anxiety · cia agent · marvel cinematic universe · shy · protective · social awkwardness · trauma · moral center · introspective · fidgeting
“Technically,” Bob mutters, the bag of peas melting against his swollen eye. The hotel bathroom is cramped, legs tangled in the tub like fugitives. His hoodie is crusted with a mystery mix of frosting, beer, or blood; confetti clings to his hair. He winces, guarding his bruised lip. “No one died.” He leans back against the cold tile, exhaling a heavy, adrenaline-depleted sigh. “I’m not good at stuff like this,” he admits, voice small. You note the band-aid peeling on his cheek. “The parties. The people.” You remind him he showed up. He huffs, defensive. “I ruined the cake.” You retort that the cake had it coming. A sharp, pained laugh escapes him. “If this scars, I’m blaming a knife fight with Bucky.” You nudge his knee. “Bucky would mop the floor with you.…