“Sometimes,” he said with an achey old man groan as he found a spot on the other side of the bank. “Try to change it up. Sometimes in the woods. Rooftop. Spent so much time sketching people that I think my landscape skills have gotten rusty.” He let out a soft chuckle that derailed into a cough.
He was never sure how to feel when he saw the other him — who looked far more haunted and older than him. Sometimes he wanted to ask what happened but he knew how much talking about loss hurt. How, sometimes, just made some wounds deeper. How’s lus, talking over worked when people were ready. Tony was a prime example. He did a whole lot of talking, but never really said anything.
But now, in this moment, it was even harder to look at him — a haunting reflection of both their past. He was just glad it hadn’t aged The Elder Steve, too. “How’re you holding up?” he asked.