Re: Marvel: Sharon, Gwen & Steve
[Steve had, of course, first learned to make his bed at home. The oily drag of old blanket, black with dirt from fingers along the fringe, to be tucked underneath burlap stuffed with rags—his pillow. But the Army taught you to be a bit more strict—at least in the barracks. These days, the man didn't even notice he was doing something most people didn't bother with. It was muscle memory, the blanket tugged so tight, so as to have no wrinkles, no creases, and tucked under lip of mattress. He looked a little abashedly down at the bed, but Gwen smiled at him and he returned it. He watched as the quirk of Gwen's lips remained, like ripples after a stone is thrown.
The girl moved across the room and Steve skirted sideways, toward the door, to give her space. The walls came close, buttressed by bookshelves. He settled on bare feet next to Sharon, his hands in his pockets, his gaze following Sharon's to the mirror. He made eye contact with her reflection. Dry incredulity bent into a smile.] Blondes have more fun? Could be.
[—Steve blinked, attention shifting to Gwen. He blushed then. Sure, everyone knew he was staying with Sharon and made their own assumptions as to what that meant—it wasn't hidden, by any means, but, up until now at least, the entire affair had been conducted privately. It hadn't really been acknowledged, and even though Gwen hadn't really done that, it vied near enough that Steve just nodded stupidly a moment before making himself speak.] Oh! Of course. It's, uh, Sharon's place—so. [He waved a hand.] Do you have anything else you need a hand bringing up? [He felt suddenly like his mother and the sense of self-consciousness sharpened.] Are you hungry?