all of it.
His smile, however, never falters. It's white and warm. He just nods with an 'ah, right' when it comes to the wasting of Stark's alcohol. His eyes turned toward his bedroom door at the mention of the music and he nods.] I need to, ah, branch out. But I'm feeling particularly nostalgic today. [The smile goes sad.] How's Nat?