A really terrible, awful, dumpster-fire of an idea, but he hadn’t the heart to tell whomever’d PUSHED him in this direction ( there’s a joke there, somewhere, about the arc reactor ). He’s got the suit on, OBVIOUSLY, with the faceplate flipped back, exposing the scuff of rough skin around his jaw in desperate need of a shave. It doesn’t, however, make clear the slight dip that’s worked its way into the base of his spine, the SLUMP of his shoulders beneath the squared-off line of the armor. 

There’s rattle at his back and he quickly attributes it to a pebble that’s been kicked along the cracked cement. Stark WILLS his heart to slow inside his chest–– it’d LEAPT up like a waiting dog at the sound of quarry. When he turns, it’s a SLOW, three-pointed shift, his jaw finally turning last to follow the motion over his shoulder. 

❛ Rogers. ❜