— space cowgirl ๋࣭⭑. ݁₊

✦ MCU

johnny storm ✧ snitch 3.7k || understanding h.e.r.b.i.e. is something you have to work on ✧ superhero 5.3k || johnny storm falls in love, but you won't let him do anything about it ✧ breakfast 2.4k || you wake up in the baxter next to your boyfriend, not having met the other residents

steven grant ✧ sneaky 3.3k || you sneak into steven's life, imitating your own cat's habit

marc spector ✧ aftermath 1.5k || a complicated morning after with marc leads to a spill of shown yet not said feelings ✧ spare key 785 || marc is terrified of what your gift means

peter quill ✧ casette 1.2k || as the milano's handygirl, you obnoxiously (yet in the right) take it upon yourself to just fix it all ✧ dance 1.8k || you share a dance to peter's old terran tunes

steve rogers ✧ suit 2.9k || you finally get to meet (and hang out with) the owner of one of the suits you know like the back of your hand ✧ apple pie 993 || you always love coming back to him ✧ first and last 1.6k || before his last and most important mission, you let him dance his worries away.

✦ DCU

jimmy olsen ✧ coffee 6.2k || jimmy olsen can't handle a crush, not even when it's mutual

✦ DBH

connor rk800 ✧ B.A.C. 2.8k || you end up at hank's, wasted, and his adorable partner in justice takes care of you ✧ moles 1.5k || you're fixated. especially on your cute robot boyfriend's artificial moles

✦ TLOU

joel miller ✧ porch 2.0k || joel figures it's better to get away, though you'd never let him do it alone

What you two had going on was complicated. You’d never tried sticking a tag to it because you knew that was the last thing any of you needed. However, you two were definitely not on the same page. Marc thought of you as his confidant (whom he’d occasionally make out on his couch with), someone he could trust, someone who’d been by his side when his mom died and Steven first started showing up. And he liked you, he liked you very much. He just wasn’t sure that you tried feeling as little as he did. He wasn’t sure that, due to all of his issues, he would be ready to start taking your relationship seriously.

That was why he had frozen in place when you gave him a spare key to your apartment.

It happened just like that, as if you had been telling him how the weather was like. “Here, I want you to have them,” you had said, letting the key fall on his palm. He caught it on a relfex, and then stood there, with his hand opened, and the tiny aluminum artifact in his palm, motionless, like it was mocking him. 

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t believe he was worthy of something like that. You were trusting your apartment to him, a place so personal and intimate. He started wondering. Was he really that much in love with you? You must’ve noticed he had gone quiet all of the sudden because you stopped talking too.

“You okay?” you asked.

Marc glanced at you, then back at the key, then back at you again. He’d gone speechless, something that didn't usually happen. Most of the times, he chose not to say anything from the beggining.

“Why…?” He trailed off, with a voice so weak it could be mistaken for a whisper. “Why would you want me to have these?”

“Oh, come on, Marc. It’s just the spare.” you replied, walking towards him. “I’m not proposing.”

“You might as well be.”

The suggestion made you pause before chuckling. “Why, that doesn’t sound half bad,” you teased him, knowing the thought of formal marriage made him hurl.

Marc shivered. “It does,” he stated, sighing wearily. “I’ll keep them. Just… don’t ask me to…”

“Give me yours? Don’t worry, I don't care...”

He stared at the keys on his hand, still clueless on how to feel about the whole thing. You were right. It was a silly thing to feel overwhelmed by, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t do this. He could barely keep your casual relationship together and now you were asking him to hold something as valuable as your spare keys with him. Not just because the keys were expensive to make a copy of, but because owning those meant he could just walk into your apartment. Even if you weren’t home. It meant that he was welcomed into your world anyday, anytime.

Who was he trying to fool? It was overwhelming. He had every right to feel overwhelmed.

“Marc?”

The sound of your voice made him look up. He couldn’t help the slight lingering on his gaze. He was moved, to be honest. And he couldn’t stop overthinking it. The spare key. It was a whole new level. “Yeah?” 

He didn’t even realize your hesitation. “... if you don’t want them then just say so.”

There it was. You’d given him the goddamn keys, and even though he’d never admit it, he was going to hold onto them like a lifeline. It was too late to back down now. He had the keys. He had your smile, which belonged to him and him only. He had your heart. And you sure as hell had his too.

“... I said I’ll keep them,” he insisted, putting the set away in his pocket. 

You weren’t expecting him to lean towards you and press his lips against yours. It was chaste, short, and a little disappointing, but you took it anyway. Smiling, you raked your hand across his pushed-back curls. You were glad he’d said yes.

“So if I kneel right now and propose…”

“Don’t.”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“I advise against you calling me that here, Captain.” you replied.

He smirked at you. “Sorry, Agent.”

You shifted on your seat before feeling the steady warmth of his hand on your thigh. You looked down to spot him offering his hand out to you under the table. He always did that. You both knew how unprofessional you were to be dating each other, especially because you were in charge of his commando, but you couldn’t help accepting the gestures of affection he offered every time things got quiet enough. A hand under the table, a brush of your shoulder, a quick kiss on your cheek when no one was looking. You looked up again as you let your fingers intertwine, avoiding his gaze.

A waitress brought your chop and placed it on the wooden table. Your free hand wrapped around the handle, but you didn’t take the glass to your mouth yet. There were still a few things you wanted to tell Steve.

“You should be sleeping right now, you know that?” 

He hesitated, “I know…”

“Then why are you here?” you asked, not as a concerned girlfriend, but as the woman in charge of putting her face out there for him “Do you really need me to come here to scold you like you’re a child?”

Steve glanced at you, looking genuinely surprised by your sudden hostility. He’d thought you were there to keep him company, not remind him that it was way past his bedtime.

“... I lost track of time, okay?” he explained. “I just… keep thinking about tomorrow.”

“Me too.” you stated. “That’s why I need you to be well-rested.”

That was when you snapped your face towards him, squeezing his hand on yours. “... this isn’t some supply run, Steve.”

He fell quiet for a few seconds, frozen in place before sighing. He knew you were right. Tomorrow was the big day, the day he’d finally (hopefully) bring HYDRA down. The plan was simple. Get into the HQ and bring Red Skull to his demise. It was a little more detailed, though, but that was the essential intention. But none of that mattered. What mattered was that you were right. It sure as Hell wasn’t a supply run.

“Hey…” you leaned down, searching for his eyes, unable to resist the way you craved them on yours. “... what’s going on?”

It was a little unnerving, you thought. He was Captain America, yet you could sense some glimpse of doubt, some obstacle, something holding him back from feeling composed about the events that would take place the following day. Against every work ethic you knew, you took your hand to his cheek as you squeezed his fingers with the other, sliding your thumb back and forth on his knuckles. Steve finally peeked at you from under his eyelashes, not lifting his head and keeping that sagged and exhausted position. You stared, waiting for him to speak, as you realized there was a little bit of green in the blue of his eyes.

“Nothing is going on. Not really,” he mumbled heavily.

“So?” You pushed.

“I guess…” he paused. “... I’m just thinking of everything and everyone that got me here. Erskine, the Project, Stark, you and Bucky…” you noticed his voice trembling as he mentioned his late best friend. “... and that I can’t let any of you down.”

You tilted your head. Your hand adjusted its position as you let your thumb softly trace the lines of his cheekbone. 

“I’m just overthinking, that’s all…” he sighed, closing his eyes, relying on your gentle touch, as if it was possible that it was one of the last times he'd be able to do so.

“You want to dance?” 

“Dance?”

You couldn't come up with a better way to cheer him up. He always spoke about wanting to have dinner and have a first dance with you once the war was over. Even if you had agreed, you couldn't bear seeing him like this, so nostalgic and tragically dejected. Your hand ticked upwards, stroking his blonde hair between your fingers.

As if on cue, a beautiful serenade emerged from the scenario where the musicians, a quartet of melancholic-looking men, slowly got onto their respective instruments. They seemed focused on playing, but they moved like a mass, together, synchronized like no other.

Steve glanced at you, silently asking again if you really meant that.

“Come on…” you egged him on. “... you deserve it.”

Before he could agree, you wrapped your hand around his and dragged him towards the dance floor. There weren't many couples there, which didn’t help your whole go unnoticed thing, but you didn’t care about that anymore. There was, though, a man and a woman dancing as well, secluded on a corner, as if they were ashamed of having to dance together.

Steve stood in front of you, his hands hesitating around your waist, as if he was afraid he'd hold you too tight and break you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, not without smoothing over the collar of his shirt first, and pulled yourself closer. He was pretty taller than you, even now that you were in heels, though that didn't stop you from tip-toeing to brush your noses together for a second to get his attention.

He glanced upwards, gazing at your face like you were the night sky full of sparkling stars. You smiled, as he started swaying you left and right to the tempo the sad-looking men had set with that serenade. It was slow, dragged, but no less romantic. One of his hands trailed to his neck to grab yours. You let his palm engulf your fingers, as the hand you had left slid to his shoulder, letting yourself feel the hard muscle under the cotton material of his uniform

“... hey.”

 Steve made you look up. He was still sagging, you could tell. His expression appeared somber. You tilted your head, telling him to go on.

“If I don't make it…”

A sharp exhale left you, cutting him off.

“Don't say that...”

“No, I need to say it. Listen, if I can't be like this with you…”

“Like what?”

“Vulnerable,” he stated. “You're… the only one who can see me like this. I don’t have to be a hero with you, and you're… the only one. So can I, please, be vulnerable for a second?”

You swallowed, trying to stop the pouting that preceded the tears and the inevitable emotional turn this conversation was about to take. Your fingers clenched around his shoulder. Steve took that as a sign. Slowly, he leaned in, hiding his face in your neck, breathing the warmth of your skin, closing his eyes to let himself commit the instant to memory.

“If I don’t make it…” he said again, ignoring his growing desire to just pretend he wasn’t thinking about it. “... don’t waste your life, okay? Don’t lose yourself if you know that I won’t come back… you’ll be okay without me.”

Such words pierced together, seemingly imitating a farewell, finally crumbled your tough acting down. There it was. No “I’ll find you”s or “We’ll meet again.”s. A string of tears you were holding back rolled down your cold cheeks. You pressed your nose against his head, trying to pause that moment forever. But it was hopeless. Salty droplets kept shamelessly spilling over him, the music kept playing, your bodies kept dancing as if they were entranced, and you wondered, with all of this at stake, if it could actually be the last time you would be able to hold this man you loved so much in your arms.

“Hey…” Steve left his shelter in your neck to look at you, taking his hands to frame your face. “... don’t cry, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help your breathing to get laboured, as well as the stubborn tears to spill like your eyes were two faucets. You didn’t want to cry, but you couldn’t hide the truth either. You were just as scared as him. His fingers tenderly wiped some of your tears away. You bit your lip, trying to stop your ugly crying from showing. Steve pressed his lips to your forehead, softly and gently, as he kept your bodies swaying left and right. 

“I’ll find you,” you mumbled in between gasps, not looking away from him. “If you go MIA, I swear I’ll find you.”

Steve sighed, tracing your cheekbones with his thumb. He smiled. You weren’t sure if it was real, a sad or a pitiful smile. That expression in his face made you uneasy, as if he was resigned to his destiny. As if he knew he wasn’t going to make it. 

Without minding the emotional turmoil, the music kept playing. You decided against crying one more time. As he gazed into your eyes, you realized he believed you. He was better knowing that you would find him. No matter what. But for now, the promises, the what ifs, all of that was over. For now, Steve wanted to just dance. For the first and last time.

You brushed some hair out of your face to get a good look at the space. The room was a mess. Discarded in a frenzy, without knowing where they would land, the clothes you recognized as the ones you were wearing the night before hung off some of the furniture. You were sure some of it was on the floor as well though.

Still a little sore, you sat on the bed, letting your legs fall to the floor like a cascade. You found Marc’s t-shirt next to your feet, and you had the instinct to put it on, but then you thought he wouldn't like seeing you so comfortable walking around his flat. You weren't even sure he'd been a hundred percent comfortable the night before. So you chose to put on your own clothes, ignoring the morning-after etiquette like a champ.

After fighting with your own dizziness to get dressed, you exited the bedroom. Your slow walk let you take in all the details you hadn't paid attention to before, but eventually, you reached the main area of the apartment. You saw your bag hanging from one of the chairs, but just when you were about to reach out, you noticed Marc in the kitchen, separated from the living room with an island.

You couldn’t help it. An impulse dragged you towards him. He was facing the counter. Just as you were about to throw your arms lazily around his waist, he spoke.

“You’re not as sneaky as you think.”

The words stopped you. You scoffed, smiling, yet you hugged him from the waist anyways, burying your nose against his spine. He sighed heavily. You hesitated, wondering if that had been a relief sigh, or an annoyed sigh.

“... ‘s what I get for trying to strike from the back,” you commented.

“Cowardly move.”

“Thought you’d call it smart.”

“It is smart,” he turned his head to glance at you before returning his attention to the task at hand. “Doesn’t make it less cowardly.”

Silence. You were comfortable, hiding your face away in his back, getting to smell his fabric softener, his cologne, his scent as a whole. You felt his body shift constantly with his breaths. 

You really, really didn’t want to leave.

So you opted for small talk.

“What were you doing?” 

“Making coffee.”

You awaited the invitation. A simple “You want a cup?” or, even better “Can I make you anything?”. Yet it didn’t reach you. It didn’t even seem to reach him.

“I thought you’d leave,” he mumbled.

You hesitated, taking a deep breath. “I thought so too,” you said in a breathy voice, adjusting your hold around his waist. “I was actually about to.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Oh, he was unbelievable. The rush of indignation was such you felt his warm, comfortable scent cut off. Your eyes popped open.

“I don’t think you want to hear it.”

You knew how he would get if you said the words. He’d close over himself, refuse to talk, refuse to say it back. You weren’t protecting anyone but you, by not saying what you felt out loud. Marc lowered his head. His coffee was ready. He had everything set to turn around and sit to have his breakfast in peace. He could even indicate where your bag was so you couldn’t delay your departure. But he didn’t do any of those things.

“... you’re right, I don’t.”

Saying that didn’t satisfy him. He actually did want to hear it. What he didn’t want was to deal with the aftermath, like he was doing now. The aftermath of your night was starting to turn into a dreaded serious conversation. Marc had tried convincing himself that it would be over soon. You’d wake up, say hello, and leave. But you weren’t doing the last part as he wanted. And he also felt selfish, hoping you’d accommodate to his own fucked up mind. You should leave him, he thought, you were too good to be dancing back and forth like this.

“At least tell me if we had a good time,” you probed.

Marc swallowed, hesitant. But why was he taking so long to answer? He had had a good time. In fact, he’d had one of the best times of his life. He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t thinking about vengeance, or Khonshu, or Randall, or all the people he’d taken lives from. He found himself thinking about your laugh, the way your eyes curled up when you smiled, your more than invasive hair and the fact that, even knowing how he was like, you were still there, hugging him from behind after sleeping together. Hell, some goddamn normalcy at last.

“I had a good time,” he replied, not realizing he had a little smirk going on. “You?”

You paused. He was asking about you. That made you smile too.

“I had a good time too.”

He gave up on having coffee at the table. Instead, letting your touch ground him, he took the cup to his lips. It was strange. A few days ago, he wouldn't have let anyone (not even you) hug him like that. He sighed.

You were still doubtful. He hadn’t shown any sign of affection back yet. You, with your arms around him, your nose on his t-shirt, as close as you could get, were only getting vague answers. You bit your lip, resisting the need to yell at him. You knew he was reserved on the matter but a part of you had been hopeful that something from the night before would’ve managed to change him. What a fucking idiot, you thought.

Oh, but not receiving anything back didn’t stop you.

“... Marc?”

“Yeah?”

“Should I leave?”

Marc was struck for a second. Why would you even ask him that?

Silence was making you insanely nervous. And you knew why. Somehow it felt like there was more to that question than you were letting on. Should I leave and stop pretending you love me as much as I love you?

Marc knew this. You spotted his jaw clenching, his head turning quick to look away, deflecting on what he had now on his back. All of this, and his lack of answer was more of an answer than any sentence he could speak. You sighed, slowly unwrapping your arms away from him.

“Wait.”

That was when he turned around. You saw his eyebags, dark from sleeplessness, his lips twitching and the bite marks you’d left in his neck from when you were too far gone to care where your teeth landed.

“I can leave if it’s bothering you. I know I can be a little imposing…”

“No, you’re not imposing,” he replied, placing the cup on the counter and reaching out to wrap his hands around your waist. 

A tug pulled you closer. His scent crashed all over you again. Cologne, softener, and that something unmistakably him

“I mean it, you know? It’s okay if you don’t want me here.”

“I do… I do want you here,” he insisted. “Listen, I know I’m… I might not be the best partner in the world but… I'm trying my best, okay? And I tried my best last night and I’m trying my best now and I’ll keep on trying my best because… I care about you.”

“You care about me?”

“Care, yeah… I fucking love you,” he exhaled, as if saying that had punched the air out of his lungs. “It’s scary as shit, but I love you.”

Those words made you feel your chest tighter than usual. But no matter the body reaction. None of that stopped you from tenderly raising your hand to frame his face. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even lean into it.

“... I love you too.”

As if on instinct, Marc smiled. Again. Two times today and both had you involved. He let you lean in and press a kiss to his lips, slow, tender, savoring. A comforting thought brushed across him. The aftermath wasn’t so bad after all.

He looked around, and spotted the newest intern addition to the Planet by his desk. You were leaning with one hand on the brim, smiling at him expectantly.

“You like it?”

Jimmy was struck.

“You made it?”

“Yeah, I… I heard Perry yelling the other day. So I decided to make it for you today. Save you some time.”

He recalled. Just a week before, the coffee machine had started spitting less than Jimmy usually had. He had spent at least half hour trying to fix it, and that had earned him some good shouting from his boss when he had noticed his best photographer was bickering with a coffee maker instead of filing pictures due that day. It was embarrassing. And the worst part? He had had to settle with only half a cup of coffee. Needless to say it had not been a good start for the day.

“And you made it just the way I like it.” he thought out loud.

“... had to ask Clark, but yeah.”

“It’s not poisoned, is it?”

You chuckled. Jimmy took notice of the way his heart echoed the rich sound of your laugh. He couldn’t help it. Just as he couldn’t help feeling an unusual warmth in his cheeks. He tried to hide it by taking another sip of the coffee.

“Yeah, I can be full of surprises.” you shrugged.

Someone called you from the other side of the bullpen. Jimmy turned around, noticing Steve waving at you to get closer.

“Well, duty calls.” you said, gesturing at him to wait. “See ya.”

“Yes… I’ll see you around…”

He stared at you, completely flabbergasted, hand tight around the handle of the cup, as you walked across the bullpen to where Steve was waiting for you. You raised your hand and smiled at everybody, greeting them like you were some sort of celebrity. It was hard to believe you were only an intern whom Steve was in charge of. Usually, those guys only stayed where they were told to, did what they were told to do. Interns didn’t say hi, didn’t speak to everyone else except to their mentor, and surely as hell didn’t make coffee for the other employees.

He was smitten by the third sip.

And if only he knew how worse he was going to fall for you.

Because it just kept going. A new habit secretively sneaking in his routine. Not only did he get to drink from that glorious coffee you prepared for him, but he also got to drink from that beautiful, kind smile of yours. The sparkly color of your eyes. The raspy, sweet sound of your voice. He didn’t waste his mornings by the coffee maker anymore, because he now wasted them by looking at you from across the bullpen, talking to you, telling you jokes and making you laugh.

His friends had noticed. Lois and Clark called him out on it, sharing knowing looks and eye rolls. Although they tried advising him, Jimmy didn’t want to have anything to do with it. He could handle a little crush by himself if that were the case. Plus look who was talking. Lois and Clark. He’d known all about them from day one and he had been nice enough not to call them out on it either.

It happened a few days after your first exchange. Jimmy had been talking (rambling) to you all morning long about his camera settings. You had been listening patiently, paying attention to every word he said as he drank from the coffee you had made for him again.

Later on, at lunch, Lois approached your desk. Squishing herself in between the desks, and placing an apple juice box next to your keyboard. You looked at it, then at her, and smiled. “Hi, Lois.”

“Hey.” she greeted, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Got you something to drink.”

“Thanks.” You took your hands off the computer and clawed at the juice box.

“... so how’s your second week going?”

“It’s been okay so far.”

“Yeah?” She nodded, a little awkwardly. It confused you. Lois Lane was not the type of woman to get awkward.

She must have seen your little eyebrow frown. Very devilishly, she chose the second you started drinking from the juice box to ask away.

“Even if someone won’t stop talking about camera settings?”

Her question made your stomach drop, which was not very profitable at the moment. But you had to keep up your appearances, so you calmly swallowed the juice and placed the box back down on your desk.

“Yeah, even if.” you shrugged, trying and failing not to smile at the thought. “But it’s nice to have a friend.”

“He’s a nice guy altogether.” Lois leaned on your desk.

You found her words very comforting.

“So I’ve got your blessing?” you teased.

“... yeah.” she chuckled. “I heard about the coffee thing.”

“You… you did? Who told you?”

“A little birdie.”

“A near-sighted birdie, I assume? It’s the only birdie who knows about it.”

Lois nodded. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ask him out.” She paused. “Jimmy, I mean.”

You giggled. “Eh. I don’t know. He doesn’t look like the committing type.”

“... he’s not.” Lois, subtle as ever, eyed you up and down. “But it’s the first time he’s talked about camera settings to someone. I’d take that as a compliment.”

Lois’ comment made you laugh again. But you brushed it off.

That was one of the many times people tried warning you about Jimmy Olsen.

But you hadn’t thought you’d need a proper warning until two weeks later.

Same thing. Cup of coffee on his desk, catching his attention as soon as he steps into the office. Just as he’s about to look for you in order to thank you, an arm curls around his neck and pulls him into a sideways hug.

“Hey, Jimmy-Jim, my man!” Steve’s voice is the first thing he hears. “How’re you doing?”

Jimmy nods and pats the man’s arms, landing his papers and bag on his desk, carefully watching not to drop the coffee. “I’m great.” He replies as Steve lets go of him.

“Good to hear that. Hey, listen…” he pauses, as Jimmy finally takes a sip of his drink. The way he likes it. Again. “... you know this… gal I've been working with?”

“The intern?”

“Yeah, that one. I tell you, she’s… a catch, ain’t she?”

“Uh…”

“Whatever. It’s whatever! That’s not my point. I wanted to ask you something.”

Jimmy, suddenly intrigued by Steve’s statement, sits down on his wheelie chair, sipping at his coffee and trying to make it last. You haven’t shown up to say hi yet, and it’s making him a little uneasy. He has to thank you for the gesture. Again.

“What?”

“She’s done some interviews… you know, baseball players and that. I was wondering if you could take a picture of her.”

Jimmy nearly choked on the drink, before he started to stutter. “I-I… uh… yeah, but… what is it for?”

“I mean all the interviewers need a picture somewhere. Since she’s an intern… I only figured she needed one, you know?”

“Right… yeah, that…” He was still recovering from the shock. Not only the shock, but the fact that he was getting the chance to get a picture of you just like that. He should’ve thought that was going to happen anyway. He had filed pictures of everyone. It was only a matter of time before he got to take yours. But still. It stirred a part of his insides he couldn’t quite swallow down “That makes sense.”

“Can you do it? Like… now?”

“Now?” Jimmy echoed. He looked around. You were nowhere to be seen. “Uh, sure, but…”

“Come on, then.” Steve interrupted him, and spun around on his heels to start walking.

Jimmy rose from his chair, coffee in hand and camera on the other. As he followed the sports column main reporter, he threw it over his head, letting it hang from his neck. Thinking about taking pictures of you was a little unnerving, to say the least. It was stupid though. You’d known each other for two weeks and only at work, because he hadn’t had the balls to ask you out yet. Yet, he said, but deep down he didn’t think he’d ever man up enough to do it.

They walked past the bullpen, squeezing themselves between desks, into a hallway that led to a little storage room. Or at least, a storage room was what it was supposed to be. Now, a massive black panel hung from the ceiling, despite the lighting. was as poor as a storage room. Two huge lights provided the improvised photo studio with enough light to blind anyone if they stayed inside for too long. You were sitting on a stool in the middle, hunched over your nails as you fidgeted with them, although you quickly raised your head when you saw Jimmy walk in.

“Hey, there.”

“Hi.” he greeted, as he placed his cup of coffee on another stool nearby.

You looked at each other in silence for at least five seconds.

“Well, I’m gonna leave you two alone.” Steve grunted, clapping his hands together. “You can… handle all this when you’re finished?”

“Sure, yeah.” Jimmy nodded, snapping out of it and now grabbing his camera.

“Great.”

With that, he was gone. And the worst part, you two were alone now.

Jimmy tried not minding it, just trying to adjust his camera as fast as he could. You were sitting there looking at him like you needed to have a conversation, but he knew that a conversation with you right now would absolutely smash him.

“It won’t take too long,” he somehow managed to speak. “Just sit there and smile. And try not to blink.”

“We can take as much as we need.” you winked. “I’m trying to run from Steve’s constant matchmaking delusions.”

The nerves snuck into his chuckle. What you meant by that was a mystery. And what also was a mystery was why the Hell was he taking so long with the camera settings. He knew the buttons and the wheels of the device like the back of his hand, but his fingers kept messing up as if it was a piece of alien technology.

“I… got the coffee you made me.” he spoke from behind his camera.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I still don’t know how you make it exactly the way I like it. Even better. You’re like a coffee witch.”

“Maybe I am.” You shrugged, smiling like a news reporter, that kind of smile that just looked fake on anyone but you. You pushed on to keep the conversation afloat after a pause. “... I’m really not… I told you, I asked Clark.”

“Then I don’t know how Clark knows how I like my coffee.”

“Aren’t you best friends?”

“We are but we never go to the coffee machine together. It’s… one of those things.”

The little room was then flooded with silence. You were shyly smiling at the camera, trying to look as trustworthy as possible, but it was hard considering there were white LEDs beaming on you, dazzling your tired eyes. But you kept on smiling. Jimmy, on the other hand, at the other side of the room, hiding the blush behind his camera, was clicking the button away. He was surprised he didn’t have to tell you where to look, or how to look. It was like you knew exactly what to do, as if you were experienced. Or rather, as if you had been born with it.

After he’d taken at least a hundred pictures, he rose from his crouched position, and stood up straight only to lower his chin and roll through the dozens of photos that for the common eye, would look the same. You couldn’t resist, too curious to wait for him to approach with the camera, so you jumped off the stool and walked towards him.

The face that welcomed you, plastered into the camera’s screen, was recognizable. Your smile was warm, but professional, same as your eyes. But the angle did a special good job for your chin and your nose. That was all Jimmy, of course.

“Wow…” you gasped. “... you almost can’t tell that the lights were blinding me.”

Jimmy chuckled, passing through the photos that, indeed, looked all the same to you. He then made the great mistake of lifting his head, noticing in a matter of milliseconds how close you actually were. He tried looking back down, but your smile had him lingering a little too long, and before he could react, you were looking directly at him too. His chest puffed up, as if expecting it would push you away.

“Thanks, Jimmy.” you mumbled, glancing at his lips, then at his eyes, then at his lips again.

“Uh… you’re welcome…” he stumbled upon the words, trying to find the best combination so as not to sound like the huge dork he felt like. “... but I only took the photos… you’re the one that looks like a magazine model.”

A giggle escaped your lips.

And then, Jimmy saw it. In slow motion, he picked on how you were leaning closer. The closer you got, the more your eyes closed. With reflexes that would make Superman look like a snail, he pulled his head away. His heart was beating so fast he was scared for a moment that you could actually feel it. He swallowed, hoping you wouldn’t lean closer.

You opened your eyes, confused as to why the warmth radiating from him had suddenly faded away. And then it dawned on you. He had pulled away. Oh there were absolutely no words to describe the embarrassment. You felt how it burned you from the inside out, the way you could've probably fried eggs on your cheeks. Not even the aggressive gulp untied the knot in your throat. So you just looked down at your feet.

“… sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, resisting the urge to place a hand on your shoulder. He wanted to smile at you, but he knew that would only egg you on.

“I’m… I’m gonna go now.” You started walking backwards, not daring to look him in the eye, not even thinking about not stumbling upon something. Your feet guided you towards the door. “I’ll… see you around.”

“Yeah. Bye…”

And just like that, you slammed the door behind you. Jimmy was flabbergasted, looking at the door in silence, motionless, as if it was mocking him. His heart was thundering and he was pretty sure his ears were radiating such a bright red he felt the need to cover them up with his hands. He closed his mouth and swallowed, with the horrendous feeling that he had fucked up. Big time.

The next day started, of course, with an empty desk. No cup of coffee to be seen anywhere. Jimmy had expected it, and when he had lifted his head to glance at the sports section, you had your face hidden behind your monitor. He couldn't see your face, but he was sure you were trying to poker-face the shame out of your expression. Swallowing, Jimmy placed his bag in a secluded spot under his desk before sliding his feet towards the coffee machine as if he was being called upon. He kinda was, though, he really needed the coffee.

Honestly? He had no idea how to deal with his issues, especially his fear of commitment. Usually, he didn’t mind it. He knew what meant something and what didn’t. A kiss didn’t mean much to his standard, but for some reason, the possibility of kissing you had given him the creeps. And he didn’t actually know why. You were kind, beautiful, funny, and you put up with him. What was non-likeable about you? Absolutely nothing. No, he liked you. Very much. Which was part of why he had stayed up the night before just staring at the ceiling, scolding himself because how could he be so stupid? It was the first time he actually liked someone back. Why hadn’t he listened to himself before cowardly drifting his mouth away from you?

When he reached the table and went to grab a cup, a boy walked behind him carrying a box full of Daily Planet stored copies, smelling old paper and humidity. The sharp corner edge of the box bumped against his lower back, and he didn’t make it to catch himself before shoving the cup off the table. The cup fell to the floor and shattered with a pitiful crack.

Jimmy was quick to crouch down to gather the broken pieces, but he banged his head against the counter. He winced in pain, rising to his feet and pressing his palm against the zone. He bit his lower lip, trying not to curse out something that would gain him a scold. But he couldn’t help the huff he let out when he heard giggles from behind. He couldn’t blame anyone, really. If he had seen such a demonstration, he’d be cackling and rolling on the floor too.

From that moment and as he cleaned up the mess, he started praying for lunch time to arrive faster.

But it didn’t.

In fact, Jimmy had spent the morning being a picture perfect wreck. He had missed two meetings, tripped over God knows how many things randomly scattered around the bullpen and spilled second grade burn hot coffee (that now tasted like petroleum) over his camera bag. Twice.

And you hadn’t even glanced at him. Not once in the five hours you two had spent under the same roof. Opposite sides of the bullpen, yeah, but it was still the same roof. He was starting to lose his mind, going completely nuts.

When the clock hit 12 P.M., he was the first to get away from his work station. Standing up from his chair, he turned around to head to Clark, whom he usually had lunch with, but a sudden whiff of your perfume made him instinctively turn his head around. You passed him by, quick, steady steps. He couldn’t help staring at your back, the way your hair flowed with the stomps of your feet. He imagined you’d at least mutter a goodbye. Instead he had to settle with that; A glimpse of your hair and a brush of your perfume.

He heard a cough and he didn’t have to turn around to spot the transmitter. “Dude.”

Jimmy turned back around again to spot Clark, looking at him with an amused expression and Lois, arms crossed next to her not-boyfriend. He knew Clark didn’t mean to mock him at all. That wasn’t his style. Still, he couldn’t help feeling embarrassed by the smirk his friend was putting on and the way Lois was shaking her head.

“I know,” he sighed, “I have to tell you guys so many things,” he admitted as he started ushering them to the elevator. “I’m having the worst day of my life.”

“So let me get this straight.” Lois spoke up, winding her fork as if it was a sword. “The worst day of your life was just… a few trips and a spill.”

“Exactly.” Jimmy nodded, with an expression that made him look as if he was seeing a ghost.

Lois and Clark shot knowing looks at each other. Trying to come up with a sensible, nice enough response was going to be difficult. However they also understood Jimmy was a grown man. He could figure this thing out by himself, really. At least, that’s what Lois was trying to communicate to Clark with her eyes. Clark, of course, wasn’t picking up on it.

“I mean it’s… odd.” Clark chimed in, leaning on his forearms as he placed them on the table.

“It’s not odd.”

Oh, but he did know. He just thought saying it out loud to his friends was embarrassing, and it made him feel like a clueless child.

“Okay. Don’t look at me like that, I know it’s stupid. You’re free to be mocking me but I swear to God I just don’t know what’s been happening to me today. I feel unfocused.” Jimmy sighed. “And my coffee tasted like… petroleum.”

“Everyone’s coffee tastes like petroleum.” Lois took her glass of water to her mouth as she spoke.

“Not mine. Not when… she makes it.”

“Who?”

“... Steve’s intern.” he confessed, looking at his interlocked fingers. God it was so shameful. But it was whatever at the end of the day, they were his friends.

It was automatic. Lois coughed a little and managed to spill her drink all over her chin. Clark dropped his fork, making the clanking sound that would drag everyone in the restaurant’s eyes to turn to the three of them. Jimmy felt like getting mad at them for making such a big fuss out of it, but he also wanted to laugh out of the nerves and the relief. It sure felt nice to get it out of his chest.

“But she hasn’t talked to you today.” Lois nudged, wiping her chin with a napkin and smudging a little of her lipgloss off. “What did you do? Did you ask her out?”

Jimmy shook his head no doubtfully. Suddenly, he felt as if he was being scolded by his parents.

“But you have… told her how you feel.” Clark tried rescuing his position, interrupting Lois’ incoming reproach.

“... I don’t think she knows I like her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jesus Christ, guys… what are you, the Lacheys?” he couldn’t help himself to act in defense. “Can we go back to the worst day of my life?”

“It’s not the worst day of your life.”

“Yes it is.”

“It’s really not.” Lois insisted.

Jimmy was quiet for a few seconds, pausing as if not to get too pissed off with the simplistic, minimizing attitude Lois was putting on. He didn’t understand why Clark wasn’t defending him either.

“Look, you know I always make my coffee myself? Well she’s been… making it for me every morning. And she makes it just the way I like it. It’s impressive, really, it’s like she reads my mind…”

“Jimmy.”

“Fine, sorry! Thing is… well… she didn’t make it today, and for some reason the damn coffee doesn’t taste like it used to when I made it. And I've tripped with everything and I’ve spilled hot drinks over my camera bag and I broke one of the mugs I use. And Perry yelled at me for that.”

He tried not to snap at his friend’s knowing looks. Instead, he took a bite of his lunch, chewing indifferently while looking down at the motionless state of his food. It tasted oddly like rubber. He tried nudging some life into it by pushing the lettuce leaves with the utensil, but the sight made him nauseous. He dropped the fork next to the plate, sighing. What on Earth was wrong with him? What had changed in the span of one night to turn him into this?

That was a question that bugged him all the way back to the Daily. A weight on his back that he had no idea how to lift. He was ashamed, ashamed of opening up his heart to his friends like that, ashamed of the possibility that maybe it was all his fault. His and his martyr complex. His and his incapability to commit. Jimmy was just being coy, but deep down, he knew he had an issue. Although something about you was making him want to fix it. Right now.

He sighed, looking up at the sky, as if the clouds had an answer awaiting for him.

It looked like it was going to rain.

His bravery flew out the window the second he stepped into the bullpen. Everyone was back after lunch, with renewed energy. Jimmy was clear-cut. He was going to approach you and speak. Apologize, flirt, joke or whatever. However, the mere sight of you sitting at your desk and laughing at some joke Steve had said stopped him in his tracks. And it dawned on him. It was pointless. You’d moved on. By that time, it didn’t cross his mind that you couldn’t have possibly moved on throughout the night, but he still felt some sense of unknown territory, as if you were strangers again. So to avoid such a humiliation ritual, he sat back down on his desk, trying not to peer over his computer towards your direction. His legs bounced restlessly, anxious, not knowing what to do.

He couldn’t help it. You were sitting at your desk. Eyes squinted to look at the screen of the monitor. A hand well tucked under your chin to keep your neck from working too hard. The blue-ish afternoon light of the city shines right through the window a few feet from you, the sun enveloping your figure, bathing it with a warm aura. You looked like an angel. An oblivious one, for what matters. Oblivious of what was going on two or three desks away from you. Oblivious to him.

Jimmy’s stomach churned at the thought. It made him exhale sharply as he became self-conscious and aware of his staring. Just great.

A hand grabbed his shoulder, startling him. He was somewhat relieved when he turned around and saw Clark again. On the other hand, he’d have liked to hide under the table forever too. It was more than obvious that he could not handle a small crush by himself, yet the thought of involving his friends was even worse than rejection.

“Listen, man.” His friend started, not letting Jimmy speak. “... I’m with you. 100%.”

“... thanks, Clark.”

“But you really should go talk to her. For real, I mean, no jokes or whatever. I’m sure she likes you too.”

He resisted a snappy comment by biting his lower lip. After all, Clark was a good guy, he only wanted what was best for him. Even if it meant bothering him with the same thing over and over again. Plus he had a relationship. It would be a little stupid to brush his advice off like that.

Jimmy spent the rest of the day oscillating between his desk and the coffee maker. Steps marked on the floor, almost wearing a groove into the floor due to the constant pacing, pretending to make coffee he didn’t want, just because he had a better view of your desk from there. He just stared, waiting for you to look and wave, or smile, or nudge your head. Something to prove to him that you didn’t hate him. But it was useless. Every single time. You never once looked his way.

And so five o’clock came. And with the burden of extra hours that left Jimmy thinking of ditching his work forever came the storm he had predicted earlier that noon. The sky darkened with thick, opaque grey clouds, making the sun disappear behind them, igniting Metropolis in a premature night. The office went dim as well, leaving Jimmy no other choice but to turn on his desk lamp when the rain started to pour.

Needless to say he was surprised when the warm white of the lightbulb also showed him you were also there. Three desks away, focused on something else, but there. The sight carved a hole into his chest. Perfect. Just when he thought some time alone would help him work and sort out his reeling notions. The only thing awaiting for him was more of that humiliation ritual he couldn’t help making when you were near.

Pictures, pictures, pictures. He quickly scanned through the screen of his monitor looking for the most recent Metropolis’ winter festival pictures to file for the next day. He had received them that day, and he was supposed to send them to the editor that same day ASAP, but naturally, he had been distracted, so he hadn’t done it. That was many of the reasons he had stayed some extra hours. He opened a folder and started dragging the pictures he thought looked nice enough into it, humming some tune he didn’t remember the name of. Really, that was so easy. He couldn’t believe the sight of you had incapacitated him that badly.

Speaking of which, you were gone too. Jimmy noticed when he looked up out of a reflex and saw the empty office before him. He hadn’t seen you pack your things and leave, which was surprising to say the least. Lately, his entire thing had been about noticing every single thing about you.

Without distractions in sight, he was able to finish working faster than he thought. He even put his things away and got into the elevator in a better mood, already tasting the pre-heated dinner awaiting for him at home. But then he remembered you. The way you had ignored him all day long. It had been a literal torture. He would’ve given anything just to ask your motives.

Perhaps he could talk to you about it on Monday.

However, the entire good mood performance flew into the rainy sky when he saw you standing at the building’s porch. Lonely as you stared at the horrid weather, you clutched your bag strap with one hand and leaned against the wall on your right. His mind started reeling again. His eyes travelled across your back, admiring the lustrous curls and old-fashioned coat. He wondered if maybe catching you off guard like this would make a good opportunity to address what had been bugging him all day.

Normally, the lack of an umbrella wouldn't have been a major issue, because he didn’t care that much about getting wet. But he could pretend it was.

Slowly, he approached you, swallowing.

“Hey…”

You side eyed him.

“Hi.”

Your answer was chaste and cut-throat. Jimmy felt like running away again.

“... awful weather.” he gestured to the scene right in front of you two. The city had turned grey and gloomy, as cars zoomed by, raising a wake of water behind their wheels. Luckier people than you walked by, umbrellas in hand.

He saw you visibly cringe and nod at his attempt to start a conversation, and his stomach retched. He really, really wanted to run away now.

“I saw the picture you took of me in the prints today.”

It was like an angel had spoken to him! Jimmy turned, his eyes lightened up when they landed on your beautiful face. You didn’t look at him. And he could see why. Perhaps you just didn’t want to recall such an embarrassing situation, but then again, why would you bring the pictures up if that were the case?

“Yeah?” he was blank.

“Yeah…” you replied, dropping your head to look at your shoes. “... it was nice.”

You two were quiet again. Jimmy wanted to jump into the street and let that bus that was passing by roll over him. He tried distracting himself, looking at the raindrops falling copiously, but he failed once more. It was pointless, he just couldn’t be near you without making a fool of himself.

“So…”

“Why did you pull away from me?” you interrupted him, slightly turning your head to the side.

“What?”

“I wanna know why you’ve been avoiding me.” you rephrased, using other words in case he didn't understand you. “You avoided me yesterday, and you haven’t talked to me today. I thought… I thought you liked me.”

He definitely wasn’t expecting you to be so straight-forward. It was admirable, how you could just say the words without feeling embarrassed. Jimmy walked two steps forward to stand next to you, staring at you like you were holding his heart in your hands.

“I do like you.”

“Then why…?”

“I don’t know. I don’t, okay? I guess… it was a reflex, I don’t know.” he stuttered.

Your expression shifted. It morphed from a longing one to a mixture of confusion and disappointment, as if you couldn’t believe what was coming out of his mouth. A reflex? The word echoed in your head. A reflex. So he was used to it, that's what he was saying. He just treated girls nicely and then dodged their kisses like bullets, as if he was too good for them.

“You’re such an asshole.” you stated, offended, but not looking away from him either.

“I know,” he said, giving up to the truth. “I know I'm an asshole, but… that doesn’t change the fact that I like you. I like you very much. Today’s been Hell and it was all because… I was missing our chatting and the coffee you always bring me and… I don’t know, just you, I guess.”

Jimmy saw your eyes widening, moved by his clumsy words. He knew expressing his feelings like that wasn't his most remarkable strength, but something about your face, humid by the dew of the rainy weather. You blinked. He saw it in slow motion.

“I’m sorry…” Jimmy gasped, looking for the correct words. “... I want to fix this. I really do.”

You wiped your face. He didn't know if you were brushing off tears or the rain.

“I won’t tell you how to.” you said, looking for a confirmation, yet still taunting whether you should do it or not.

You turned your body towards him fully. Jimmy noticed you were a little taller than him, although that didn't make him feel bad in any way. In fact, he found out that he actually liked it. Since he wasn't answering, you repeated the condition silently by settling your hands on his chest. You swallowed, nervous at the lack of response.

And so, Jimmy decided to reply by actually leaning in and giving you a kiss. You immediately kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your cold body further against his. He tasted like coffee, unsurprisedly, and you were struck by how smooth he was, as if every motion, every brush of his lips, every caress of his hands, had been planned beforehand.

It was perfect. Every single bad moment in that day had been so worth it, Jimmy thought. He held you close, a hand on your waist and another buried deep inside your hair. You sighed dreamily at the shift, and as he swallowed the sounds, he actually thought he might explode right there.

When your lips broke, you didn’t even smile. Instead, you just looked at him with an expression he couldn’t figure out. It was a mixture of worry, longing and something else. Something like relief. As if you were saying “Fucking finally.” Your staring made him chuckle nervously, trying to avoid the awkward aftermath.

“So, uh… we’re okay?” He probed, realizing how stupid his question sounded.

“I think so, yeah,” you answered, tracing the edges of his jacket with your fingers.

That was when you finally smiled, a shy, almost imperceptible smirk made its way to your face. That was when you looked up to meet his baby blue eyes. He smiled back at you. It didn’t matter how silly you looked right now, pressed together under the building’s porch roof. In fact, he wanted to stay like that forever, or at least, until it was time to taste your coffee again.

Steve smiled when you wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned your head against his shoulder blades. You paused, quiet, just to listen to the internal rhythm of his body. The steady breath in his lungs and the calm beat of his heart. You felt as if the little cuddle was returning the lost energy back to you.

“Hi, honey.” he greeted, and the vibration of his voice added to the noise you were feeling.

“Hi…” you sighed.

“How was work?”

“It was okay.” you said, a little hesitant, waiting for him to notice it wasn’t okay.

The kitchen was quiet for a moment before he spoke again.

“Are you sure? You sound…”

“I mean, I might have had the worst day of my life.” you interrupted him, adjusting your embrace around his body and pulling him closer to you. You tried not to get in the way of his baking. “... but it’s okay now that I’m here.”

Steve went quiet again. He was content with your answer. Normally, he would’ve done anything in his range of possibilities to make you feel better, but he had learned the hard way that sometimes it was preferable to just leave you be. And that was what he was doing, letting you cling to him like he was all you needed.

He kind of was, though.

“... I presume apple pie will make you feel better?” Steve suggested.

“Oh, I sure presume that too.”

You felt the laugh vibrate in his chest, and it felt contagious, so a little smirk popped up in your face. You sighed, basking the moment in, closing your eyes.

“So what did you do today?” you asked.

“I, uh… been listening to some music. And then Sam tried, uh… how’s it called? Facetiming me?” He taunted.

“Yeah.”

“Well, that, but I struggled a little so he said he’d teach me some other time,” he said. You could tell it was a little frustrating for him. “But I’m getting the hang of the texting thing.”

“That’s great, sweetheart,” you mumbled. “So you’ll start texting me while I’m at work?”

“If you let me.”

“... of course I let you.”

Both of you stayed like that for a few minutes. As he carefully put the apple pie together onto the pie plate, you noticed he started humming. It was so cute you just had to tighten your arms around his waist a little, as if begging him not to push you away, even though you knew he’d never do that. You felt his arms and hands giving the dough the shape of the plate, and then tilting the bowl full with apple slices so they would fall onto the dough, and finally, how he carefully laid the stripes down, putting together a quadrillé out of the dough he’d kneaded with his own hands. The whole scene was so precise, so efficient, and so tender. 

“Where did you learn to make apple pie?” you asked, realizing he’d never said anything about knowing how to bake.

“... back in Brooklyn. My mom used to make it for Buck and me,” he recalled. “It’s not as good as hers, obviously, it’s been decades since I’ve tried making it. Literally.”

“I’m sure it’ll taste just as good,” you assured him. “You’re a great instruction-follower.”

You drifted away just a little to press a little kiss right between his shoulder blades as he laughed quietly at your comment. Your tippy toes made it easy for you to settle your chin on his shoulder so you could glance over to see how the pie had turned out.

Needless to say it looked amazing. And it still had to be put in the oven.

Steve turned his head ninety degrees to look at you. Your eyes finally met. He had the soft-hearted smile that always made you melt. You tilted your head to get a better look at him.

“You hum when you cook, did you know that?” You commented.

“Do I?” He raised his eyebrows. “I haven’t noticed.”

“You do. And it's cute as hell.” you replied, sneaking a glance to his lips.

He chuckled, returning the little glance. 

“I have to put this in the oven, honey.” he said, signaling for you to drop the koala act.

You bit your lower lip, unable to resist now that he was acting this cute. As sneaky as your glance, you leaned and captured his lips with yours. He let you hold the kiss for as long as you wanted, let you taste the touch of lemon in his mouth, the warm welcome, the gentle motions. When you pulled apart, you couldn’t help pecking the corner of his mouth before finally letting go of him, already tasting the apple pie he’d baked just for you.

Now, the Helicarrier had just arrived from a mission, along with the repairs in Natasha’s suit. Somehow, it had caught fire and there were open seams all over the sleeves and neck. You thought you’d repair it until you landed back in New York, but seeing the actual state, you figured you might as well sew her a new one. So that’s what you had been working on for the eight hours the journey had lasted. And you weren’t finished yet. 

You raised your eyes, looking out of one of the windows Fury had thoroughly installed in your studio. You were glad to see something other than clouds for a second, even though it now meant to see nothing but the skyline, surrounded by blue and more blue. But then you spun on your chair to find the chaotic state of your workstation. Black, flexible thread elaborated with the stretchiest, most resistant material you could get your hands on behind Fury’s back, scattered all over the scraps of cloth with more or less the same characteristics that were in progress of becoming Black Widow’s new fighting attire. Surrounding your working station, a bunch of other spandex-like fabrics tucked around their respective rolls. It was a mess, to say the least, but you were pretty used to it. You’d been working as a seamstress since you were fresh out of high school.

Luckily, Clint hadn’t left his sort-of sniper position during the whole assignment, so his suit only needed a good wash up and not so much needle and thread, so there was that. Yet there was something different about Clint’s suits, which was that they weren’t made exclusively of black spandex, but also a splash of colour with some dark purple. Sewing the arrow-holders on the thighs and the back was always a lot of fun as well.

And that only left Steve’s. If sewing black and dark purple was a breath of fresh air for you, you couldn’t begin explaining what the bright white, red and blue did to your eyes. Not only that, the design was a modernized version of what Howard Stark had initially made for him back in the 40s, which kind of honoured you, having the chance to replicate such an iconic piece of clothing. Plus, the fabric was thicker than Natasha’s or Clint’s, so the added challenge only spurred you on. And let’s not forget how freaking handsome he looked in the suits you sewed for him. And how his eyes lit up every time he saw you hadn’t darkened the colours and had sustained the bright old-fashioned style. Poor Steve was a man out of time, yet seeing a glimpse of something familiar like the good old colours of the flag in his suit was enough to comfort him in the flashing blur of the modern world.

Overall, working as something you loved doing was something you were very grateful for. Not everyone got that chance, so being able to sew and pay the bills with that? Made you feel like the luckiest girl in the whole wide world. That and being within smelling distance from the most famous superheroes in history. 

Speaking of the devil, as you were lazily picking up a broom to sweep the traces of thread you had cut off at some point, you heard the door smoothly slide open. You looked up to find no one else than Captain America himself at the threshold, and you couldn’t hide the little wide-open thing your eyes did in surprise. You figured since the Helicarrier had landed, they would all be gone in the snap of a finger, so it naturally confused you for a second.

“Evening, Captain.” You stammered in hesitation. Your eyes trailed him to spot his arm clutched to his chest, holding a piece of familiar fabric. “I’m…”

“Please, just Steve,” he smiled, a warm, dignified tone, lower than you expected that soothed the quick pace of your heart.

He stepped inside, making his way across the rolls of fabric on the floor and placed his folded suit on the working station. You saw his hand lingering on the wooden finish, as if it was speaking to him. Unsure of what to do, you placed the broom aside, approaching him and moving his suit to the other side of the sewing machine, as if saying you would get to it as soon as you could.

“I know I usually send it through the team.” he spoke in his usual composed manner, yet letting some glimpse of affection (for his suit, probably) stain his voice. “But I realized I have never brought it to you personally.”

“... what’s the matter?”

Your chest tightened, fearing the worst. What if he didn’t like your repairs? What if your seams were too tight? What if the cloth was too rigid for the battlefield? Had he been fighting and cursing your work all this time? You were suddenly reeling on ways to make it up to him, until he replied.

“Nothing’s the matter. I just thought I’d bring it myself. You’ve been fixing our suits for months. I wanted to thank you, in person.”

“Oh.”

You would be lying if you said that didn’t catch you off-guard. Even though  that was a very in-character thing to do, you still couldn’t help assuming he’d be too busy with aliens and mission debriefs to actually think about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s seamstress. You were quiet for a few seconds, staring at him and hesitating, a little clueless of what to say.

You opted for the safe option. “You don’t have to thank me, Captain. I’m only doing my job.” You leaned against the edge of your wood station, smiling at him.

Steve returned the twinkle, without showing his teeth, and crossing his arms in front of his chest. You couldn’t help admiring his biceps, enveloped in the confines of the rolled up tartan pattern shirt. The old-fashioned style of his outfit suited him like gloves to a hand, you noticed.

“You do more than your job.” he continued, leaning against the edge of your desk as well, now standing closer to you. “I’ve seen the way you fix the suits. You care for them. And the finish is strong, neat. It's very good work. I can’t do less than praise you for it.”

“Of course I care for them.” you paused, trying to think of the right way to make your point. “Can you imagine the Avengers having a wardrobe malfunction? I’d never hear the end of it. Fury would have a field day.”

He scoffed, facing down to his feet. “I don’t think he’d fire you.”

“You never know.” you shrugged.

Steve didn’t say anything else, instead he just wandered curious eyes all over your workshop, lingering on your shelves, where you had an absurd amount of thread on display. You interpreted his gestures as a little prying, as he left his spot against the work station and approached the exhibit. As he turned his back to you, your hands wrapped around the rim of your desk as your eyes shamelessly traced the muscles of his back. The back to waist ratio was insane, you thought. The nape of his neck, barely fuzzy with short blond hairs shone with the sunlight, making his skin look golden.

“I don’t even use all of them.” you commented.

“How many do you own?”

“Uh… a lot. Two hundred and fifty-six.”

He tilted his head, and you could almost see the amused grin in his face.

“That’s oddly specific.”

“I guess.” you scoffed. “You seem amazed, though.”

“I appreciate normalcy amongst chaos.” he replied, spinning on his heels and looking at you. “And there’s nothing more chaotic than this Helicarrier, and I admire how you work so calmly in the midst of it. I wish I could do normal in contexts as such.”

Your teeth caught your lower lip, restraining yourself from saying what you wanted to say. Yet you still wanted to keep the conversation going, so you decided against your teeth’s will. “You do normal. Nat told me you draw very well.”

Steve looked struck for a moment, and you feared for a second you had crossed a line. If he hadn’t told you about it, then why did you have to bring it up? It was invasive. Then a small smirk broke through his expression, a hint of bashfulness in his facade. You exhaled quietly.

“Nat told you that?” he scoffed, letting his head fall down in a strange kind of timidity. “Uh… yeah. I used to draw a lot back in Brooklyn, before…” he gestured to his body, giving you a slight reference point of what he meant.. “... all of this.”

“You don’t draw anymore?”

“Not as much…” Steve admitted, his gaze drifting to the window to stare longingly into the ocean. “... I keep a sketchbook around, but… I only use it when things get quiet. You can imagine that ever since Fury’s recruited me, nothing’s been quiet at all.”

He gave you a side-glance, his smile not even close to fading. You hid your lips in an empathetic gesture. It seemed to you that he was going through a good old artist’s block. Something you didn’t wish even upon your worst enemies. Now, you figured it’d be best if he returned home. Or at least, away from the Helicarrier until some other alien army tried to vanish the planet again. A sigh left your lungs and he turned to you. Baby blue eyes met your darker ones. Your fingers tightened around the table’s rim.

“You should go home, Captain.” 

Steve didn’t reply right away. Instead, his eyes were welded with yours. The mellow gestures of your expression, suggesting him to go before the conversation turned even more awkward, fumbled him. His lingering expression made him look like he had something to attend to before leaving, however, he settled on nodding, hooking his thumbs with his belt to hold his arms in a casual position.

“I should.” he said, ripping his gaze from you and lowering his face. “I still have music to catch up on.”

You chuckled. “I’ll see you around.”

“... bye.”

It was the next day when the star-sprangled suit was finally done. Lucky for you, there were no major rips or unsewn patches. What the suit needed was a thorough wash and steam. A lot of steam. So now that that was over, it was time to deliver the suit back to its rightful handsome owner. The one who had very honorably brought it to you by himself. To be honest, you were still in awe. And even though you’d have never expected something like that, it was such an in-character thing to do.

You only had to ask a few questions to reach the answer. Steve was at the lab with Tony. Your boss. Your boss boss. You didn’t think it’d be a bad thing until you stepped in front of the sliding door. That was when FRIDAY’s voice loomed over you Big Brother style.

“Voice activation required.”

You swallowed, enunciating your name as loud as you could, yet still trying to be discreet. After all, you weren’t sure how that voice activation thing worked. And you surely were startled when an acid beep remarked to you it was incorrect. You rolled your eyes, hoping it wouldn’t be what you thought it was.

“... Coco Chanel.” you mumbled.

The door slid open. You couldn’t believe it. You weren’t even a fan of Coco Chanel, yet Tony still managed to relate you to her. It was probably because he had an amount of zero knowledge about seamstresses outside his tower. Or because the name Coco Chanel sounded funny to him and it was only meant to piss you off. Either way, he had succeeded. It had, in fact, managed to piss you off.

However, your piss poor mood quickly flew out the window when you stepped into the lab. The counters, the holograms and the obscene amount of Iron Man’s suits that were organized on display by the walls welcomed you. You managed to see Tony at the back, moving his hands around as if he was an air-bender, yet accommodating the holographic screens to his liking. And right next to him, the star-sprangled man you were looking for. Hands crossed over his chest, a hard, serious expression on his face. You could catch some of their conversation as you approached shyly, Steve’s suit tightly clutched to your chest.

“... I’m just saying Rogers, it’s sketchy shit.”

“Is that what you call Intelligence?”

“No, it’s what I call when an organization is doing sketchy shit. And using us to do the heavy-lifting.”

“I still think it’s too early to…”

You coughed. “Captain?”

The two men went quiet, directing your eyes to you. Tony didn’t lower his arms, but Steve turned around completely to face you, the rough edges in his expression immediately softening at the sight of your presence.

“Hey.” he greeted you.

“If it isn’t Coco Chanel herself.” Tony teased you, crossing his arms.

“Hi, uh… I’m just… here to return this.” you walked closer to Steve, enough for you to be able to deliver the suit without stretching your arms. “... it wasn’t ripped apart or anything. I just… washed and steamed it.”

Your eyes travelled up to the smile in Steve’s face, a little hypnotized. He opened his mouth, as if he was about to say something. You saw the way his hands grabbed the suit and his thumb traced the shape of the star on the chest piece, so tenderly he might as well be stroking a baby’s cheek. He was so gentle, you noticed, even if his hands were big enough to cover up your face. Probably.

“Why, it smells really good.” Steve commented. “You almost can’t tell I’ve bled through it.”

You giggled. “It was nothing. Although you should know I’ll have to make you a new one soon because the color is washing out. You’ll be fighting alien armies dressed in lilac.”

“Now that’s a sight I’d like to see.” Tony chimed in, standing next to you and Steve after cackling at your comment. “So when are you going to start fixing my suits?”

“... when I learn how to weld titanium?” you suggested.

Tony scoffed. “My suits aren’t just welded.”

“Thank you for this.” Steve caught your attention again, ignoring Tony’s quippy attitude, and lifting the suit to your eye level. “I should repay you.”

“Oh, please. It’s my job, Captain.”

“Steve.”

You paused, taking a deep breath, and letting your eyes travel down his facial features “... it’s my job, Steve.” 

He smirked. 

“I still think I should repay you somehow.”

The man between you rolled his eyes. “Boring. She’s way too young for you, Cap, you should be a responsible adult.”

Astonished, you opened your eyes like two bowls as your head pivoted to your boss. The implication was clear, yet bringing it up like that, in a way only Tony could do, was making you feel like a child embarrassed to see two people kiss. Steve didn’t even bother to glare like you did, instead he sighed and threw his head back, staring at the ceiling. The position lasted for a moment before he decided it wasn’t really worth it.

“I’ll go hang this up.” Steve said, in a breathy voice, gesturing to the suit. He then glanced at Tony “We’ll talk at dinner.”

Before he could walk out, he placed one of his hands on your arm, making you forget all about the shame your boss was putting you through. “I’ll be waiting for you to charge me,” he said. A warm, kind smile that felt like an unspoken invitation made its way into his face.

“O... okay…”

Your eyes followed his powerful stride across the lab. And you were pretty sure that your heart was hammering so fast it was probably hearable from a certain radius around you. The door slid close behind him, and it was like the pressure in the room had walked right out. The air returned to your lungs. Your face was hot, and you were sure your cheeks were as red as Tony’s suits.

That thought made you bite your lip and glance at the door again, trying to avoid being seen.

“As I was saying, welding is not…” He stopped mid-sentence and was quiet for a moment, just as you turned around with an expression that could make anyone believe you had just seen a ghost. “... FRIDAY, scan her vitals.”

“What?”

“Her heart rate is abnormally rapid, sir.” 

Tony’s knowing smile made you actually consider crawling under one of the counters. “I just… had a lot of coffee.” you excused.

“Sure you did, Coco, sure you did.”

You asked over the soundwaves coming out of the teleportation device Reed and you had been working on. Herbie, the Fantastic Four’s assistant, a 3’2’’ neatly built bundle of metal, disks, nuts and screws, had just come into the laboratory beeping his sound emitters away. Three years into your job, you had learnt to understand basic beeping. Although there was no need for a Proficiency to pick on how distressed Herbie sounded. His head, shaped as a sliced decagon, was shaking from side to side as if he was denying something. His body, a white and blue replica of a space ship, was still on its axis, yet the wheels he used to self-transportate were moving forwards and backwards.

You retrieved your glasses and placed them on the counter, seeing Herbie rolling back and forth and throwing his C-shaped metal arms all over the place. The beeping sounds were about to begin sounding like a fire drill alarm. You crouched to be left at his eye level.

“Woah, calm down buddy.” you gestured with your hands. “Is everyone okay?”

Herbie slowed down, and nodded. The beep that came with that nod couldn’t mean anything else other than an exasperated yes.

“So?” Seeing that he was not moving anymore, you scratched the top of his head. “Hold on, I’ll call Reed, okay?”

You stood up and saw how Herbie suddenly started beeping again. You couldn’t understand a thing, so you decided to get his developer as an interpreter. The lab coat flowed behind you as your quick, steady steps guided you out of the laboratory. You couldn't help feeling a little out of place, since everybody at the Baxter could pick exactly what Herbie always meant.

As the Baxter's living room came into view, you noticed it was empty. You were confused. Sue was away on a Future Foundation campaign. You remembered that because you had had a conversation with Reed earlier about him having to take care of the final details in the nursery in her absence, which was what he was supposed to be doing now. But he was nowhere to be seen, at least in the living room.

You turned your head to the kitchen, empty as well. A frown slowly made its space in your expression when you glanced inside the nursery a while later and Reed was missing. You sighed, leaning against the doorframe and crossing your arms. It was strange. You usually were notified every time Reed left, since you were going to be the one taking care of the lab while he was gone, so not being acknowledged for that kinda made you feel even more left out. It was too late when you noticed you were biting at your thumbnail.

At least everyone was okay, you thought, blindly trusting what Herbie had beeped.

“Hey.”

Johnny Storm’s voice startled you. You quickly turned around to see him walk out of the guest room, where you were offered a bed whenever you had to stay at the Baxter late into the night. You always refused, though, alleging you wouldn’t want to impose yourself into their routine. It would’ve been nice to stay one night, you had always thought, since the team was like a family to you, but guilt always got the better of you.

Either way, you were confused, wondering why he would be there out of all places. But then it hit you. Perhaps he had a woman there. In the room you were always offered a bed in. Well, maybe you were being unfair, but it wouldn’t have surprised you, since he was always one to have a girl behind his back, clinging to his waist, whining about how cute it was when he talked about himself in the third person. You didn’t like that at all, not only because it only spurred his reputation on not being able to take anything serious, but it also broke your heart a little bit.

Because he wasn’t serious with anything at all. Everyone knew that. It was his reckless, kind persona that made him so likeable and trust-worthy to the common citizen. However, breaking your heart was something you couldn’t ignore that much. 

“Hi.” you greeted, willing to turn around and go back to the lab.

“Where are you going?” his question stopped you.

“Is Reed around?”

Johnny paused, as if hesitating whether to tell you the truth or not. “No. He left to get baby supplies. I think.”

You nodded. Of course, with the baby on his way, it was normal for everyone that Reed disappeared and came back out of nowhere with baby safety tools to protect them from things you didn’t even know they needed protection from. The other day, he had shown up with a safety sensor in the lab’s door, to prevent the baby from sneaking in. It made sense, but you would have never thought about it. Then again, that was why Reed was a grown man who was about to have a baby and you were only his assistant.

“And Ben?” 

“Alice.”

“Right…” you paused, and considered asking him for help, but the possibility flew out the window when he raised his eyebrows and that obnoxious expression made you want to slap him across the face. “... thanks.”

You spun around in your heels, giving your back to Johnny. He was left there, standing right in the middle of the aisle. And you thought you’d be free, but then he quickly caught up with you, rushing his steps until he was right behind you.

“What are you up to?”

“I’m busy, Johnny.”

“And I’m bored.” he said, as if that changed the amount of paperwork you had to file.

“I’ve got tests to run.” you replied, trying to walk faster. “And equations to finish. And paperwork to do.”

“I’ve got time.” 

You glared at him, doing a little toss at your hair. You saw Johnny’s eyes travelling down the messy cascade, and the little smirk in his face. It was cruel. You knew that he knew what that sly expression said to you.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing that up?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t you be off with Jane Doe?” you retorted, trying to gather your hair in a bun before stepping into the lab. “Instead of following me around the lab?”

Johnny stopped in his tracks by the lab’s threshold, watching you walk in after calling him out like that. Needless to say he was not expecting it. That was one of the many things he liked about you. You were able to get a little under his skin. Although it didn't piss him off at all. He liked when you did stuff like that.

“Nah…” he shrugged, catching up on your pace again. “... this is more fun.”

You rolled your eyes. Just as you were about to start preparing it all for the test, Herbie rolled next to you, beeping his voice box away. You looked down, but Johnny went ahead.

“What’s the matter with you, Herbert?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I still don't understand a hundred percent of what he says half the time, but I made sure everything was okay.”

Normally, Johnny would tease you for that. But he didn’t. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest, listening intently at what Herbie was saying. You knew he could understand what the constant beeping meant, but he didn’t make any further comment about it.

It bugged you. “What is he saying?”

Johnny made a grimace, exhaling deeply and opening his eyes. “It’s nothing important, don’t mind him.”

You had the feeling that he was lying. But then again, Johnny wouldn’t lie to you if it was actually important to know what the little robot was trying to convey. However, that didn’t stop you from being genuinely concerned. Herbie was still beeping, even if the message had been passed on.

“So what are you working on?” Johnny asked. You had the strange feeling that he was trying to change the subject.

“Some kind of… signal sending machine. You know how the digiwatches detect potential danger, but you can’t actually activate the alert yourselves. It’s easy. If any of you four were in danger, you should be able to send some kind of signal for the others.”

Johnny looked at you, impressed. He had underestimated you, that’s for sure. In fact, he probably thought being an assistant only meant handling paperwork and appointments, which was partially correct, yet Reed saw enough potential in you to entrust you with the testing of early prototypes. Showing Johnny that your job was not just sitting pretty and wearing glasses around was satisfying, to say the least. As if you were saying “I’m almost as smart as Reed Richards” to his face.

“So what are you doing now?”

A sigh escaped from between your lips. “Putting my gloves on.”

“What for?”

“I’m going to test pyrotechnic mixtures to ensure optimal visibility.” you replied, looking back at him. “You know, so that you can see in the clear sky, the clouds, the fog, whatever.”

Your eyes travelled back to the layout of different calcium compounds in the testing tubes in front of you. A sigh escaped you as you looked around for safety glasses, which were nowhere to be found. They were then shoved in front of your eyes by the man next to you. You looked at the glasses, then his cocky, weirdly obnoxious smile. You took them, trying to return the expression.

“Thanks.” you said. “You should wear a pair too.”

Johnny scoffed. “I’m not scared of fire.”

You side-eyed him, then proceeded to sprinkle a bit of the aluminum dust into one of the test tubes. Then, you picked up a dropper filled with dextrose, and poured six drops into the mix. Finally, a piece of paper. You looked down, but Herbie was nowhere to be found, even if it was protocol for him to be near when tests were being made. You scowled, confused. But you had your own source of fire nearby.

“Would you do the honors?” you asked, offering Johnny the piece of paper.

He picked up on your request, giving his hand a turn and lighting a little flame on his index finger, as if it was a lighter. The fire picked up on the piece of paper, slowly consuming the material, a thin thread of dark grey smoke elevated from the fire eaten borders. You breathed out, a little nervous, but you still quickly threw the source of fire into the test tube.

 The explosion was immediate. A whirlwind of orange-ish bright light erupted from the rim, illuminating the whole laboratory. You felt Johnny stumble backwards. You turned as fast as you could, just to find him leaning against the opposite marble counter. You chuckled.

“I told you.”

Johnny grunted. “Well, that did work.”

“It did. What was this? Calcium Chloride….” you mumbled, leaning over a notebook to your side and annotating observations.

The mix was effective, but there was still a lot of work to do. How to carry the compound, the fuel and the activator effectively on the suits at all times, for example, or where to put it so it was reachable and subtle. But then again, you were only an assistant. The details of the equations were always left to Reed. For now, you were fuming at how great it had turned out.

“I still have two compounds left to test.” you announced. “Perhaps you’d like some safety glasses now.”

“Yeah, that… that’d be smart.”

You looked around, trying to spot Herbie, who had an immense storage of those glasses, but he was nowhere to be seen. “... where did he go?”

“What, Herb?” Johnny rose from his laidback position. “Don’t worry, he’s probably off at the nursery… you know… finishing up some details on the furniture.”

“Why would he be at the nursery? He knows I need him here.” 

The skeptical glance you threw at him sent and delivered the message: You couldn’t buy a single word. Herbie was programmed to stick in the lab whenever experiments were being tested. You put on a thinking pout, one that Johnny couldn’t possibly ignore. His eyes widened as he took a deep breath, trying to regulate the sudden hammering of his heart. 

You put down the pencil and started walking away. Johnny immediately followed you. “There’s gotta be some glasses around, there’s no need to get…”

“It’s not about the glasses.” you stated, walking eagerly across the living room, back to the hallway. “If there is some failure on Herbie’s programming, I have to check it. The whole penthouse depends on him.”

Johnny hid his lips, exasperated. 

But the sigh you let out when you opened up the nursery door and found nothing in there but a crib and a bunch of screws and boxes of other furniture scattered around was far more exasperating. 

“Hey, come on. He must be busy…” Johnny tried ushering you out of the room by placing a hand on your stomach from behind. “Let's get back to the lab.”

You quickly brushed him off, trying to hide the intense blush in your cheeks. His hands were so big. It was infuriatingly hot, but it was not the time for that. 

“No.”

You were confused. Why was he so determined to keep you in the lab? Was he hiding something? You stopped on your tracks, the doubt picking on your brain like every other question did.

“What’s the matter with you? You’d never been behind me this much.” you snap, annoyed at his attitude.

“What do you mean? I’m always behind you.”

“... you’d never insisted on helping me with tests.” you retorted. “Are you hiding something?”

You noticed his face going pale. 

“I’m not. Do you think I’d be stupid enough to try to hide something from you?”

Your eyes squinted, as if saying yes, I think you're stupid enough. But he was right. Why would he hide something from you? 

You considered going back to the lab and locate Herbie from there, which… was actually pretty smart. But there was still one room left to check on the floor you were in. However, as you turned to the guest room door, Johnny grabbed your wrist like a lifeline. Your head snapped back.

“Come on…”

You scowled “... okay.”

But when Johnny’s grip on you vanished, you zoomed away from him at the fastest pace you could set. As if! Now you were even more curious to know why the hell he wouldn’t let you near the guest room. He followed right behind you, screaming “Hey!”. You chuckled, biting your lower lip as your hand reached for the doorknob.

The sight inside made you stop in your tracks. You recalled the guest room to be completely different from the rest of the penthouse. Even if it did have that same structural aesthetic the other rooms had, it didn’t hold that many thoughtful details because there wasn’t a regular user for it. However, what you were witnessing now was a room that you almost didn’t recognize. Or rather, you did. You found a bed, a desk and the built-in dresser familiar, because they looked exactly like your own room’s furniture. It was like a replica, but Baxter-fied. You couldn’t help opening your mouth as you stepped in, and feeling even the exact same smell of jasmines you always sprayed back home. You turned to the circular bed to find a bouquet of said flowers lying there, motionless. The natural light coming from the massive window gave them a soft glow that made the whole environment look like it was out of a dream. You were surprised to find Herbie by the desk, arranging a vase with another bouquet.

Johnny stepped right behind you, and you turned to him, in awe.

“Jasmines…” you gasped. “Johnny, what is this?” 

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he replied. “... it's for you.”

You didn't understand anything.

“What?”

 “Don’t freak out, okay? I just noticed that you come here everyday, very early, and leave very late. So I… talked to Reed about it and… he said we should ask you to move in.” he paused. “But it’s only if you want. I just thought… decorating the room a little would help our case.”

“You did all of this?” you gestured around you, hands flying everywhere, pointing at the bed, the flowers, the desk and Herbie’s frantic dusting. “Just so I would say yes?”

He shrugged. “I did.” 

Your legs moved on their own, making you approach his slumped figure. He looked so disappointed it was almost funny. It was clear that he didn't want to spoil the surprise, but Mr. Snitch had managed to do so. He couldn’t blame Herbie, though, he wasn’t programmed to keep secrets.

“Why?” 

Johnny bit his lower lip, lifting his eyes to look at you. They were bright and your smile almost reflective, as if it was naturally plastered on your face. You looked gorgeous.

“Because…” he saw you swallowing and immediately thought about what to say. Or rather, how to say it. “... you’re a part of the team. You have been for a while. And… I like having you around.”

The words surprised you. You knew he was fond of you, but you had figured it was more of a since-I-see-you-everyday-I might-as-well-get-along kind of feeling. You didn’t expect he actually enjoyed time spent with you, like a pair of good friends or, in your case, a long-lasting crush you just couldn’t shake off.

“You do?”

“Of course I do! You’re… like the best person I’ve ever met. You’re funny and you’re beautiful and you call me out on my bullshit. And… you make me feel things I haven’t felt before.” he stopped his avalanche of confessions. “And I don’t know if you feel it too but… I just know that I want you around as much as possible.”

Your mouth fell open. Somehow, you felt the exact same way. Sure of what he drew out of you, but not quite convinced that he meant it. He was a flirt at best after all. Then it hit you: All those times he’d teased you or tried to give you some sort of compliment, and you had brushed off, were real. But silent realization wasn’t enough. You wished for words. No more teasing, no more beating around the bush.

“What are you saying, Johnny?”

“Jesus Christ…” Johnny scoffed, frustrated. “... I’m saying that I have a huge crush on you. Ever since you started working here. Ever since you walked out of the elevator all dolled-up in that put-together outfit for the first time.”

Your hands flew up to cradle his cheeks. Johnny’s blue eyes met yours, but you couldn’t give yourself the time to admire them before he gently held your waist and pulled you closer, pressing your lips together. You sighed, throwing your arms around his neck and closing your eyes, getting rid of the view to use all your other senses. His lips were soft to the touch and warm to the skin, he smelled of a mix of cologne with the dust on his vinyl records, and tasted like vanilla and burnt smores. It was like a dream, you thought, as the kiss managed to make you melt in his arms.

It took you a while to split up, but when you did, the trace of a steam accord between you two made you bite your lower lip as you pushed yourself back and looked up at him. For a moment there, you thought he was burning up, but it wasn’t the case. He had the giddiest smile going on in his face, looking as silly as a kid getting candies.  

“So I’m guessing that's a ‘me too’?”

You nod, unable to contain your giggles.

“It’s also a ‘I can’t believe you asked me to move in’.”

“And was it a yes to that as well?”

You looked around. The room was nice, but the thought of moving in with your found family, after spending most of your life alone, was enough to make you nod again.

“... yeah.”

The answer pulled a grin out of him, but he didn’t have time to say anything else in regard before Herbie rolled to you, beeping shyly, as if he was apologizing. You looked down and patted the back of the robot’s plastic head, and he replied with another series of beeps.

“I’m so glad there’s nothing wrong with you.” you sighed.

“Except being a snitch.” 

Herbie immediately whirred angrily. Johnny couldn’t do less than let out a snarky little chuckle, placing a hand on top of his plastic head as well and stroking it. The robot quickly changed the tone of his voicebox to a warmer one, welcoming the gesture of affection. Johnny looked back at you, with that same stupid grin on his face he just couldn’t get rid of ever since you’d kissed, and you pressed another one to the corner of his mouth.

“We should get back to the lab and finish the tests.” you whispered.

“Oh, that’s right. You got any spare glasses, buddy?”

But for some reason, the sudden announcement of Fowler’s retirement had switched something in the DPD employees. Only the best policemen had been invited to the little gathering. A simple get together at a bar had sounded decent enough for you to show up, along with Hank, who had been invited despite his not so good terms relationship with his boss. Apparently, Fowler considered him worthy enough, so he was glad to go. Barely.

You had never felt very comfortable like this. Surrounded by men. Cracking offensive jokes and cackling at every little thing they said. A situation that was getting worse and worse overtime due to the alcohol in their blood. Not that you weren’t drunk as hell too, and normally, a drunken state made you bubblier and more cheerful. But tonight was not the case. You were sitting at the corner of the table, far away from the center of the dimly lit place, blurry with the warm lights and the excess of external stimuli. You looked at your co-workers chattering around, monopolizing the pool table and half the bar counter. Somehow, you envied them. You wished to be like them so bad. Or at least, being taken seriously like them. But your current state kept you from joining in. You weren't sure you'd be able to think of sentences to say for them to let you participate in the conversation.

Hank sat next to you, or rather, he fell on the chair next to yours. He didn’t look as wasted as his coworkers, which at the time didn’t impress you, but normally you would have been surprised. If anyone were to ask you, you would’ve said he was going to be the one who’d end up drunker than you that night. You were sure you had enough willpower and alcohol tolerance to survive the night. You couldn't have been further from the truth. Your look was unfocused, and you were even struggling to breathe. He turned his head and analysed you, his characteristic caring nature blurbing from his eyes and directing the words that came out of his chapped lips.

“You okay?” 

“... yeah…”

You didn’t even glance at his direction, after taking longer than an average human would to answer such a simple question.

That's how he realized it was time to call it a night. At least for you.

“I think it's time we get you home.” he repeated his thoughts.

You gave him a glare, as if you were trying to understand what he had just said. Hank didn't look away, cooling down his eyebrows, defying you to contradict him, to deny his suggestion. He knew you didn't dare. And if you dared, he wouldn't care anyways.

He always did that. Always looked over you. Even if it was overwhelming and it made you want to kill him at times, and if you weren't the only one he had taken under his wing, you appreciated it. 

Though this time, you were going to need some sort of scolding.

“... I don’t think I remember where my house is.” you said, finding the situation amusing.

Hank’s eyebrows dropped. You couldn’t decipher the emotion behind it, but it soon got to you when he replied.

“You fucking stupid, Detective? What do you mean you don’t remember where your house is?”

“I mean it. I moved in recently… like… three days ago… it’s at a corner.” you giggled, holding your glass with some alcoholic beverage you couldn’t remember its name. Was it… a Manhattan, maybe?

“Yeah, that’s helpful.”

You watched as Hank leaned back on his seat, contemplating whether he should let you be or not. But he decided against it. If anything happened to you, what would that make him? Nothing but a negligent son of a bitch.

“Then you’re coming with me.”

The affirmation struck you like lightning. You found yourself checking Hank out, before giggling again and pushing him away softly with your hand.

“Jesus, Lieutenant, you should invite me to get coffee first!”

“Yeah, a bit too early for sleepovers, huh?” he answered, rising to his feet and waiting for you to get up. “But I can’t let you here. I don’t trust any of these guys.”

“Oh, come on, I work with them.”

“So do I.”

His glare gave you all the command you needed. You knew better than to keep discussing. And at the end of the day, he was right. The people in there were all out of their right minds and you couldn’t trust they wouldn’t try anything on you. You huffed, trying to stand, but failing to do so. Hank caught you and threw your arm around his shoulders, helping you up.

Hank stepped out of the bus, gruffing and sighing, his almost old age was starting to get to him. He found it more difficult each time to carry himself, there was no comparison with carrying someone else on his shoulders. You were practically dead weight, even though you were trying not to be. You hiccuped and giggled like a baby, dragging your feet through the concrete floor. As you lifted your head up, you could see Hank’s front porch, dimly lit under the pale moonlight.

“Say…” you started, slurring your words. “... is Connor here?”

He huffed. “Connor? Yeah, he should be here…”

At first, Hank didn't understand why you'd ask that. You were drunk, and normally Connor was not the first thing in your mind. However, once he reached the front door, and Connor opened it as if he already knew you were there, he saw your posture straightening, and your eyes glowing radiant. He watched the scene obliviously, but then your smile caught his eye and soon everything came clean.

“Oh, hello, Detective.” Connor greeted you. His dirt-coloured eyes landed on Hank before travelling back to you. “I didn't know you were going to attend the retirement party.”

“Are you kidding?” You replied, leaning against the doorframe as casually as your stumbling body allowed you. “Fowler’s like… the best boss ever. The boss… est. I couldn't miss that party. Plus the drinks were free.”

“Stop talking and get inside, will you?” Hank grunted, annoyed at your sudden willingness to chat.

You turned to him and frowned, but then again, you knew he was right. Your feet were quick to drag you inside as Connor stepped to the right to let you two come in. He closed the door shut and leaned his back against the door. Hank started taking off his leather jacket as you somehow found the way to keep talking.

“I wasn't supposed to come tonight.” Connor raised an eyebrow, questioning your affirmation. “Hank insisted and I don't know why… he's having like… a tarn… truthm…”

“Yeah, I insisted because you are drunker than a fucking Irish sailor.” he snapped before sighing.

The living room was doomed with silence. Hank kept peeling layers of clothing as you crossed your arms and sat on the couch. Connor… he honestly had no idea what to do. He should’ve gone to that party, kept you from drinking too much and maybe taken you home at the end. He wouldn't have minded that. In fact, he wouldn't have minded doing absolutely anything for you. Not that he was very attentive. Most of the time his perceptiveness came back and bit him in the ass. Yet he loved doing things for you. He’d always had. Even if it was something as dense as extra Friday-night paperwork or something as domestic as a warm cup of coffee from the dinner court. He'd always be willing to help you.

And now he had a choice to make. Who was he supposed to help now?

You, who gruffed with your arms crossed on the couch like a child or Hank, who was opening his fridge looking for some of his alcohol stash?

“So drunk you can't even remember where your fucking house is…” the older man grunted to himself, taking out a beer can from his refrigerator. 

“Perhaps you should go to sleep, Lieutenant. You've clearly dealt with this too much for tonight.”

Hank was struck by his android, who was standing very close to him. He had no idea how Connor had gotten so close so silently. It was like he had a superpower. Subtly, the android took the can from his calloused hand and placed it on his counter behind him. 

“I should, shouldn’t I?” Hank sighed, surrendering the can to his co-worker. “You sure you can handle it?”

“Of course I can. I am CyberLife’s most advanced prototype.”

The old man looked at him confusedly, but eventually, he decided it was best for all of them. He’d get to sleep at least for a while, whereas Connor would get some extra deviancy practice with human unpredictability or whatever the fuck he needed that for. And you…

He glanced past Connor, catching a glimpse of you still sitting on the couch, but petting Sumo’s white fur as it snuggled against you. He could make out your “good boy” mumbling.

Yeah, you were in good hands.

You followed Hank with your eyes as he disappeared into his hallway, whispering “Good night” to both Connor and you. He was gone before you could say it back in your drunken haze, so you just went back to that good old patting on the Saint Bernard mass drooling and gasping on your lap. A little smirk tugged from your lips. You had always been a cat person, but you could get used to Sumo.

“Detective?”

Connor’s voice piqued your attention. Surely you weren’t expecting a harsh pressing of some (probably his) lips against yours. You froze, not sure of what to do with exactitude. It took you a while to realize that he was, in fact, kissing you. The realization hit you like a train. You felt your chest squirming and your stomach being sucked from the inside. He moved his lips in a certain way that made you open a gap between them and you definitely weren’t expecting the brush of his tongue in your mouth once your lips had parted. He tasted like metal, unsurprisingly. Just when you decided to drop Sumo’s hair and cup Connor’s high cheekbones, he painfully broke it off, as if drifting away was causing him to physically hurt.

It sure did hurt you.

You blamed your lack of reflexes on this. You noted you normally would have been able to avoid such a movement in a millisecond as efficiently as expected from a trained police officer. Yet now you felt like the world had stopped in its tracks. Not only the rotation of the Earth, but also your lungs and what worried you the most, your heart. All you could do was stare at Connor, who had his palm near his mouth, and you wondered for a second if you had somehow made him bleed.

He must’ve seen the way you were looking, dumbfounded by what had just happened, and recalled that what he had just done was considered very wrong and immoral without previous oral spoken consent. Suddenly he felt afraid you would have a bad reaction to it. He wouldn’t blame you, of course. But before anything could happen, he spoke up calmly.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Detective, I was just testing your alcohol level. It seems to be that you are, colloquially speaking, very drunk.” he said, the LED in his temple flickering and going through blue, yellow, flickered yellow and coming back to a flickering blue. He was thinking very quickly. “You should drink some water and go to sleep. I can lend you the guest room, if you don’t feel comfortable sleeping so close to the main door.”

“I… I don’t.” you blabbered.

God you wanted to kiss him again so bad. What the fuck was stopping you? You two were there alone, and you were drunk. It was going to be easy to pretend you didn’t remember any of it the next morning. 

“Can you do that…? Again?” you asked.

“Again? I don’t see why… My receptors are well developed so as not to fail these types of…”

“Connor,” he fell quiet as soon as you interrupted. “... Sumo doesn’t talk.”

His LED flickered yellow again. He found it hard to understand what you had meant with that. Of course Sumo couldn’t talk. He was a dog. Dogs barked, but didn’t talk. And what, for RA9’s sake, had that had to do with…?

… of course.

“... Detective, you are asking for romantic gestures, which are not well developed in my programming.” he told you, quickly sputtering the words. 

“I thought you were a… deviant.” you retorted. “And it… doesn’t have to be any of that lovey-dovey bullshit… at all. Just… pretend like you’re making another test.”

That convinced him enough. He took a deep breath, not being able to name his current feeling, but nervous, before leaning in. You closed your eyes as you let him keep on coming closer. The gap between you shrank and shrank quickly. 

“You’re not in your right mind, Detective, are you sure you wish to proceed?” he asked, provoking a sigh from you.

“Yes, I fucking wish to… fucking proceed… Jesus Christ…”

You barely finished your cursing before Connor’s lips were back on yours. This time you didn’t freeze, or at least, not for that long. Your lips moved too gracefully for a drunk person. And your arms wrapped around Connor’s neck just as smoothly. He stood there, still and stuck, doing nothing but hesitantly responding to the soft, slow motion of your drunk kiss. The only noises coming from him were his almost unhearable gasps, the little sucking sounds whenever your lips parted for a quick pause that didn’t last in the air before you closed the gap between you two again. 

He really didn’t know what to do. As you insisted, he kept trying to figure out the purpose of the union. He had kissed you before because he had a question to answer. He had something to find out. But now… what was he trying to get out of this? How far could it go before it had to stop?

The questions faded away when your teeth caught his bottom lip and pressed it softly in a sweet, playful bite. It was like he short-circuited, and his reflex was to pull apart from you, touching the spot that had the invisible mark of your teeth.

“Oh, fuck, Connor, I’m sorry…” you stuttered, trying to get close but finding yourself stuck in place due to Sumo’s dead weight still resting on your lap. “... I couldn’t help myself… you’re just…”

“It’s okay, Detective.” he reassured you.

You dreadfully looked at him standing up from the couch and adverting his eyes. He straightened his clothes, and you felt the need to grab his wrist and tug him back next to you. You resisted, though, not wanting to make this any worse. Drunk and all, you were aware of your mistake. You felt so stupid. And so selfish.

“I shall set the room for you. In the meantime, I suggest you drink at least one glass of water.” he repeated his instructions, but you didn’t think you were sober enough to process them.

Connor stood straight and silent, as if he was waiting for you to add anything else. Eventually, the quiet ended up taking the initiative in the room. Your eyes wouldn’t leave his hand. It was big, his fingers were so long. One might even say elegant, for lack of a better word. You wanted to feel it holding yours. Or stroking your hair. You bit your lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet, so the android just walked and disappeared into the hallway just as Hank had done a few minutes ago.

As he made the bed, he couldn’t help thinking about your little bite. Up until then, he had never felt something like what he had felt when your teeth caught his flesh. He got scared at the feeling of his thirium pump rising its pace like it would in a highly stressful situation. That was why he had split from you. He wondered if his LED had turned red as well. He also wondered how you would’ve reacted to other stuff. If he had caressed your waist, would you have gasped? Would you have split as well? And if he had bit you back? The possibilities were endless. The questions were too many and the answers were too few.

Looks like you’d have to repeat it sometime.

Back in the day, he had kept the tape trapped between gift wrapping paper buried deep into a drawer. The note was there, and he had read it before, but reading it from time to time gave him some sense of comfort that nothing else could replicate. To think that was his mom’s calligraphy or that her warm, caring hand had brushed against the paper, felt like a caress to his heart. 

My Star-Lord.

Peter read the last line, a little sad that the writing was over, before starting from the top all over again.

“Ah, there you are.”

He lifted his eyes from the worn out piece of paper. You were standing at the threshold, holding his Blasters in your hands. You stepped inside, approaching him and handing him the weapons. Peter gave you a check out. You were dressed heavily. Thick clothes with grease stains all over your hands, stiff from the effort it took to properly fix the Blasters only the Ravangers could steal for him. They were old alien technology, and they had probably been stolen ages ago by his adoptive gang, being passed down until someone saw the real potential in them. However, they weren't indestructible. During your last mission, Rocket had managed to drop an entire asteroid nearby, which caused their power source to explode due to the shock wave. Peter was devastated, but you had managed, as he could see.

“Here. Fixed them for you.” you announced, offering the Blasters to his laidback positioned body. “I adapted the new power source to the proper combustion fuels. They should work like new.”

Peter took them from you. They felt cold, but you had even cleaned them up. He smiled, taking a hold of them as if he was about to shoot, testing the grip. He looked up at you, placing them down next to him, and holding your hands. Or rather, your gloves.

“Thanks, baby.”

“It was nothing.” you plopped down on the bed, exhaling a huge amount of air. “Rocket’s been driving me crazy.”

“Yeah?” Peter’s eyes were focused on your gloves, carefully retrieving them from your hands.

“You have no idea. He was all over me while I fixed the Blasters. Giving his opinion on everything.” you sighed again. “He can be such a pain on the ass sometimes.”

The man next to you chuckled, tracing the shape of your fingers with his palm, a little hypnotized at how yours were much thinner than his, and surely more taken care of, even when you were the team’s handygirl. He pecked the tip of your pointer. It was admirable.

You looked down at him. “I have to fix the AC. And a few buttons on the cockpit.” you paused. “I don't even know how you manage to break so many things in just one mission.”

“The AC is Drax’s fault.” Peter chimed in. “He didn't know how to turn it off.”

“So he figured he would smash it.”

“Oh, come on. You know how he is.” 

You scoffed. “I keep underestimating him.” 

The room fell quiet, only moving your fingers to mindlessly play with each other's hand. Intertwining them, pressing your palms together. Peter laid down next to you, making his eyes level with yours. You cupped his cheek, thumbing at the cheekbone with enough tenderness to melt him. His stubble made your hand itch.

“... used to watch his eyes when he told his sailor’s story…” you sang quietly, already knowing the lyrics of the songs in his tape like the back of your hand. 

But something was off. Not on the written words, but the music. Suddenly, the whole arrangement sounded high-pitched and distorted. 

“What's happening?” you asked, taken aback.

Peter feared the worst, feeling how his stomach sunk into itself as he placed the sheet of paper on the bed next to him and quickly crouched down to the built-in tape deck. He pressed “Eject”, and saw how his worst fear had become true, as he held the tape on his hands. It was all scrambled up, as if someone had tried to make a bow with it and failed scandalously.

His natural denial failed him when he pulled from one of the stripes and the knot became even tighter. 

“Jesus…” he muttered, trying to fix it, but just entangling the material even worse. “... fucking thing…”

Then, in his eagerness to fix it, you heard a snip. It didn't take long before he gave up, dropping the tape on his lap. He didn't even flinch when you placed your hand on his shoulder, crouching down next to him. 

“What happened?” your voice was low, as if you were afraid of panicking.

“... the tape broke.” he replied, lifting his head to show you the issue. “See? It's cut…”

The way his voice had become weak and pouty made your heart melt. Peter loved those tapes. They had been with him ever since he'd left Earth, they were the last concrete memory of his late mother, and every song was meaningful in its own way. You knew what his mom’s tapes meant to him. You just had to do something.

“... I can fix it.” you said. “I just have to take it apart and put it back together. Rocket found an adhesive that…”

“No.” Peter reached out before you could stand up, landing a hand on your thigh. “No, you don't have to fix it, just… just stay here.”

You froze, letting him wrap you in his arms and pull you back down on his lap. He was being a little dramatic, but you said nothing. With a sad smile on your face, you held his head against your chest, tucking him under your chin, softly raking your hands through his blond, unfairly soft curls. 

Peter couldn't believe it. He felt devastated, as he observed the split on the tape. At least he felt comfortable next to you. And his favourite song in the tape nonetheless! He felt like he could cry.

A kiss was placed on the top of his head.

“Peter…”

“I know, I know.” He bobbed his head from side to side. “... I'm being ridiculous.”

“Very.”

He sighed, laying his head back on your chest, still looking at the tape and wondering if fixing it was really going to make it any better. His previous experiences had taught him how to put it back together when the tape got tangled, but as far as he knew, there was no human way of putting the tape back together without screwing the sound up.

“Are you sure you can fix it? I don't…” he paused. “I could never do it right.”

You pushed him back. Your eyes met and you bit your lower lip, smiling tenderly and a little teasingly at the raw sadness in his expression. He was definitely being dramatic.

“You’re such an idiot.” you mumbled. “Of course I can fix it. I've worked with tinier things.”

“Are you sure? You don't know how these things work, it's a human thing…”

“I never know how things work. I pull them apart and check them out.” you held out your hand, silently asking him to give you the tape. 

The man kept quiet.

“But you're completely sure?”

“Peter!”

He chuckled. He was only messing with you.

“That’s why I’m gonna teach you.” he shrugged, reaching out to get ahold of one of your hands.

Music resounded to life, escaping through the tiny holes of the mesh covering the front of the speakers and letting the melody come to life. The only word you could come up with for the first impression of that song was “eerie”. Soft enough to almost numb you down, yet melodic enough to make you want to tap your foot into the ground to the beat. Your fingers wrapped around your boyfriend’s hand, surrendering to his tug, and stepping closer to him. Your bodies were pulled together into a loose press.

You sighed. “I know how to dance. I just don’t like doing it.” 

“Well, your dances are different from mine.”

He guided one of your hands to his shoulder and held your opposite hand into his, wrapping his fingers securely around yours. Meanwhile his free hand wrapped around one side of your waist, although that gesture was so common for you you didn’t realize it until he was using his steady hand placement to caress that patch of your skin unhurriedly.

“They're very… weird. Not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just...”

“What do you mean weird?”

“I don’t know…" he paused, thinking of the correct, non-offensive words. "You have to be in a good mood to dance like that.” he reasoned.

You smiled, looking up at him. Even for a tall species like you, Peter still towered over your frame like it was no big deal. You were charmed by that, to be honest. No male from your planet was taller than any female, and it had been normal until the first time you saw Peter, thrown out of the Milano, as the nearly destroyed ship landed on your planet. The Guardians of the Galaxy. You scoffed as the memory waved back into your brain in a whirlwind of soft-light recollection. They had arrived all over the place, looking for a planet to hide from some other people. Apparently, Rocket had stolen something from them, and they were after the team, so your family played the good samaritans and sheltered them until their ship was fixed. Little did you know that tall, odd coloured skin Terran would also manage to reclute you. And from there on, the story tells itself.

So here you were, chest to chest with your lover, clumsily moving from left to right to a leisure melody. You gripped his hand, dropping your head down to face your feet, watching them moving in sync with his. He must’ve noticed how you suddenly went quiet, because he scoffed and asked away.

“What’s eating you?”

“I don’t want to step on you.”

“Oh, come on. If there’s anyone qualified for you to step on, that’s me.”

You couldn’t help chuckling. A silly smile breaking free in your face. The whole moment was only peaceful. You could feel your breaths syncing with the slow beat of the song, your steps starting to drag, and your smile melting into more of a sloppy grin. He even spun you around slowly as the instruments made a pause. Your hand on his shoulder took its turns to stroke the zone, your eyes never breaking apart from his face, and you were surprised to find his lips curling up in a smile you had never seen before, just like the sparkle in his dark irises started glowing. He was ecstatic, yet if you hadn’t pecked on those little details, you would have never noticed he was about to explode out of happiness. He was being adorable.

“So this is what Terrans do for fun.” you commented.

“Among other things.”

“But you’re having fun.”

“Me?” he echoed, seemingly surprised by your implication. “I'm having the time of my life. I love dancing with you.”

He sealed the confession by pressing a kiss to your cheek, so cushy and sweet it made your organs flip around. You bit your lower lip, containing the huge smile threatening to show up in your face. When he drifted away, you pressed your cheek to his shoulder, tucking your nose into his neck and smelling the strong scent of the cosmos. You could distinguish gunpowder, the heavy redolent of his Quad Blasters that reminded you of the liquid silver cascades back in your homeworld, and a rather pleasant sweet metallic breath. Peter’s scent was hard to pinpoint exactly, but letting the feeling wrap around you like a warm blanket after a cold day was one of your favourite things to experience.

The quiet gave your ears some time to adjust to the song currently playing. It was almost magical. The sounds together played with the volume, and they were hard to identify as well. It felt as if someone had managed to make a sound out of velvet. And the melody was catchy, made to be carved into your brain. You loved it, but it was very different from what Peter usually listened to.

“What are we dancing to, anyways?” you asked, not leaving the safe place on the crook of his neck. “I’d never heard something like this before.”

“It’s called I’m Not in Love.” he said, speaking into your ear. “One of… my mom’s favourites.”

“It’s very beautiful.”

“I didn’t like it that much when I was a kid, but… it grew on me eventually.” he told you. “Being… you know, one of the few things I had left of her.”

You nodded, letting your head fall back to look at him. You kept swinging, not letting the somber turn of the conversation ruin your dance. The hand that was on his shoulder made its way to his cheek, pressing against his stubble, making him glance at you. He put together a sad smile, one that thanked you for not letting him get lost in the sea of grief he tried so hard to escape from. You locked both your hands securely behind his neck, and he wrapped your waist with his, still swinging from one side to the other.

The new position arranged you two closer. So close, in fact, that you could feel Peter’s breathing against your face. Silent and still, even if you were moving. Outside the window, the massive built-in glass panel Peter had in his room, a star cluster near Knowhere sparkled colors through and through, probably because of a two stars collision. Blues, purples, pinks and greens. All kinds of hues. All kinds of brightness and contrasts. But how those colors reflected on you was the best of it, giving the room some lightning other than the faint white lightbulbs. Peter looked other-worldy under the gleaming colours.

“I told you it was easy…” he whispered. “... dancing.”

“I knew it was easy.” You shrugged. “Doesn’t make me feel less silly.”

“Oh, come on. Why would you feel silly?”

“My people consider dancing to be silly.” you explained, not raising your voice as not to ruin the moment. “It’s not having any sense of shame. It’s… something only people who don’t care to be made a fool of do. It’s ridiculous.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t mind being ridiculous for you.” Peter leaned in and pressed your foreheads together. 

“You don’t need me to be ridiculous.”

Peter laughed quietly. He thought your sudden deliveries were very funny, even if some of them offended him sometimes. However, it still amused him when you called him out like such. What he loved the most, though, was when your deadpan tone was accompanied with that upturn of your lips that betrayed your facade. His hands slid down to your hips, hesitating, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d let him. Even if you’d been together for some time now. The dance suddenly turned more intimate.

“I guess I can manage being silly on my own,” he said. “But having you there to be ashamed of me is the real fun.”

You chuckled. The words faded off your brain, so you only stared into his enveloping eyes. He was so handsome. And so soft-looking. You hated the little flip your heart was making every time you lingered for a second too long. Yet you also craved it. You craved the way he made you feel.

The song changed. The eerie sound shifted into something you recognized out of all the times Peter had listened to it. You could hear drums and vocals. Fooled Around and Fell in Love. None of you cared about such abrupt change in the mood. You just kept dancing, changing the tempo a little, but dancing nonetheless.

Peter crouched his neck down, brushing the tip of his nose against your nosebridge. The touch was so polished and light it made you close your eyes. And so you felt him move his nose downwards to lift your lips. You followed him, letting him guide you. And so your lips brushed together to finally melt into each other. You didn’t know why, but every kiss felt like the first one. It was magical.

Your hands instinctively rewinded to cup his cheeks, pulling him even closer. Your noses bumped, and you two shared a giggle, before splitting apart.

“I love you so much.” Peter confessed against your mouth. “I don’t even know how it happened.”

“You fooled around and fell in love.” you teased, taking in the way his eyes hadn’t stopped sparkling. “See what I did there?”

“I didn’t care how much they cried, no sir…” he sang along, making a terrible impression of the singer whose name you didn’t remember. “Their tears left me cold as a stone…”

You chuckled as he serenaded you, not unlocking your hands and surely not letting him break free from your embrace. His singing faded out as the song kept going, as if he had forgotten the lyrics mid-song. Eventually, he leaned down again and pressed another mushy kiss to your cheek. As he passed by, you pressed the palm of your hand to the nape of his neck and pushed him close enough so your lips would be close to his ear.

“I love you too.” 

The whisper left your lips and got lost into his ears, a secret promise only the air between you was aware of. He pulled away, peering down at you and kissing the tip of your nose. Your smile turned cheekier as the weight of your confession made you chuckle nervously to downplay the seriousness of the moment. But you wouldn’t stop dancing. Not at all. Not for anything in the universe.

The sight of Johnny Storm’s neck welcomed you into reality. 

Your lips curled up involuntarily, giving you a silly grin as your first expression of the day. You found your brain plastered in a blank canvas, with little to no memories from the night before. Although it didn’t take a Nobel Prize winner to figure out what had happened. There was no other way around it, no other words to tell. You had slept with Johnny Storm.

The sheets felt light and warm as your palms pressed to them to lift you up from your laid out position. As comfortable as it could be, you wanted the panoramic vision. And there he was, facing to one side —your side— with his face compacted against the pillow, and his mouth half-opened, from where slow breaths were taken in and then released. His disheveled blonde hair gave Johnny a messy boyish charm that made you want to squeeze him into your arms until he passed out.

Your arms eventually gave up, and you had to lay down again. This time, you pressed your cheek to the arm that you had previously been using as a substitute for a pillow. He didn’t move a single muscle. It was as if you belonged there somehow, with how naturally he was letting you sleep next to him.

Either that or he was a very deep sleeper.

Thinking of that made you turn, laying on your back. And that’s when you saw it. A different ceiling, one that you didn’t recognize. You turned to your side and horrified, you saw the curved walls, built-in wooden panels and a spacesuit on display. Ahead of you, a massive window, a blue chair, and a white record player that surely did not belong to you. 

Now sleeping with Johnny wasn’t new. What was new was spending the night in the Baxter Building. And what was worse, not having met the other residents.

You cursed in a whisper, jumping from the bed as quietly as you could, yet still going fast. As if you were about to lose a fight. You sprinted across the room, picking up your clothes scattered across the carpet floor. You didn’t want to think about how much noise you were making. All you wanted to do was get dressed and get out of there. Dreading images and what-ifs derailed in your mind. You weren’t sure if Johnny had talked about you, so if any (and I mean any) one walked in on you dressing up and accidentally tripping over your half-risen socks, not only would you pass out from shame, but the victim of such shock would probably try to kill you before even asking what a stranger was doing in Johnny’s room.

Although it was a little extremist to think one of the Fantastic Four would rather brawn on the enemy instead of working it out through diplomacy. Johnny had talked about his family on the first date. You thought it was cute. The fondness in his voice was so clear you could almost touch it. And you had wanted to meet them for ages. They were your boyfriend’s closest people. But you’d been respectful. You hadn’t spoken about them too much, because you figured, if you were going to be with Johnny, you were going to be with Johnny, not his family.

But who were you trying to fool? The thought of meeting the Fantastic Four was thrilling, to say the least.

You finished putting on your clothes in a flash, probably with a little twist in the waist of your dress and some doubtful buckles in your shoes. Your hand twisted the knob to open the door as silently as you could, not before glancing at Johnny one last time, making sure he was still asleep. Your eyes lingered for a second too long, and you wondered if it wasn’t worth it just undressing all over again and jumping in bed with him until an emergency woke him up. You brushed the thought off and you swiftly snuck through the tiny space between the door and its frame. You didn’t open it any further in case it creaked.

The hallway received you. It looked very different in the light of day, although you had barely been able to see it the past night in the haze of the darkness, blinding city lights and Johnny’s kisses pressing on whatever patch of skin they could land on. The frenzy of not knowing where to put your hands, or where you were stepping at. Let’s say, you had not exactly paid attention to the Baxter Building the night before. That’s why you were a little lost for a second, trying not to breathe too loud in panic as your eyes shook everywhere, trying to recognize a door or a painting. Anything.

You swallowed, figuring the only way out was following the path of the hallway. A few seconds led you to the living room. You were struck for a second, since it was even bigger than you had seen it on TV like umpteenth times. A huge chimney, cylinder shaped that formed into a wooden capsule, like a water drop. Light blue circle couches surrounding it. Behind it all, a massive window panel hidden by sheer curtains. The whole layout looked like it came straight from a dream. Or from a future house catalog. It did match nicely with Johnny’s room aesthetic, so you wouldn’t have been surprised that some expensive interior designer had worked its magic with the Baxter. Or rather, that most furniture had been designed by either Sue or Reed to ensure both comfort and efficiency. 

You were impressed, honestly, staring out the wall from the end of the hallway, not daring to step a foot into the last room. You scanned the area, and felt like twenty elephants had left your chest as you spotted the elevator to your left. 

“Hello?”

A calm, sultry voice startled you. You turned your head ahead of you to find Sue Storm herself cradling baby Franklin in her arms, sitting with her legs crossed at the circle table on one corner of the kitchen. You noticed her whole figure was well camouflaged with the kitchen, as if the Baxter was actually a real future house catalog and she was only a test mannequin made of wax. You wouldn’t have been surprised, since her swift, graceful motions over her baby were so subtle and her skin so chiseled that it wouldn’t have been weird to figure she was made of actual wax. Her expression was… oddly peaceful, for someone who was seeing a stranger in her house, where she kept her son, her husband, and her little brother.

“H-hi, uh…” you stuttered, not sure if you should introduce yourself. “... I… I am… I was just…”

You paused, completely blank. It felt like every thought you had in the span of milliseconds had just flown away from your brain, and all you could do now was just stare at her shamefully speechless. And she was staring you back, keeping her baby boy tightly clutched to her chest.

“... I was just leaving.” 

“You’re Johnny’s girlfriend, aren’t you?” she asked softly. You were surprised, having expected spat statements.

Her question left you even blanker. You opened your mouth and closed it several times, absolutely clueless on how you should answer that. And the fact that you were doing it so in front of Sue Storm was making you feel like dropping dead right there on the spot. What were you, a fucking fish?

God if only you had waited for Johnny to wake up, he could've flown you home.

You closed your mouth as a final said statement, and slowly nodded yes. You swallowed, a little scared of what she would do with that information.

“What’s your name?” 

She stood up. Even if you were feet away from her, you still felt intimidated, as if she was towering over you and about to pounce on your neck. Yet, the gentleness she placed Franklin with on his chair was so genuine you didn’t feel afraid at all. Yet you still couldn’t react to the question. For a while, at least, before you snapped out of it and managed to let out your name from your chapped lips.

“I’m… I just… I’m terribly sorry to intrude. I was about to…” you started saying, but you were cut off by the quick steps of a man storming into the kitchen.

“Sweetheart, I need something with proteins, right now.” 

Reed Richard’s voice made your stomach sink down, though you really weren’t sure where. He then seemed to notice some unknown presence nearby, because he turned around, showing you his wrinkled face, white lab coat stained with some substance only he probably knew the name of and a pair of transparent glasses on his nosebridge. His expression shifted from defensive to curious in a matter of seconds.

“Who are you?” he asked, taking off the glasses and hooking them from one of the pockets of his lab coat.

“I…”

“It’s okay.” Sue, grounding as ever, placed her hands on her husband’s shoulders and whispered something to his ear. He immediately calmed down.

“... oh, I see.” he mumbled, taking a quick glance to the floor before looking back up at you. “We finally meet.”

Finally?

“I…” you didn’t know what to say. “... Gosh, I’m so sorry. I was just leaving… Mr. Richards.”

You swear you saw Sue bumping Reed’s back with her elbow. He reacted immediately, stepping aside so you could see the dining table.

“No, please. Would you like to join us for breakfast?”

The invitation petrified you. Here you were, wearing your not so puritan clothes from the night before, smudged make up and we’re not even talking about the hair, looking with both eyes and mouth wide open at Reed Richards and Sue Storm themselves, asking you to join in for breakfast. Right after sleeping with Johnny Storm the night before no more no less. If the week before someone had told you where you’d be a week later, you would’ve immediately laughed in their faces.

“J-join you?”

“Yes, you’re more than welcome.” he insisted, ushering his wife to her chair. “You’re… well, Johnny’s talked to us about you. And if you guys are, uh… serious… Well, then you’re part of the family too.”

Reed’s words struck you. You hadn’t really thought about it. Being serious. But you liked Johnny in a way that was practically new to you after all. And you couldn’t help the warmth spreading to your chest (and surely your ears) when you thought about Johnny speaking about you to his family. You tried to gulp down the knot in your throat, and just as you were about to sit down, a flash of your bronze boyfriend appeared behind you. He was agitated, looking at his family and at you in disbelief. You couldn’t help snorting. He had the most adorable messy hair going on, and an expression as if he would’ve been about to experience the horrors. He probably didn’t expect it, finding you and his family in the same room, having a conversation like you were old friends.

“Morning.”

“Yeah, uh…” he tried reacting, still playing ping pong with his head from side to side of the room. “... Sue, Reed, this is…”

“Oh, we know.” The woman nodded, as she smiled with a smug expression. You could tell she was just trying to tease Johnny about the whole situation. “We know it all.”

Johnny swallowed. “... a-all?”

“Hey, listen…” you placed one of your hands on his shoulder, making him look into your eyes. His blue orbs were drowning in a frenzy, and you couldn’t blame him. He was probably ashamed, you two hadn’t planned on any of that after all. “... I can go home if you’ve got things to do.”

“What? No.” He jumped.

You felt his hands on your waist. His hold was firm, keeping you right where you were, but it didn’t make it less gentle. You were at a melting point, just about to slip away between his fingers, but you catalyzed that ache in your chest by exhaling through your nose and pushing the corners of your lips up.

“Stay for breakfast,” he pleaded. “Reed doesn’t mind. Do you?”

“I…”

“See?” 

You glanced at Reed. You couldn’t help feeling a little out of place and you really didn’t want to bother anyone. Yet the way Johnny was looking at you was making your heart take leaps and succeeding pirouettes you weren’t sure even professional gymnasts could perform.

“You sure?” you probed. “I don’t wanna impose anything”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“I insist.” Reed chimed in.

You bit your lower lip and nodded, looking at your boyfriend’s puppy dog eyes begging for you to stay. “Okay, yeah, I’ll stay.”

His smile brightened the whole room. You saw him visibly lighten up as well, standing straight and squeezing the flesh of your waist. He even glanced at your lips. You prayed he wouldn’t kiss you there. You still had some shame in you. Slowly, you ran your hand down the side of his face, tracing his morning wrinkles, the short locks of his blonde sunkissed hair. 

It was the only face you wanted to see in the morning for the rest of your life. Thinking about it sucked your stomach in.

“C'mon. Herbert makes some fantastic pancakes.” He winked, dragging you out of your trance and giving you a silly grin. “See what I did there?”

You chuckled at his joke, taking a hold of his calloused hand and following his steps to the dining table. “Yeah, I saw. It was terrible.”

“Oh, please!”

The living room of your apartment was dark, bathed by the blue gleam coming out of the TV, and the thousand little shiny dots outside, one for each window in New York City. From your 11th floor apartment, you could hear Manhattan’s residents’ march on Seventh Avenue. The disappointment in their steps. Yeah, that was good stuff.

You quickly wrote that down in your scrap paper. The slide of the pencil on the sheet numbed the raid out the street.

You were working on an article about the whole matter. Fantastic Four’s quick trip outspace, their statements about Galactus’ request to spare the Earth, and how everyone in that press conference had turned their back on them. A little summary for all that matters. And since you were pretty much a public figure, you were absolutely going to write your opinion on the subject. Not that you liked doing it, though, even after ten years of writing for the newspaper and assisting press conferences, you still felt like your opinion wasn’t very important. There were far more influential people than you.

Oh well. It wasn’t the time for that, really.

You put on your prescription glasses, slid a blank sheet into the platen and aligned the type line before you began writing. The metallic sound fills the apartment, but it did little to nothing to cover the monotonic tone of the TV presenters rolling their tongues on and on about the Fantastic Four.

A few minutes passed by, until the knock came.

You lifted your eyes to stare at your door over the dark frames. You could see a faint orange light draining through the space between the wood and the carpet floor. You instantly knew who it was.

Sighing, you rose from your chair and walked towards the door. Slowly, you opened it, revealing Johnny Storm’s warm figure standing outside the threshold, recently turned into human. You frowned, taking note of his appearance. The bottom of his sleeves were burned, bit by the black trace of the ashes. His hands were bloody. And his face was all dirty and mushy, for some reason.

“Jesus Christ…”

“Hey.” he greeted you. You saw him looking past you into your home. “Are you with someone?”

You shook your head no slowly, as if moving any inch of your body was hurting you. “No.”

“Good. Can I come in, then?”

You exhaled through your nose, contemplating your choices. Or rather, your lack thereof. So you lowered your head and stepped aside so Johnny could come in. 

He walked into your living room. You followed right behind him. The man was left entranced by the view. He had always liked the view in your apartment. Even though most of it was blocked by the building across the street, the rest of Times Square was visible around it. This time, though, he only looked down to the riot on the street. You sensed the warmth disappear.

You touched his shoulder to make him turn around, but before he could say anything else, you grabbed his hands stealthily, and inspected his knuckles. They were red, and each dripped blood down the back of his hand. You thought the cuts would be cauterized by the fire, but there they were, spilling fresh blood out the blood vessels. You looked up at him, and met his dark eyes.

“What happened to you?”

“Just, uh… had a little accident.”

You raised an eyebrow. The message was clear, and Johnny sighed.

“You know, wrong place, wrong time, wrong guy… I got mad.” he admitted, glancing at his hands. “And kicked his ass.”

“... why didn’t you call Sue?”

“I didn’t want Sue.”

There it was. The other message, crystal clear, loud but unsaid. I wanted you. You felt your stomach churn, but not precisely in the good way. Nothing was good when Johnny was around. You let his hands fall and pointed at your couch with your head. “Sit down.”

He obeyed. He had to. He was thankful you hadn’t asked about his fight after all. His eyes followed your figure disappearing into the hallway. Then he turned to the TV. The headline seemed oddly familiar. “Fantastic Four: Are they really that fantastic?” He scowled, with the feeling that every headline in every TV show at the moment was the same. If it was his TV, he would’ve probably made it explode by now.

You sat down next to him, first-aid kit in your hands. He didn’t recognize half the stuff you had in there, but he didn’t make a comment. The way you held his hands was so gentle he doubted for a second it was you who was going to patch him up. His eyes raked all over your face. You were so pretty, and your glasses fit you like a piece of a puzzle. He had never seen you with them before. 

He felt the sharp sting of the alcohol soaked cotton you were patting on his knuckles in order to clean them, and he winced a brief second. Johnny wasn’t sure if you had realized that he could’ve cauterized the wounds just by lightening up a few seconds instead of flying all the way to your apartment. He didn’t care if you had. He didn’t mind being seen as that stupid if it meant he could stay close to you at least for a while.

He let you hold his hands like you’re offering something to him. Peace, stability, something calm and collected that he was unfamiliar with. It was so delicate. And he knew any sound other than the TV was going to shatter it with a pitiful crack. But he has to try. Once again.

“... are you ever going to let me take you out?”

You had braced yourself for any mention on that matter. Yet every time you spoke about it, it made you feel the same way: You felt stranded and stuck. You wanted to. But if only.

“You know my rule.” you replied, gently wiping the surroundings of his cuts with the cotton. “I don’t date superheroes.”

“I’m barely one.”

“That doesn’t matter.” you stated. “You still try to be one. Fighting aliens or beating up thieves in alleyways. It’s the same.”

Johnny lets that sit for a moment between the two of you. “And do you want me to stop?”

The question struck you like a lightning to a tree. It was too sincere. Right now, he wasn’t Johnny Storm, cocksure, smart, and a picture perfect charmer. He was just a guy, opening up his deepest desires to you. Asking if giving up on his destiny would finally earn him your heart.

“... I can’t ask you to stop being a superhero, Johnny.” you answered. It was slow, but not slurred. Definitive, even. “And I won’t. Not ever.”

He went quiet, a thing he didn’t usually do. He didn’t know how to be quiet, calm or collected like you. His eyes were entranced in your hands, and how they carefully cleaned his open wound. Every time your skin came in contact, he found himself leaning into it. He wasn’t used to that grounding touch. He was the one giving warmth, and light, almost always. Yet now, he knew it was no use trying to appear like so. You saw right through him. He had let you do that a long time ago.

His gaze quietly dropped to your lips.

You couldn’t see it, too focused on his bloody knuckles, but you felt his piercing eyes drilling into your face. You could almost imagine the yearning expression in his face.

“Don’t try anything stupid.” the words left you before you could think about them.

Johnny took his time processing your warning. He didn’t know if you were talking about him getting into more fights, getting himself killed, or just risking it to give you a kiss. Either way, he solved the question just by staying still. Still watching you intently as your hands now gently took some gauze from the kit.

One of them took hold of his fingers, as the other one manoeuvred with the gauze, dressing his knuckles carefully. The movements were careful. The whole motion was tender and delicate. Even if you weren’t a delicate person per se. You just knew when it was the right time to be.

“That’s my trademark, doing stupid things.” he chuckled.

“Yeah, well, it’s not really the time now, is it?” you paused, paying attention to the task at hand. “So, has… Reed said anything? About not letting a naked space woman eat our planet?”

Johnny was surprised to hear you ask about the whole ending of the world thing. He wasn’t sure if he liked talking about it, but he was certain that it might be a bit better to go on about it with someone he could be vulnerable with, instead of any other reporter whose only goal was to make him look bad.

“She’s not the one who’s gonna eat our planet,” he replied. “Galactus is.”

“Oh.” you were struck for a second. “... well, then, is he?”

“He wants to, that’s for sure.” Johnny paused. “But Reed’s working on it… well, everyone is working on it.”

“... and you?”

“What about me?”

“What are you working on?” you asked.

“I’m actually…” he hesitated. He didn’t know how useful it actually was what he was doing. Scared to look like a pretentious idiot, he still decided to go for the truth. “... that… woman. She spoke to me when she first came. Something I didn’t understand. But I’m… just trying to decode her language, in case there’s any sneaky weaknesses in there we can use against her.”

You weren’t expecting that. You were just embracing yourself to hear something about throwing flaming punches at that woman hoping she’d melt (literally), or sweet-talking her into leaving the Earth alone. Not something like that. You lifted your eyes to look at him, unable to hide your astonishment. He averted his gaze from yours. You could tell he wasn’t really proud of it.

“But it’s a little stupid. I’m never the one with the solution.”

Now that was a stupid thing to say. You returned to your previous position, wrapping the gauze around Johnny’s swollen hands. It was going slower this time, though. You were starting to like the conversation.

“Well, you’ll find a way to make that useful. You always do.”

Johnny chuckled humourlessly. “You have more faith than I do.”

He looked up to your floor-to-ceiling windows. More specific, beyond the glass. The skyscrapers. He liked flying through them, dodging them smoothly. Hunting down crime. Kicking aliens' asses. He liked being a superhero, and he yearned to prove to everybody that he was more than your go-to boyish charmer one.

“Of course I do. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

Johnny heard your words, and was about to shrug that off. But then he just fell quiet, his expression turning a little more thoughtful. He glanced at you, studying the steady motions of your fingers tangling in the gauze to get a better grip. You passed it across his knuckles, three loops. Then one loop over each one of his fingers, then his thumb, and then his knuckles again. You had done that twice by now. It was soothing. But he didn’t know if he could take any more soothing from you now.

“You’re doing it on purpose.” he stated, chuckling but again, without a tone of joy in it. 

You stared at him, confused. “What?”

“This.” he spoke hastily. “You— you tell me all these things now. You patch me up. You let me sit here next to you. But then you always say no to me. Every damn time. Always with that… stupid thing about not dating superheroes. What even is that?”

You were motionless. Completely petrified by Johnny’s outburst. You weren’t sure you had ever seen him even a little angry. And what was worse is that he was right. There was something wrong with you. You did love him. You just… didn’t think you could handle loving someone like him. You two were completely different. His life was always a rush, a constant go, go, go he had no say most of the time. The thrill, the adrenaline of being a superhero. It suited him like a ring to a finger. But you?

Johnny shifted on the couch, not daring to pull his bandaged hand away from yours. He searched for your face in the dim light of your living room. The one he had asked you out in a thousand times. His fingers brushed against the inside of your wrist, feeling your pulse quicken as if you were about to have a heart attack. He could’ve kissed you right there, but he held back. He always did.

“Why do you do this?” the question escaped him. He didn’t have to specify what this meant.

“Because I care about you.” you replied, almost way too quickly.

It wasn’t a lie.

But it sure as Hell sounded like it. Johnny could feel his exasperation turn into pure anger.

“You care about me.” he echoed. You sensed the disbelief. “That's it. And you won’t let me do anything about it.”

“I know it’s odd, but just let me…”

“Yeah, no, odd is an understatement.” he interrupted you.

“Johnny, I’m trying to explain it to you!”

“You know what?” he barged on your wannabe explanation, raising a hand, and standing up from the couch. You followed, opening your mouth, but he kept talking over you “I don’t wanna hear it. I’m sick of hearing it. I’m sick of all this.”

He didn’t spare you anytime to explain yourself. You tried walking closer to him when you saw he was slowly drifting away, but he stopped you with a look. A look ordering you not to follow him. You felt powerless, the intense demand to yell at him something among the lines of “Who the fuck do you think you are, shushing me down like I’m a dog?” Before you could do so, Johnny stormed into your balcony.

“Wait, let me…”

He paid no attention to your voice, something he would’ve normally done so. You realized you had done it this time when he didn’t wave goodbye, didn’t even look back at you, before jumping out the railing of your balcony, lightening himself out on fire, and flying away. The expansive wave of his jump made your hair flag, covering your eyesight. You lost the warm light trail of his body as it snaked between the Times Square skyscrapers, leaving nothing but a cool breeze behind his feet.

Then, quiet. A lonely, cold quiet. The kind of quiet that came before a storm. The kind of quiet that gave you the creeps. Nothing in your ears but the steady beat of your heart, as if you hadn’t just seen Johnny Storm jump out your balcony, even if you knew nothing could’ve happened to him. Your breathing, on the other hand, was heavy, as if you had been tossed off a bridge. The high key song of the wind on your 11th floor apartment balcony rang on your brain.

A particular hard blow of that same wind made you shiver. You looked around, not sure why. Perhaps you were waiting he’d be back. Or that no one had just seen The Human Torch fly out your house.

You startled when an enormous shadow pounced on you. But you didn’t have the time to scream when everything went black.

Ben was not expecting Johnny to arrive this late.

It was past 7 P.M. Family dinner had already started. Both Reed and Sue were confused by Johnny’s delay, but they were too busy nursing their new addition to the family to worry about the missing one in their group. Ben, on the other hand, was counting on him to talk about H.E.R.B.I.E’s latest (and surprisingly good) recipe. He felt confused at first, when the clock ticked past 7 P.M. and there was no sight of the cocky display of his flames.

So when the three of them were sitting at the table, and saw Johnny’s smooth landing on the balcony of the Baxter Building, Ben was the first one to question him.

“Oh, hey, Flamehead. We were totally waiting for you.” he said sarcastically, taking a bite out of his fork.

“Johnny, where were you? I needed to talk to you about…” Reed tried to stop his brother in law from storming out of the kitchen, but the firm pace of  his steps quickly made Reed’s speech slow down. “... the suits.”

His words were punctuated with a door slam from Johnny’s room. Ben, Sue and Reed looked at each other, without believing what had just happened.

“What is he, twelve?” Ben glanced at Reed as he asked the question, hoping the brains of the family would have an answer to Johnny’s unexpected and childish behaviour. The man just looked at his wife, whose attention had narrowed down to the baby on her lap.

She sighed, knowing that his sister was the only one he would probably talk to. “I’m gonna go talk to him…” Sue held her baby and landed it on Reed’s lap gently as she stood up from the table. His husband quickly scooped Franklin on his arms.

Johnny was laying on his bed, eyes closed, hand on his brow as if the weight of the world had just been dropped on him. He hadn’t even bothered to turn the lights on. The only thing he had done before sinking into the mattress was lower the needle of his record player. The vibrations let music fill the ambience. 

—Let me be your fool… just come back… —The speakers crooned.

The lyrics weren’t helping at all.

Not even by maxing the volume could he numb your voice in his head, saying that you didn’t want him, and that you would never, for a reason he couldn’t understand. Sure, he was a superhero, he thought, but what the Hell was wrong with that?

He couldn’t figure you out. And was afraid of never being able to do so

But he was done chasing after you. He was done being your plaything. He was done being swooped off his feet every time you did so much as look at him, and then brought back to the ground every time you showed him your back. Your disinterest. Your no-bullshit attitude.

He sighed, exhaling through his nose, hoping that he would wake up the next day and his anger had just disappeared. See you in his dreams.

He still liked you, after all.

But of course, his door creaked open. He knew he should’ve probably sat with his family. But it was no use complaining. So he just opened his eyes to reveal his sister’s figure on the threshold. She smiled as she stepped inside, sitting on the edge of his bed, not before turning the music down. The vocalist's voice descended as if he was going shy on her.

“Hey.” She spoke with a tone almost as low as a whisper.

“... ‘sup.”

“You’re not saying hi now?” 

Johnny sighed. He knew she was right. And it dawned on him how childish he was being. He looked at her, but didn’t apologize. He was too proud for that. Instead, he shifted his position, placing his arms behind his head, using them as pillow support. That was when Sue noticed his clothed knuckles, the gauze now spotted with red stains of his (she assumed) blood.

“Where were you?”she asked, pretending like she hadn’t seen them.

Johnny hesitated, but then decided not to lie. 

“On Seventh.”

“... you went to see the riot?” 

“... no.”

His little brother’s apologetic tone let Sue assume where he really was. Sure, there was a riot currently taking place on Seventh Avenue, but there was also something, or rather, someone, deeply important to him living in an apartment on that street. She scoffed, smiling. 

“What were you doing there?” The possibility of him paying a visit to that journalist, who had very kindly not written anything about them, and who Johnny had been in love with for months, excited her as if it was her own romantic pursuit.

He realized Sue had figured him out when he saw that sparkle in her eyes. She was proud of him, but Johnny had to break her heart once more.

“Asked her out.” he mumbled, but before Sue could speak, he rushed the next words out of his mouth. “And she said no. Again.”

Sue was expecting those words. If it had been good, he wouldn’t have locked himself in his bedroom like that. Without even greeting. Without even eating something. With a gentle brush of her hands, she caressed her little brother’s shoulder.

“... you’ll get over it.” she shrugged it off.

I don’t think I will. The very thought of not ever getting over you made Johnny’s stomach churn with anguish. Truth was, he was scared. Terrified. He didn’t want to get over you. He liked you too much. No, he loved you, if saying that pleased his poor, weeping heart.

 He laid back on his pillow, now looking at his sister. Her gentle smile, ice blue eyes and warm hand on his hunched shoulder. She was calmed, and passed it on to him. Johnny wondered for a moment what he was really doing there, laying motionless. He could be having dinner with his family, people who really cared about him. His nephew, for crying out loud, best baby in the world.

Johnny smirked. He was better now.

Or so he thought, until both digiwatches rang on their wrists. Johnny looked down at the same time as his sister. No kitchen timer, no H.E.R.B.I.E’s alerts. It could only mean one thing. 

Someone was in grave danger.

The wind that had firstly distracted you into oblivion was the first thing you felt when you came back to your senses. Very intense, wrapping itself tightly around your sore skin, and forcing you to open your eyes. You tried lifting your hands to get your hair out of your face, but you found that you couldn’t move them. Nor your arms. Nor any part of your body.

You looked down, adjusting your gaze to the darkness of the night, and you found yourself tied up. Your legs started shaking as you looked further down from your feet. The massive New York City layout was on display below you. Vertigo made your stomach stir and your heart beat like a couple of war drums. You lifted your head to find the infamous Rockefeller Center’s building enlightened right at your eye line. You could see it. The tallest building in sight. And you were standing almost as tall as it was. You felt like you were going to throw up.

But you were so terrified you felt like none of your organs were going to work properly enough to let you throw up.

You tried ignoring your current height to focus on how to get out of there. Your head dropped, your eyes closed tightly. Trying to think. But that was for a moment before you heard an explosion. The building beneath you trembled. You glanced ahead. Rockefeller’s top was spitting a mouthful of black smoke, but you couldn’t see any flames. A shaky breath, almost like a wannabe scream escaped your mouth.

You wanted to cry. But you weren’t going to. You didn’t want to give whoever had done this to you the satisfaction.

But then the thought of your most possible outcome started sparkling in your brain. Like fireworks. Tiny currents. 

You were going to die. 

That’s all it took to make your whole body crumble even further, and your eyes overflowing with icy tears that made your cheeks burn as the stubborn salty waterdrops strolled down. Your legs folded on themselves, your neck gave up on the weight of your head, and your hands unfisted themselves, tired from trying to tear your body free from restriction.

You were going to die. Unless someone came to your rescue. If only someone came to your rescue.

Johnny Storm’s flaming figure mischievously flashed in your mind. And the irony was so absurd it made you want to chuckle between the sobs. You were such a fool. So stupid. Only the vast blackness behind your eyelids felt like the safe-space you needed. You were freezing. But you could only take so much cold in your bones before passing out.

So, you didn’t bother opening your eyes when the chilling shiver in your body shifted to something warmer. Or so it was until that mellow temperature covered your arms like a hug. And then your eyelashes split, showing you the relieving image of your savior in front of you, crouched into the ropes, flaming hot like the sun itself.

“Johnny…!” his name left your mouth like a prayer.

“Sorry I took so long.” he raised his head, hitting you with those charming dark eyes. “Stay still. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

You nodded, desperate. Tears wouldn’t stop coming out of your eyes. You didn’t know if they were out of fear or pure relief. You weren’t going to die. Not today.

“What’s going on?!” you made yourself hearable over the loud shushing of the wind.

“We’ve found hostages… everywhere. We barely made it to the Rockefeller’s.” Johnny replied, as the ropes started giving up to the intense heat. 

“Who did it?!”

“Hell if I know!”

It didn't matter. You were safe. You kept repeating that to yourself

Or so you thought, until an explosion banged a few floors under both of you. The building trembled so hard you thought it was about to collapse. Johnny didn’t seem to care, as he kept his focused expression on the ropes holding your body down. His hands flamed on, gripping the material so it would melt quickly. Your breathing hitched when you felt another explosion under your feet, each one getting closer and closer. You closed your eyes, feeling his burning hands almost too close to your waist, and the groans of the concrete structure still holding you safe under your feet. Not crumbling down, though. Yet.

A cloud of dark smoke engulfed you. Your sight went blind. You couldn’t even see Johnny’s flaming figure in front of you, your breath was cut out. In desperation, you started panicking even harder, and the rapid breaths you took let the smoke encroach your clean lungs. Not even coughing was getting you out of this. It only took the blink of an eye before you were starting to doze off, heavily dazed. Not caring if you slipped and fell. Not that you could’ve done anything about that.

Until the grip of the ropes loosened, and a couple of arms scooped your body, lifting you up and far from the building. The sudden expanse of clear air made you snap out of your light-headed state.

“Fuck!” The vertigo drew the curse out from you, full volume, when you felt nothing under your feet, though the wind was blowing so hard in your ears you weren’t even sure you had actually said it. 

You opened your eyes. Down below, New York City’s lights flashed like you were going at the speed of light through the galaxy. You couldn’t help holding onto Johnny’s neck. Squeezing him tight. Not afraid that he would choke. 

Johnny lowered his speed, eventually landing on some other building’s rooftop. Your eyes didn’t leave him, as you slowly untangled your arms away from his neck and heavenly touched down your feet on safe ground. Or at least, what definitely felt safer than that building’s platform. Your soul was sucked into you again, dragging you back to your senses.

Your breathing was heavy.

His hands were holding your waist, gentle landing on the concrete. 

He wasn’t looking away either.

You didn’t think you’d be able to talk for a while.

So you did what you thought was best. Before he could say anything about going back out there, you grabbed a fistful of his suit, or as much as the stretchy material allowed you to, and yanked him closer. He didn’t have the time to react until your lips fused together.

However, Johnny responded almost immediately, kissing you back with eagerness. It was as warm as you’d expected. Your hands slid across his arms and his biceps, tugging him even closer, as you sank in the anchorage of your conjoined motions. It was pulling the huffing and puffing out of you, making you function steady, calming you down. 

That was just what you needed. A kiss from Johnny Storm.

You split up slowly, as if your lips had melted together. You wouldn’t have been surprised though. You didn’t want to open your eyes. You didn’t want to know what he was thinking about right now. Until he wiped the cold trail of your wind dried tears out of your face, cushing your skin like the fireplace on a snowy day.

“You didn’t do that just because you’re stupid on adrenaline, did you?”

You shook your head, finally looking up at him. He was smiling, but you couldn’t tell if his question was a little quip just to say something or genuine worry about your feelings. 

“I think so...” you replied with your whole honesty, voice raspy as if you had just woken up. "But I mean it."

Johnny's face lit up.

“So you’ll consider it? Dating a superhero?”

You grinned. You were such a fool.

You had rejected him so many times, comfortably doing it because you knew (or so you thought) that he was constantly persistent. That he wouldn’t give up. You were playing like a casanova to have him wrapped around your finger. Too proud to say yes, you weren’t going to get another chance to say no.

Yet he was a superhero. You were right at being afraid of being with him. He couldn’t see it. He couldn’t see your point. He was going to die playing the hero. And you were going to be left alone and heartbroken. You didn’t want to watch him die, especially being the one who was going to be waiting for him to come back everyday. Like the fool you were, hoping he’d be immortal.

But then you pulled him back in, pressing your lips together one more time, and your worries disappeared in the air with a blow. Here on the top of this residential building you didn’t even know where it was, in the arms of your knight in flaming armor, you couldn’t care less about Johnny not coming back someday.

For now, all you wanted was to make up for the lost time.

He was currently focused on some story. Egyptian. Hatshepsut and her fake beard because obviously being a man meant being more powerful than being a legitimate woman during Ancient Egypt. As his eyes sailed in the words, noting mentally that her stepson (or something like that) had been the responsible for her mysterious death, Gus’ fishtank hummed softly, giving him a background noise to focus even better. He was deep in the zone, where he couldn’t be bothered or taken out of his book.

Until a furry silhouette jumped to his desk.

Steven lifted his gaze from the paper, just to find a tiny calico cat in front of him. It had the sparkliest, most brilliant eyes he’d ever seen. Along with the tricolor pattern of its fur, its sharp face shape gave him a wandering look, as if it didn’t know what it was doing there, in the busy table of a stranger. The cat nuzzled Steven’s cheek with a little bump, and his hand ran through the cat’s chin.

“Hiya, there, little guy… how’d you get in here?” he asked, glancing around, but not spotting an open door.

He turned back to the cat. He noticed a tag hanging from a purple, narrow collar. As the cat landed its paws closer to Steven on the book and nuzzled him again, he snuck one of his hands under the tag. It read “Claude.” And nothing else. No contact information or address. Steven knitted his eyebrows. Who would let their cat wander off without any resource to get it back in case it got lost?

You, of course.

You, who lived only two doors away from Steven’s packed up flat. You, who was unaware of Claude’s whereabouts until you had decided to let him share tea time with some catnip and hadn’t found him anywhere in your own flat. And you, who stepped out of your apartment into the dimly lit hall of the building just to find Steven, your more-than-averagely-handsome neighbour stepping out of his own flat, with your Claude on his arms, looking around as if the answer to his questions was just there waiting for him.

And it was. Technically.

“Oh, thank God…” you exhaled the air that Claude’s search had taken from you, as you walked as fast you could without looking desperate to your pet, and to your more-than-averagely-handsome neighbour. “Thank you, I was worried sick.”

He immediately handed him to you. Your arms wrapped around Claude’s furred body and you took into your more than familiar embrace. Claude’s scent filled you again like the missing piece of a puzzle. The one that always lingered around your flat. Some jasmine. Cinnamon. Didn’t matter. It was comfortable and recognizable anywhere, that’s what made it so enticing

“Uh, yeah… no problem at all.” Steven managed to blabber out.

You know how they say pets usually look like their owners? Steven had done nothing but to prove that theory with every pet-owner person he got along with. But just now, looking into your sparkly eyes, he felt safe enough to confirm the theory for good.  They were shaped like almonds, but with a similar colour to Claude's. And they were just so hypnotizing, twinkling like stars in the dark, vast sky. Oh he was lost the second he stumbled upon them. It was hard to explain, really, especially when his mind had gone into short-circuit with the sight.

“I’m terribly sorry he snuck in like that.” you apologized, knitting Claude’s fur with your fingers. “He usually breaks into downstairs flats, I don’t know why…”

“It’s fine, really… he’s very… well-behaved.”

Well-behaved. His words came back to him like a stab. God, why did he have to be so awkward?

You chuckled. It wasn’t hard to tell your neighbour was the typically shy kind of guy. You assumed it just by seeing how he fidgeted a little with the hem of his blue jacket (almost too blue to be denim), or how his eyes seemed to be stuck on the floor or in the cat. He seemed sweet nonetheless, so you replied to his comment in order to make him feel a little better.

“He is, isn’t he?”

Steven quietly stared as you pet your cat and nuzzled against him like you were a cat yourself. He smiled heart-warmingly. He would totally do something like that with Gus if it wasn’t a fish. But he didn’t have the time to think about caressing his one-finned goldenfish, because you were quick to take him out of his unusual train of thought.

“... sorry, I didn’t get your name.” you said, adjusting your hold around Claude’s body.

“Steven. Just… Steven.”

Your lips curled upwards in a wickedly playful smirk. 

“Just Steven? That’s a weird one.” you teased him, observing him with your sparkly eyes. “... so, Just Steven, would you like a cup of tea? It’s… pretty much the only way I can repay you.”

The man swallowed. Bless his soul. His stomach had done the sucking thing and for a fraction of a second there he felt like he was falling from a tenth floor. He couldn’t believe his luck. What were the chances he’d meet someone as pretty and then would be invited to a cup of tea? Of course it was only a matter of time before you ran away from him like everybody else did, but he still allowed himself to feel the happiest man alive before absolutely accepting your offer.

“... yeah, why not? I mean… I should close my door first, don’t want any more strangers in my flat…” he chuckled awkwardly, and you followed. “... but, uh… yeah, I’ll accept your cup.”

“Mental.”

A few weeks had gone by. Though for Steven they had felt like months. 

After your little exchange on the hallway of your floor, your get-togethers had become more frequent. The routine was always the same. Claude snuck into Steven’s flat, wandered for seconds (or minutes, depending on Steven's current activities at the moment) and then he was taken back to you. Everytime the cat passed from one hold to another, you suggested a cup of tea, and then the quiet boring evening turned into late nights in your flat. Sometimes accompanied with dinner and a glass of wine, sometimes not. 

The whole not-arrangement was very improvised.

Steven and you were friends, surely, though that didn’t mean you two hadn’t grown fond of eachother. 

Too fond, I’d say.

The man was always looking forward to spotting the calico tail on his flat. It was like a signal. An announcement of his date. The green tea (that you loved and had tons of) and the biscuits, the talking, the laughing, and the rambling. It always excited him. He liked you, and he had gotten to know you much more than he would ever think he could.

You both had clicked so perfectly that none of you felt like restricting information from one another. Except, of course, for Steven’s DID. But he was never looking forward to that conversation, even if he had never actually told anyone about it. It was dangerous and the risk of scaring you away was always there, lingering in the air like a ghost. And the last thing he wanted was to scare you away now that he had your friendship.

That was one of the reasons why he’d never asked you out on a proper date yet, without the need of an announcer such as Claude beforehand. He’d been dying to do so, of course. He wanted to take you to a coffee shop, or to the museum and show you the sarcophagus, maybe tell you about how ancient Egyptians sucked the organs out of the later mummified corpses. Hell, even a walk in the park would feel like he was taking it more seriously than whatever you two shared, only due to boredom and mere coincidences.

But he had a responsibility. Both Khonshu and Marc had insisted on that. He couldn’t let himself get distracted by a pretty face and a cuddly cat. God did he want to, though. Everytime he thought about it, the American man living inside his head was reluctant to insist. “This isn’t good Steven. It’s not gonna work.” were his most used words. And Steven hated it.

Marc had his own issues, he respected that. He knew Marc was afraid of love, but Steven longed for it so badly. He was the picture perfect figure of a hopeless romantic. Every word you spoke was heard, every touch you gave him was received. And it always felt so good to be that cared for, and even better was to make sure you felt as much cared for too. All he wanted was a little humouring. He needed it, actually. And he didn’t care at all what Marc had going on inside of his (their) head.

So he was quick to brush off Marc’s cold-toned “Just say goodnight and go back home.” 

Most of the time, Steven had to resist an answer inside of his throat, because Marc couldn’t hear his thoughts. But currently, as he sat on your couch (cup of green tea steaming into his nose, refugeed between his palms) and looked at you petting Claude, who had sneakily (as usual) propped itself onto your lap, it was becoming harder and harder not to talk to the mirror. He wanted to prevent a weird stare. Or worse, getting kicked out.

“... so I tell her “I can’t hand the report today because you said it was due tomorrow”, and she…” you noticed Steven’s blank stare to your cat. “... she threw me out the fifth floor window. The glass shards still hurt like Hell.”

“They must, yeah…”

“Steven!”

He reacted, his wondering dirt-coloured eyes left your pet’s figure and landed on yours. Steven never got tired of gazing into your irises, framed with absurdly perfect eyelashes. They reminded him of the night sky, where stars seemed to grow and shrink quickly, sparkling with some gravitational force or some blimey like that. He couldn’t remember. He was too focused analysing your eyes, as if he was stargazing.

There really wasn’t too much of a difference to him. Between staring into your eyes and stargazing.

Cut it out, Steven. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…” he replied, almost too quickly for it to be true. “... I… I gotta use the bathroom. I’ll be right back, love.”

“... sure.”

The pet name struck you, but you didn’t mention it. Instead, you followed Steven’s clumsy body with your eyes as it walked quickly through your living room and locked itself in the bathroom. He’d been like this lately and it buzzed your curiosity like an annoying fly you just couldn’t smash off. He seemed lost and overly quiet, like he was focused on something else other than you. You knew that if you thought about it too much, it wouldn’t do any good to any of you, so instead of keep overthinking the matter, you took a swig out of your glass of red wine.

A few meters away, Steven was having a one-off with his skeptical alter.

I mean it, it’s gonna cost you. It’s gonna cost both of us.

“C’mon mate, I just… I want this.”

I know and I understand, but it’s stupid. It won’t do us any good.

“Oh, don’t give me that…” Steven dismissed it by gesturing a wave off with his hand. “It might do.”

It’s better not to risk it, Steven! 

Marc’s voice started to sound impatient and condescending, as if he was talking to a child. Steven couldn’t stand when he got like that. 

“Listen, Marc.” he stated. “I don’t care. I would if you were making any sense, but you’re not. You’re only scared, and I’m not gonna be the one to fix it for you, so if you could just…”

We share the same body, man. It’s gonna come clean eventually and you’ll end up heartbroken.

His affirmation stopped Steven from stepping out of the bathroom to come back to you. He turned to the mirror, where Marc was looking at him with smug eyes, knowing that he was right and that he could, in fact, make some sense out of his fear.

“... I would never…”

Yes, you would. Can’t blame your neighbour. I wouldn’t want to be with us either.

“Steven?”

Your voice penetrated through the door like an angel’s call. Steven’s attention went from the mirror to where your voice was coming from. He started sensing the panic bubbling from his chest, making him debate whether he should open the door or not. He looked back to his alter and glared at him, as if saying “Stay quiet”, even though you couldn’t hear Marc’s sighs and complaints. You were curious, and abnormally willing to act on it due to the light alcoholic drink in your veins.

You heard no response.

Slowly, you pushed the door open. 

His expression was hard to read. His brows were furrowed in a scowl, yet he looked like he was about to cry at the same time. You tilted your head to one side in confusion. You could’ve sworn you had listened to him talk to someone, but obviously you were too light-headed to really try to understand it.

“Sorry, I thought I’d heard…”

Steven took one step forward, growing closer to you. He didn’t know what he was doing, honestly. His body was moving on its own, as if it was challenging Marc’s warnings and attempts to keep his alter from doing something stupid.

Don't do it, Steven.

“... I like you.” he spat bluntly, and you saw how his expression became more and more frightened by the second. 

Jesus Christ he was mortified. The dread in his eyes… you had never seen something like that. No words were left to describe it and certainly no words would be able to ease it down. 

So you did what you thought was best, and without words, you stepped closer and placed your lips against his for a second. Less than a second. It was so quick Steven didn't even realize what was happening until it was over. And oh he was so stupid. He wanted to kiss you again so bad but he knew it was nothing but your call. You were drunk. He couldn't take advantage of that. He wouldn't. Not ever.

Meanwhile, you took notice of what you had just done. Snuck a kiss to your awkward overly-handsome neighbour. The same way your cat had snuck into his flat a few weeks ago: Without him realising. And reacting way later.

Steven took his hand to his lips, covering his flushed face in the meantime. Embarrassed, you averted his eyes like vampires avert from the light. You looked anywhere else but him, as you felt his deep brown eyes drilling a hole in your face.

“Sorry, did you just…?”

“I’m a little drunk, so…” you interrupted.

“Right, of course.” Steven nodded, facing the tile floor of your bathroom. “Yeah, that’s… that makes more sense, doesn’t it?”

“But I do like you too.” you said.

The words struck poor Steven like lightning. He was baffled by your affirmation, almost incredulous of it. He even thought you were having a laugh with him.

But you weren’t. Your eyes irradiated the determination, and the courage it had taken you to say it back. Plus, you didn’t want things to get confusing afterwards, so you’d rather let things come clean, even if he didn’t believe you then.

“Y-you do?”

“Yeah, of course I do…” you reaffirmed, scoffing and looking down at the tangle of your hands. “... it’s hard not to, you know? You’re… lovely.”

“Me?”

“Yes, Steven, you.” you insisted, holding yourself back from rolling your eyes. 

If Steven was startled before, there surely were no words to describe his flabbergast now. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, what he was now trying to wrap his head around. His eyes scanned your silhouette, leaning against the bathroom sink in a posture that made you look like an angry spouse. His mouth was slightly open, and he felt like he couldn’t pass the air through his lungs. Were you absolutely merciless? Did you not care about him at all that you had to just say that?

“W-well, that’s… good to know. A relief. Yeah.” he stuttered, still utterly struck.

His words eased the pressure on your chest so pleasantly that you had to sigh. You were afraid there for a second that he wouldn’t believe you. But he did, and now things had just turned even more awkward. What are you supposed to say after something like that has been gotten out of your chest so bluntly? Lost as you looked, you slid your hand forward and interlocked Steven’s fingers with yours. He didn’t hesitate to squeeze them tenderly, staring down at the recently-made knot you had just created.

Slowly, you leaned in and closed your eyes, but the space between you was still there. Steven watched as your face grew closer and closer. He was having an internal battle, trying to decide whether he should kiss you or not. You were drunk, after all, and he didn’t want you to regret anything, and he didn’t want you to hate him. But then again, he couldn’t help closing his eyes as well, letting whatever had to happen, happen.

When your lips met, a rush of warmth invaded both of you like a wave. Steven tilted his head slightly, in order not to bump your nose, and that just made it better. The kiss tasted like wine, but also like lemon and something among green tea and sugar, but sweet. So very sweet. And you smelt like a fireplace, creaking sparks leaving the mother flame. And your eyelashes fluttered against his worn out skin like butterflies wings, making him lean in even further, now clumsily cupping your cheeks with his free hand. He fitted perfectly against you. And like the missing piece of a puzzle, you did too. 

But eventually, it was time to break apart. Though you didn’t want to drift so much yet, so you pressed your forehead against his. He was still holding your face with trembling fingers, but when you landed your hand on his, the shaking stopped. He scoffed a little giggle.

“Sorry…” he apologised. “... I just… didn’t think this would happen today.”

You didn’t say anything. All you did was reach for his cheek with your free hand as well and run your fingers across the skin, noticing his moles, his wrinkles, his freckles. He looked so good it drew a breath out of you.

“... you’re so handsome.” you whispered, not really hoping for him to hear it. “I’m so glad Claude likes your flat more than mine.”

That earned Steven a chuckle.

“Yeah…” he agreed, breathing out the laugh. “... me too, love.”