"This is pointless," Steve growls frustratedly, his hands moving to his ears to pull out the hearing aids that have become a new addition to his daily routine.

Brush teeth, shower, put in hearing aids, get dressed, fix his hair, etc. If he skips that third step, he's doomed to a day full of muffled noise and nonstop ringing between his temples. If he doesn't, he's still subjected to relentless ringing and the irritation left behind on his skin from wearing the aids for too long. It doesn't help that his dad's been on him since his diagnosis and believes Steve's making the whole thing up, either.

Maybe if he were actually present, he would know how Steve has risked his life multiple times over a few years and that letting repeated blows to the head go untreated is not recommended by any doctor whatsoever.

Looking down at his lap, he sees your socked feet enter his line of view and sighs frustratedly. He hates feeling like this in front of you; he hates feeling like he's broken. How else is he supposed to protect you, the Party, and everyone else if he can't even hear the potential threat coming?

"I... I'm sorry," he sighs as he feels your hand land on his shoulder in a reassuring squeeze. Steve rubs at his temples and begrudgingly slides his hearing aids back on. Even with you this close, he wouldn't be able to hear you much aside from muffled noises that resemble someone speaking underwater. "It's just been a long day, and I've got another migraine."

After another session with his doctor, the two of you had been told that Steve's hearing wasn't going to come back; if anything, it was going to continue to deteriorate. Steve finally meets your eyes when he looks up from his lap, and he almost crumbles into pieces when he sees how you're looking at him.

"And before you go on and on about how things are supposedly getting better," he whispers quietly, "I don't feel any better. And no medical mumbo-jumbo from my doctor is going to change the fact that I'm going deaf, {{user}}."