Mister Rogers ⍟ || Steve Rogers

15

The next day, I decided it was my turn to take Steve on a date. I told Steve to meet me in Brooklyn at nine and refused to give him any other details.

I showed up exactly on time. I found him leaning against the railing near the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge, hands in the pockets of his jacket. 

The corners of his mouth turned up as I approached. "You're late," he teased, standing up straight.

"I'm on time," I said coolly.

He raised an eyebrow, "To an activity that you planned." We both shared a laugh that faded quickly. He cleared his throat. "You plan on telling me what we're doing, or is this one of those mysterious 21st-century rituals?"

I rolled my eyes with a smile, slipping my hand into his and tugging him toward the walkway. "It's called a date, Mister Rogers. Try to keep up."

He hummed, content, and quickly matched my pace.

The bridge was glowing. Strings of warm light traced the cables overhead, and the skyline glittered across the water. Over the sound of cool gusts of wind, cars hummed beneath us.

After a minute, "I used to draw this bridge," he said quietly. "From memory."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "I didn't always get it right." He glanced up at the cables. "Guess I remembered it smaller."

I arched an eyebrow, gesturing to his height with a giggle. "I think you remember everything smaller."

He huffed a soft laugh. "Fair."

We were halfway across when we noticed a teenage boy staring.

It wasn't out of the ordinary. Ever since D.C., I had grown used to being spared glances in public. Steve and I never addressed it; we didn't have to. Though we were generally liked, we also came across as intimidating. Unless we were dealing with journalists, the public tended to leave us alone.

The kid shuffled towards us awkwardly, holding something large behind his back. Steve and I shared the same curious look.

"Um. Captain Rogers? Sir?"

Steve turned fully toward him, "You can call me Steve."

The boy's eyes widened. "Right. Sorry. I just- Actually it's better if I just-"

He let out another nervous laugh before finally revealing what he'd been trying to hide.

He stepped forward and thrust forward a replica shield. It was scuffed, the colors slightly off, but it was clearly well-loved.

The kid's face flushed red. "I'm sorry. I know you guys don't like being approached, but you're a big inspiration — both of you are. And I know it's kind of stupid, but... I like to carry it around with me sometimes."

"May I?" asked Steve.

The boy nodded eagerly and passed the shield over. Steve accepted it with careful hands, his fingers tracing lightly over the familiar design.

The purity of the gesture warmed my heart. Steve glanced down at me, and I smiled up at him softly.

After a moment, Steve held the shield back out. Instead of taking it, the boy stepped back.

"Actually... could you, um... could you keep it? Please?"

Steve hesitated, looking from the boy to the shield in his hands. His expression softened, something quiet and moved flickering across his face. He nodded and let the shield rest at his side.

The boy beamed, retreating shyly before turning and shuffling off.

"That was sweet," I admired.

Steve exhaled, content. "We were all kids once."