After coming out of the ice, Steve had never neglected his workouts.
"On your left."
Early morning.
An innocent morning jogger with dark skin heard a nightmarish voice beside him.
He turned to see a hulking white guy racing past him.
Black Runner immediately gave chase, but soon he couldn't even see that distinctive all-American ass.
He slowed back to a jog, and after running for a while, Black Runner heard the familiar voice again.
"On your left."
"My left. I know." Black Runner gritted his teeth and forced a smile.
His body was far more honest: he sped up, then got left in the dust...
Another lap went by, and the sky grew brighter.
The merciless white guy came charging up on his left.
Black Runner panicked. He really panicked.
"Don't say it! Don't you say it!"
The white guy breezed past him, leaving him with a rear view of that all-American ass.
Black Runner had to stand strong.
He collapsed beneath a tree, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath.
"Need a doctor?" Steve approached without a drop of sweat on his clothes.
"I need a new set of lungs." Breathless from the run, Sam gave a rueful smile. "You just ran thirteen miles in half an hour."
Even during his time in the military, he had never seen anyone manage that.
For Steve, though, it was nothing out of the ordinary. He said casually, "Got a late start. Had to stretch my legs."
"Really?" That humblebrag made Sam grit his teeth. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Go run another lap."
Steve liked him. It was the mutual respect between soldiers. He asked, "What unit were you in?"
"58th Airborne Rescue Division. I work at the Veterans Affairs Office now," Sam said, introducing himself. "Sam Wilson."
"Steve