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DAY 64
Perhaps Steve Rogers was laced with an addictive substance.
His pheromones needed a warning label attached to them - is dangerous to health and may cause death from too much stress and other problems. There was no other explanation Honey Daniels could come up with as to why this frustrating man never left her brain. His entire being was like an imprint on her own, she had been stamped and marked forever by Captain America gone rogue.
She was catching feelings for the most confusing, toxic man on the planet. She had absolutely no control over it whatsoever, she was a prisoner to her own feelings these days.
Why couldn't she have met him before the blip?
When he was the face of good on this Earth, the guy that was always there to save the day under any circumstance and the person that little boys wanted to be when they grew up. Honey had to believe that somewhere in his damaged shell, he was still there - the kind, timeless gentleman that he once was. Trauma effected everyone differently, but could it change the entire mapping of who someone was permanently?
For her sake, and his, she hoped not.
But it was all in the healing process, and Steve Rogers skipped over his opportunity to heal completely.
Honey sighed as she closed her laptop, tapping her fingers aimlessly on the marble island counter as she checked her exam scores for the hundredth time today. Some of her stress could be put at ease once she found out whether or not broody Steve Rogers had affected her test scores, and she despised that it was even a possibility at all.
A set of erratic knocks sounded from her apartment door, ripping her from her droning train of thought as her head flicked to the side to follow the sound. Pursing her lips vaguely, Honey pushed out of the stool she was perched in as she walked towards the door, balancing on her tiptoes to peer through the peephole.
A tipsy Steve Rogers stood on the other side, propping himself against her door with one arm while his other one cradled a case of beer. His blonde hair wasn't slicked back as it usually was, instead it was disheveled and falling around his face now, equally matching his slovenly clothing. It was almost impossible to miss the bruising around his left eye or the tiny cut along his busted bottom lip, only worsening Honey's sympathy towards him.
"Yes?" she asked softly, still peeking at him through the hole.
"Oh," he hiccuped, his lips forming a thin line. "So you're not letting me inside, eh?"
"What do you want, Steve?"
She watched as he brought his hand up to his beard, rubbing it slightly as he swayed in one spot. "You," he emphasized under his breath. "Obviously."
Honey tugged her bottom lip between her teeth as she flattened her feet on the floor, pressing her forehead against the wood of the door as she sucked in a quiet, deep breath, letting it whoosh from her mouth exhaustedly as she squeezed her eyes shut.
"Honey, I'm sorry," Steve groaned softly. "I'm sorry that I'm so fucked up, I'm s-sorry," hiccup. "That I can't be Parker Jensen for you. I'm sorry I'm not a flowers and dinner dates kind of guy-"
"I can't keep doing this with you," Honey whined, cutting off his drunken speech as she brought her brown eye up to the peephole once more.
It was the same speech, over and over and over again. All of the apologies of why he was this way, but never an attempt at changing. What was the point in an apology if one wasn't going to follow up by righting their wrongs? The apology was a waste of air, a waste of words.
Her father always told her never to settle for less than she deserved.
And Honey Daniels deserved much, much more than this.
"Honey," he cooed softer this time, urgently - almost.
Turning slowly on her heel, she leaned against the door now, sliding down until she was sitting in the floor with her hands resting on her knees. Not opening the door was more difficult than she had pictured it to be, her kind soul wanted more than anything to open the door and let the broken man inside to crash on her couch for the third time.
"Please let me inside," he pleaded, his voice reverberating against the door through her body with how low it had gotten.
But she didn't, rather than dealing with his intoxicated shenanigans, she stayed completely silent on the other side of the door as she listened to the light shuffling of his movements. Her heart broke for him, for this fragmented shell of a man. How could she help someone who had no desire to help himself first?
After a few minutes, when there was nothing but stillness to be heard from the other side, she gathered up the courage to crawl to her feet as she quietly opened the door. As she expected, Steve was propped up next to the doorway, utterly passed out as he sat up against the wall - case of beer resting in his lap. His head was tilted sideways in his drunken slumber, his lips parted as he snored softly.
He looked peaceful.
Creeping inside to grab the throw blanket from the couch, she slipped back out in the hallway of her apartment building, crouching down until she was at eye-level with him. Slowly taking the beer from his lap, she replaced it with the blanket, covering up his passed out figure as he snoozed away.
Before she could even catch herself, Honey reached up with shaky fingers to brush the strands of his messy, blonde hair from his face. He stirred gently as she placed them behind his ear, grazing his bearded cheek with her fingertips as she let her hand fall again.
Damn Steve Rogers and the soft spot he created in her little, pure heart.
