If Steve were to be honest, he didn't always sleep that well in his bed, but if he explained that, then he had to get into the reasons behind it. Rumlow would probably understand, he was also a soldier, but Steve didn't have the words for it. He didn't know how to explain that sometimes the mattress was just too soft, the sheets too clean, and he ended up parked up on the living room floor in front of the television instead.

Apparently his trust only went so far, because all he did was smile and shrug. "It's a talent of mine," he said, but the joke wasn't delivered with as much ease as usual. He'd gotten good at withholding the parts of himself that didn't fit in with everyone's ideal of who Steve Rogers was, but it did get tiring.

He took the notebook back from Rumlow and tossed it into his backpack, which he then pulled out of his locker and slung over his shoulder. Steve was a little surprised that Rumlow was that concerned with his eating preferences. Then again, he did what he could to not make his voracious appetite quite so obvious to his teammates. The Avengers teased him enough about it already, he didn't need to add the STRIKE team to that too.

"I'm not picky," he said. "I'll eat whatever you have on hand." And clean out Rumlow's entire fridge, if he wasn't careful. Steve made a mental note to eat a large meal before he headed over, to prevent that from happening.

He closed his locker and then leaned his side against it, turning toward Rumlow to look him over. "So, what time?"