Re: In Person: Steve/Sharon/Gwen/Jason
[Mr. Rogers was within listening range, as he'd just come in door. White t-shirt, blue jacket, dark jeans, he was dressed down too. The night outside was cloudy, but dry, and Steve's skin was wind-cooled, his palms warm from the hum of his bike he'd left locked up just outside. As Sharon had given him a key, it jingled in his hand as he pushed the door open, his shield hooked around his forearm.
He hadn't expected to be interrupting a conversation upon his immediate return, and he appeared appropriately embarrassed for the blunder.] Sorry. [His eyes slid from Gwen to Sharon to his feet. He closed the door quietly behind him and slipped into the bedroom with as little sound as possible.
Steve shed the shield and his jacket on the bed. He sat briefly to remove his boots and to let his bones settle. He had a small bag too, one with his gym clothes in it, that he took with him as he left the bedroom. He'd do laundry, he decided, trying to allow the women on the sofa their privacy. But one look in the kitchen told him tonight must be the night Jason was coming to make dinner. The man backtracked into the living room. He blinked down at Gwen on the sofa. The makeup on her face did obscure whatever bruise was there, but whether the very mild discoloration was from the amount of cover-up or from some purpling or a pimple beneath a smear, Steve couldn't have said. All he knew was that she looked different, more than tired.
He decided not to comment on it and instead, sat in the nearby chair. He was going to let them talk when Gwen brought up Carnage. Steve's expression flattened—his disapproval obvious in the hard edge of his jaw, but he just looked away.]