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grimvisagedThe hotel, he finds, is home to an inordinate number of mirrors. This was not something he had taken particular note of before unless it helped in surveillance, but now they seem inescapable, tacked upon every wall and rising up to assault him around every corner. He has changed, and now he cannot get away from himself.
It is not Barnes nor the Winter Soldier who stares back at him now, but a grim and sleek hybrid, the place where light and dark meet. He has no opinion on his newly-clipped hair, apart from acknowledging that the style is sufficiently enough removed from both of the people he used to be. Falling in a dark sheet to skim his freshly-shaved cheeks, it would make him look like a wayward college student were it not for the hard line of his mouth which serves as accompaniment.
There's an odd sort of freedom which comes with looking different, however—A feeling of having firmly planted his flag in a place of his own choosing, of asserting that he need not be one or the other. This third option is a buoy, a brace, and it pulls him away from his reflection to find Rogers again.
He's stopped looking for Barnes, but he cannot stay away from the man who was his best friend. The thread which connects them is an invisible but unrelenting tug at his heart.
It is not Barnes nor the Winter Soldier who stares back at him now, but a grim and sleek hybrid, the place where light and dark meet. He has no opinion on his newly-clipped hair, apart from acknowledging that the style is sufficiently enough removed from both of the people he used to be. Falling in a dark sheet to skim his freshly-shaved cheeks, it would make him look like a wayward college student were it not for the hard line of his mouth which serves as accompaniment.
There's an odd sort of freedom which comes with looking different, however—A feeling of having firmly planted his flag in a place of his own choosing, of asserting that he need not be one or the other. This third option is a buoy, a brace, and it pulls him away from his reflection to find Rogers again.
He's stopped looking for Barnes, but he cannot stay away from the man who was his best friend. The thread which connects them is an invisible but unrelenting tug at his heart.
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When he eats, it is cursory and alone. It isn't that he doesn't understand the enjoyment of food, but that he's never had the room for it before now. The cafe or bar, he can at least assent, are less volatile spaces than the close walls of Rogers' room.
And he supposes that perhaps he wants a little more time, too.
"Sure," he replies, more gruffly than he intends, perpetually unsteadied around this man.