Chapter Two
"You find a pair yet, Cinderella?"
Steve turned away from the mirror, looking up at his friend, Sam.
"I told you to stop calling me that," He groaned, rolling his eyes. "Anyways, what d'ya think of these ones?" The smaller of the two asked, adjusting the glasses currently on his face.
"I think they match your hipster look perfectly," Sam replied with a tiny grin.
Steve immediately shot him a glare. "I ain't a damn hipster!" He shouted, gaining the attention of the other patrons in the shop.
"Yeah, you're totally not one at all." Sam said with an eye roll.
It was true; Steve didn't try to look like hipster, he just kind of had to.
He was basically an accidental hipster.
The guy always has to wear suspenders for his jeans to stay up properly; and since he was so tiny he would wear skinny fit, they just fit better. He always had on beanies and cardigans and gloves because his awful circulation made him cold easily. His immune system was equally as shitty so they were also to keep him from getting sick. Steve's eyesight wasn't too good either so he actually does need glasses, they aren't just for the trend.
He even had one of those messenger bags [which was given as a joke]. Despite how much Steve wanted to hate it, he couldn't; it was extremely useful. The bag had plenty of space to carry his inhaler, emergency meds, and minimal art supplies for when he got bored or anxious.
It's reasons like this that Steve gets so upset when being called a typical hipster.
It's not that he likes or wants to look this way, it's that he has to.
When Steve was a young kid he'd get teased all the time for how he had to dress.
Always having to wear suspenders, his body being too dainty for the clothes to fit after years of health issues. The blond was pretty much the only kid who had to wear winter clothes all year round, including the scorching hot summers. Fuck, he was even teased when he first got prescribed glasses.
Now, years later at the age of 19, and he's still forced to do the same things.
Still living with the same medical problems; bad asthma, circulation just as horrible as then, immune system still shit, eyes even worse [from refusing to wear glasses earlier in life], the list of problems goes on. And on top of all his own medical problems, he also now had his mother's to worry about as well.
Steve looked at himself with the glasses one more time before turning back to his friend and giving him a small nod.
Steve took the black framed glasses off and strolled to one of the worker's desks to discuss which pair he decided on. After filling out a few papers and paying for the frames, he thanked the worker before he and Sam walked out the shop.
"So, where to now, shortstack?" Sam said as he swung his arm around the other's shoulders.
"Ya still fine with making a quick stop at the hospital?" Steve asked, pushing his hands in the pockets of his black cardigan.
"Yeah, of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Don't know, just make ya go a lot is all," The blond shrugged. "Didn't know if it was getting annoying."
"Nah, it's fine," Sam replied as they walked. "Besides if I wasn't here you'd already have gotten your ass beat by now." He added with a quiet chuckle.
A pout formed as Steve grumbled something along the lines of "they would be the one getting their ass kicked" and continued down the sidewalk with his friend.
The two walked inside the hospital, greeting the familiar nurses as they went. Stepping into the same elevator they used almost everyday, Steve pressed the '4' button. Once they reached the designated floor and the metal doors opened the two stepped out and walked down the hall, careful to not get in the way of anyone working.
"Want me to go in or wait out here?" Sam questioned as they walked.
After thinking for a long moment Steve replied with a quiet "I'll go in alone." Sam gave a silent nod as they continued down the hall.
Once finding the all too familiar room, Steve gave a quick knock before walking in.
"Hey Ma, you awake?" He asked, slowly opening the door and stepping inside.
"Hey, Steven." She greeted with a tired smile, sitting up on the white mattress.
"How're ya doin'?" Steve asked, carefully wrapping his arms around his mother.
She returned the gesture as she spoke, "I'm okay, how about you, sweetheart?"
"I'm okay." He replied, moving to sit in one of the guest chairs next to his mother's bed.
"That's good to hear," she nodded, still smiling as she leant back to her previous position on the bed. "How about your friend? How's he doing?"
"Sam? He's doing good. We actually just went for my eye appointment," Steve informed his mother.
Steve had continued talking with his mother for another good half hour.
They talked about all things ranging from Steve's health to his recent drawings to the annoying names Sam calls him. It was nice; talking to his mother like this, enjoying her little smiles and laughs she let out. He wanted to burn that happy look of hers into his memories, knowing he won't see it after much longer. As joyful as she looked right now, Steve knew that it didn't change anything; didn't change the fact that there was only so much the doctors could do for so long.
In the middle of Steve's sentence there was suddenly a knock at the door. It opened slowly and a nurse popped her head in.
"I'm sorry, but visiting hours are almost up, Sir." She informed them.
"Welp," Steve sighed, "guess I gotta go then." He stood up and gave her a hug, saying a quick 'love ya' as he pulled away. Grabbing his bag, he walked out the room and found Sam sat in a nearby waiting room.
"Get your ass up, we gotta go." Steve said as he walked up to the taller man.
"Hello to you, too, then." Sam mumbled as he stood up, stretching his limbs. "How's she doing today?" He questioned as they began walking.
"Better than yesterday, I guess," Steve replied with a shrug. "Not that it really means anything." He added, a sad tone lacing the words.
A small frown made it's way onto Sam's face as he wrapped a comforting arm around Steve as they walked.
"Fuckin' finally we're home!" Steve shouted as he walked into his and Sam's shared apartment.
"You act like we were gone that long." Sam mumbled as he tossed his keys on the coffee table.
"Well, for some of us walking everywhere is difficult."
"Oh yeah, your lungs are broken. My bad." Sam replied.
"THEY AREN'T BROKEN, ASSHOLE!" The shorter man yelled.
"Don't get too worked up or you'll run out of breath sooner." Sam grinned.
Steve was about to shout at his roommate, but was interrupted by a phone ringing.
Sam quickly pulled the device out his pocket and answered it, holding it up to his ear.
Steve stood there, waiting for the call to end so he could yell at the other. Unfortunately, when it did end Sam had pocketed his phone once again and made his way to grab his keys.
"Where you off to?" Steve asked him curiously.
"Gotta go help down at the center, I'll be back in a bit." He answered before making his way out the apartment.
Steve huffed and flopped onto the couch, frown adorning his face.
The blond sat there a while, trying to get those stupid words to leave his head.
'Your lungs are broken.'
He doesn't know why it was getting to him, he knows Sam was kidding. Knows he'd never mean something like that.
His lungs aren't broken.
None of his body is broken.
He wasn't broken.