Chapter Text
The asthma camp Steve’s mom had convinced him to attend was surprisingly not terrible, almost fun even. Well, apart from Lance fucking Tucker sitting on the side-lines of the running track slurping a milkshake and insulting him.
“You call that running, Rogers? My grandma runs faster than that!”
“I’m not even supposed to be running.” Even Steve knew that was a weak defence, but his brain was currently working on half-rations what with his stupidly immature high school jock-crush deciding to turn up in the middle of nowhere Texas.
Steve starts coughing before he even makes it halfway around the track. With Tucker needling him, he feels like pushing himself at least until the finish line, but he reluctantly slows to a walk before he actually triggers an attack. So far, his chest just felt itchy and tight, but at least he was still getting enough air to not need his inhaler.
“So, that’s,” Lance obnoxiously slurped his milkshake. “Jeez, Rogers, I think you almost made it halfway around the track. Wouldn’t’ve pecked you for an elite athlete.”
“At least,” another cough. “I have an actual medical condition.” Fuck, he’s embarrassingly wheezy today.
Just a few more steps to where Lance was sitting, pulling out a– fuck, pulling out another burger. His white t-shirt was pulled so tightly across his gut, Steve could see the indentation of his belly button through the fabric.
“Save your breath for walking over.” Lance shouldn’t be hot while talking with his mouth full, but here Steve was fighting the useless fluttering in his stomach. Steve actually shut up before he said anything like that out loud.
Steve sat down on the ground in front of the grubby plastic bench Lance was holding his impromptu picnic at.
“Like I was saying I have a condition, you’re just a glutton.” Steve wished he could wipe that self-satisfied smirk off this idiot’s face.
“A glutton? I’ve heard worse.” And he takes another fucking bite. All his attention on the beige calorie bomb between his fingers.
“I’m just pointing out facts, haven’t even tried to insult you yet.” He had.
“Go on then. Hit me with your best shot.” And Steve went on the offensive, digging up everything that he had wanted to say to Lance Tucker to finally wipe that useless grin off his face.
“You look like an over-stuffed land whale. I’d be surprised if you could get up on those gymnastics bars again even if you wanted to. Once you weren’t the golden boy anymore you filled the void with fast food and booze. You gained thirty pounds in, what, three months? That’s an addictive personality latching onto anything that gives them an ounce of serotonin. All your clothes are two sizes too small and that’s all anyone ever talks about anymore. I’d be surprised if you could even zip that jacket. And you’re just sitting on your fat ass and stuffing a double meal combo down your throat like that’s gonna solve anything.”
“Not hearing any of those scathing insults yet.”
“And you’re probably the kind of pervert that likes it.” Lance’s shit-eating grin morphed into something almost taken-aback.
“Ooh, that’s a new one. Good job, Rogers, but then you’re one too.”
“Excuse me?” Steve could’ve passed for thirteen right there, the way his voice cracked.
Lance leaned back on one hand, wiped his other on his shirt and then raised it to count off, “Thirty pounds? Check. Two sizes too small? Check. Two meal combos? Almost check. I did bring a PB&J to tide me over until they had the food ready.”
“Plus, breakfast at the camp?”
“Gotta keep up the appearance.”
“What appearance? If anything, you’ve gained weight in the past week.” One last desperate stab at Tucker.
“Case in point.” Back on the defensive.
“Well, you didn’t deny it either.”
“What can I say? It turns me on.” Steve must’ve died and gone to heaven.
“How’d you figure that out after following an athlete’s diet since birth?” Lance shrugged, almost bashful, but his obnoxious grin was back in place in seconds.
“The new kid kinda sparked something.” Steve must’ve looked as confused as he felt.
“Complete nerd. Brown hair. Built like a brewery horse.” Continued confusion. “Fat Cavill.”
“Oh, Henry. It’s not very nice to call him that.”
“It’s not very nice—” Lance repeated mockingly, “And it’s still what made you recognize him.” Steve felt heat rising in his cheeks.
“Well, I’m not blind and apparently I like looking at people like him.” His voice got quieter and quieter towards the end. Instead of a rebuttal it just sounded like a confession.
“So, why haven’t you been stalking his lunch order then?” Steve wanted to be swallowed by a deep and dark hole in the ground to repent for his sins.
“I have not been stalking-”
“Two combo meals.” Lance added in a singsong voice while shaking the empty cup in front of Steve’s face. Steve was preparing to insult Lance scathingly when his eyes were drawn to someone powerwalking across the field.
“Holy shit, is that your coach? He’s built like a fucking line-backer.”
“He is one.”
“He looks angry. Are you in trouble for sneaking out?”
“I’d probably get in less trouble if asthma boy snuck in.”
“Is that a proposition?” Steve could actually see Lance’s expression move in the vague direction of anxious, but then his stupid grin once again obscured anything that was remotely human.
“Light’s out is at ten.” Was the last thing he said to Steve before he pushed him back towards the bleachers and motioned for him to hide.