The kitchen was a battlefield of superheroes—Sam and Bucky hunched over a tablet at the island, Steve frying eggs at the stove, Wanda levitating a mug of tea toward herself, and Peter practically inhaling a protein bar by the window.

You padded past them all in your sweatpants and cropped top, making a beeline for the fridge. Your hair was a mess, your eyes still heavy with sleep. You did not look at the man with the metal arm. You absolutely did not.