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“Cap I think you’re depressed.” Nat is standing in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest.
“I am not depressed. And I have a raid in 20 minutes so I need to concentrate because apparently nobody else in this fucking game can tank.” Steve adjusts the headset so the mic is more centered over his mouth.
“Language, Steven.” she jokingly gasps.
“Fuck yourself, Romanoff.” Steve deadpans, not looking up or lifting his fingers from the keyboard.
“Seriously Steve, you’ve been in here for three days. You’re wearing sweatpants for goodness sake! I’m gagging on cheeto dust fumes over here.”
“Sweatpants are comfortable and they’re cool ranch Doritos.” he says, wiping seasoning and sweat from his fingertips on said sweatpants.
“Yeah, that’s...not good.”
-
“You know I’m not actually a therapist/nanny for superheroes. I do have a job and it's--” Sam stops talking to Natasha as he rounds the corner into Steve’s den.
“Howling Commandos is a raiding guild! Do you or do you not even raid, bro? ” Steve is partially reclined in an ergonomic computer chair. It probably came from Tony and had a name only Thor could pronounce. His hands rest on a gel wrist rest, his hair stands out in all directions except what is pressed under the band of his headset, he’s wearing the same sweatpants and shirt from three days ago.
“Hey Steve. Nat and I are going to get burritos and thought you might want to come.” Sam says tentatively, picking his way around isolated piles of garbage.
“Uhh, I don’t know guys. I’m in the middle of grinding, I’m almost at the level cap.”
“Dude. When was the last time you went outside? Or ate a vegetable?” Sam shuffles a little closer to Steve.
“According to the government, pizza is a vegetable so I’m set.”
“Steve you need a shower, and some clothes that haven’t become encrusted to your body, and food that Jarvis didn’t call out to have delivered.” Nat grimaces from her spot near the door. Her voice is slightly nasal from pinching her nose. “We will carry you to the bathroom even if it takes both of us to do it.”