The Art of Bathing

Honey

"Don't. Do not, do not be doing this to me." Steve Rogers, specimen, groaned to himself, springing out of bed with the grace of a lamb. "Fuck. Not this. Not today." He dashed around his room, pulling clothes out of his wardrobe at an alarming rate – "no, no, oh god, where is it?!" Steve ran to his washing pile, hidden on the chair in the corner, raking through it to try and salvage what he needed.

"A-HA!" Steve pulled the white checked shirt, clean, if not a little crumpled, from the bottom of the pile. He gave it a cautious sniff – Sam's aftershave. He was going to kill him. But, with a glance at the clock, Steve realized he had no time to waste and quickly doused himself with his Aromaco bar and threw the shirt on himself, hopping around on one foot until he managed to drag black jeans over his trim body. He spotted blue paint of the scruff of his jacket as he tugged it on, shrugging and hoping no one else would think twice about looking at the at it. And if they did, he could probably just laugh it off and say it was his niece – Sharon - who did it. That would surely win his sympathy points, right?

With a final glance at his phone, Steve swore and legged it out of his apartment, barely remembering to lock the door behind him as he whizzed past the other rooms, probably holding the still sleeping bodies of his friends who partied just a little too hard last night. No wonder he had slept in.

Natasha, ever the supportive friend, had demanded he drink shot after shot last night for "liquid luck", saying that it would definitely help him feel a little bit more relaxed for the morning. Well, she was wrong – but Steve wasn't about to tell her that. When he had left her, she had been cosying up to Clint, another friend of Steve's, and was challenging him to a vodka drinking contest. Steve imagined they hadn't woken up yet, and possibly still wouldn't be awake by the time he returned home, either. And even in her hungover state, he didn't doubt that she could kick his ass.

"Go, go," Steve urged the lights, revving his bike and ready to jet off – if the lights played in his favour he might just make it in for starting, and not look like a jackass who doesn't care about his job. Steve couldn't believe this had happened – he'd set six alarms. Six. And, granted, he wasn't used to getting up this early and this was most definitely the earliest he had been awake possibly in the last two years of his life, he still thought he wouldn't have been able to sleep through six alarms. Alas, he had been wrong. He hoped the shop started late or something; that the morning chat had ran on a little long.

Despite it being his first day on the job, Steve was very accustomed to Lush and the products he was going to gush about to the first customers to enter the store; maybe if he was late, he would make up for it by convincing customers to buy at least $50 worth of bath bombs and shampoos each. Yeah, he could do this. He had faith.

Luckily, the shop wasn't too far away from his apartment block and the traffic lights did decided to be nice to him today, so he made it with just over five minutes to spare. Steve parked just a little down the road from the shop, sprinting to the front door with inhuman like speed and almost ripping the glass door open – almost falling flat onto his face in front of his newest colleagues. Hey, just because he grew up and lost the scrawny body doesn't mean he regained control of his clumsiness.

"Eh, hey. I'm Steve." Steve managed to stand up without knocking anything over, running a hand through the back of his head as he made his way towards the group of people standing around the cash desk – most of them women. Most of them who were staring directly at Steve.

The woman in the middle of the group, a tall, slim, brunette with perfectly pin-curled hair, turned to face him, holding the clipboard tight in her hand. She observed him, running her eyes down his body before running her fingertip down on the clip board, apparently finding his name when she left out a huff. "I thought you were the model they were going to send us over. But no, never mind. One of us." She smiled to the girls in front of her, and they tittered nervously. Steve grinned awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He approached the group, and they spread out for him so he could slot in nicely. He turned his attention to the lady, now clutching a green apron and a blank name badge.