ocean eyes || c.evans

iv.

author's note: so this is part four, and we finally have some mackie and stan action! also, because i believe in all ice cream flavour superiority, i have left a little "choose your own response" thing. select whichever one fits you as the reader :)

"Is that the last of it?"

"I think so." You were breathless from the move, boxes covering almost every viable flat surface of your new bedroom.

Chris had himself a rather nice house up on the Hollywood Hills, and through one of the many windows, you glimpsed the shimmering reflection of a spacious pool. The residence boasted three bedrooms, and now one was yours. It was enough to make your head spin.

"I'll let you get settled, then," Chris smiled, his hand finding your shoulder in a gesture that suggested nothing more than friendship – one which your body reacted to as something more. His hand was warm, and you hoped he didn't notice the goosebumps that rose on your arms at his very touch. The scent of him invaded your nostrils, utterly intoxicating.

You folded your arms across your chest hoping to disguise the sudden gooseflesh. There was something about him that made your hair stand on end, but in a purely unadulterated good way – some kind of magnetic energy that made you want his hands encompassing every inch of your body, committing it to his memory. When he retracted his hand, you hoped he hadn't seen the slump of your shoulders in soft disappointment.

He had.

And if you had been paying more attention to him, and not your own suddenly raging hormones, then you wouldn't have missed the smirk that quirked his lips at the visible effect he appeared to have on you.

"Don't take too long, though," he added by the doorway. The mere glimpse you caught of his cheekbones in profile had your breath stuttering erratically, even more so than the weight of your neatly packed boxes ever hoped to achieve. "We have a welcome party to get to in a few hours."

——————

The welcome party, you were to discover later, was a party of two – just you and your cab thief – to be later joined by two of his friends who happened to be in L.A.

You banished any and all thoughts of it being a date or not this time, and found yourself much more put at ease by it once you had set your resolve. You were his friend – barely even that, if you would let yourself admit it – nothing less, nothing more. And what type of date would it be with his friends there, in any case?

So outfit choice came easy. If you were to be living together, he would inevitably become accustomed to you looking borderline homeless at times, and should the occasion call for it, like an absolute goddess the next. And so your selection of clothing came effortless, settling for something in between: a homeless goddess.

You didn't know where Chris was taking you, so the selected aesthetic happened to be minimalistic makeup and a black jumpsuit that could either be dressed up or down, but looked classy all the same. You decided to dress it down – pairing it with a pair of old worn in Docs you had on hand – and one look at him – as he waited patiently for you on the couch – you knew you had made the perfect choice.

He had his legs crossed, ankle balancing on knee as he bounced his leg subconsciously. Dodger's head was in his lap as he absentmindedly petted him. His legs were clad in dark wash jeans, tailored to fit him perfectly, and his torso sported a dark blue button up under a brown leather jacket. His hair was slicked back – either from a shower or from styling product, only time would tell.

Hell, he'd even shaved for this, his face appearing much more boyishly charming than anything now.

It took a moment for you to register that Steve Rogers and Chris Evans were two different people, what with him sat there in an ensemble he must've stolen from the costume department.