Random Imagines {REQUESTS ON HOLD}

Chris Evans {Requested} Part 2

This is a part two. A lot of people wanted it so here you go. Writing while listening to Dear Darlin' by Olly Murs.

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The sun filtered in from the open balcony of your kitchen when you walked out of your bedroom. You stared at the balcony and walked towards it. The morning sun was clearing up the puddles on the ground and you looked down. No one was on the street, but the sun had just barely risen and you were one of the only people out. You could hear your neighbors getting ready for work and their kids complaining. The summer air was still cool, but you went back into your apartment and shut the doors and the sheer curtains. The light still came in while you made yourself a cup of coffee and sat the counter by yourself. Chris would walk in at this time, usually, and wrap his arms around you from behind. He'd kiss your cheek, sip your coffee, and look through the fridge.

"Morning." Chris' voice came as a surprise, but you were too tired and angry to jump or flinch. He took a seat next to you and stayed quiet as the seconds ticked by on the clock by the stove. Finally, you looked at him, he was wearing the same clothes as the night before, his shirt was still dark from the rain. 

"I... I am sorry. Even if it doesn't mean anything anymore." 

"Nothing out of your mouth means anything anymore." He looked back down and rubbed the back of his neck. He needed a hair cut, you could see the blond strands getting too long and hanging into his eyes. 

"I want to change that," he said. You stood up, leaving your steaming cup of coffee and walking to the coffee table. You picked up a tabloid and walked back. All the tabloids about you got slipped under your doorway by your neighbor. He was a friend and he made sure Chris stayed in line as much as possible. The heading of this tabloid was grotesque and painful.

CHRIS EVANS SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY GIRL. COULD THIS BE SOMETHING REAL? OR JUST ANOTHER FLING FOR AMERICA'S FAVORITE SUPERHERO?

Beneath it there was a large photo of Chris and you walking out of your favorite restaurant. To the side there were several pictures of Chris and other girls walking together. 

"I don't think you can." 

Chris left that day and didn't come back, but two weeks later you received a package. It was a large brown box and it was filled with polaroid pictures. Chris kept his favorite pastime from other people, but he loved his photos and he loved to take them of you. There were dates on the back of each one, some were a few years old and others were just weeks before. They were all well timed, when you were laughing, or sleeping. Some were of your cat, Claire, and the apartment and you leaning over the balcony. As you dug further down into the box, you found some pictures Chris had taken of you wrapped in white sheets, your hair messy. Below those, there were pictures you had taken of him lying in the sheets. There was a stack held together with a rubber band and you flipped through them. At first they were of you, laughing and pushing the camera away, then of him reaching for the camera, then of him laughing and holding your kitten in his lap. You dumped the box onto your hardwood floor and found Chris' drawings. Another thing he didn't like to tell too many people about. There were sketches of your kitchen and bedroom, some of Claire, and a lot of you. In some you were sleeping, others concentrating on something far away, and more than enough of you reading and writing.

You left the photos on the floor and sat with Claire, wondering what you were going to do, but the door opened again. 

"(Y/N), I thought you might like some brownies." It was neighbor.

"Oh, uh, yeah." You took them from him and thanked him, locking the door, but before you even put the plate down, you noticed a note on the bottom of the plate.

He keeps asking me when he can see you. He said to tell you to look at the back of them.

--Ricky

You put it down and sat down on the floor, flipping over the photos. Each had a word in the opposite corner of the date. You lined them up in chronological order and found that the stacks that were tied together had times on them as well, which made you put them in perfect order. Finally you sat with a perfect square of photos, starting with you at the park, restaurants and bars, then to you at your house, doing everyday things, cooking, cleaning, feeding Claire, then to pictures of you and Chris lying in the sheets. The drawings were also numbered and they fit into the square. You flipped them back over and read the words together.

I am a man and not a hero. I want to be a hero but I am just a man. You make me a hero. You make me more than a man. You are my favorite place, person, thing. Let me be forgiven and let me be a hero to you. I will stay a man to others, but let me be your hero.

There was one left over paper, a drawing of you smiling. It was a profile and you wondered when Chris had sketched it because you never stayed still for long enough to pose for him usually. On the back of this one there was somewhat a poem.

Please give me a second chance. You are my forever. I drew this from memory. I could memorize every hair on your head, every place where my hands have touched your skin. I'll do anything you want. Anything at all, but I want you back. Not because you're some fling. Because you are something precious. Something I want to make me a better man. Even if I don't turn into a hero. I would try for you. -- Chris

You stared at the picture again, finally noticing that the pencil had smudged in places where the pictures had rubbed too hard. You stood up and walked to the balcony and opened the doors. The summer night was warm and the lights of parties below were bright and the sounds were happy and loud. The sidewalk was well lit, but there was one lone figure sitting under the street lamp in front of your building. Chris was hunched over, but somehow he knew you were looking, and turned. From floors up, you could see the sketchbook in his lap. You nodded and went back into the apartment, wondering if you were making the right choice. A key rattled in the lock and Chris walked in.

"I'll give you a chance to start over, but one thing." He nodded eagerly.

"You can't run off when you feel like it. You can't jus decide to go drinking and meet another girl. It's not good for either of us." He nodded again and stepped forward, but you shook your head.

"You're starting over. Completely over."

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Sorry for taking forever to update. I hope this was good. The song is Olly Murs and I decided I wanted to write something semi sad semi nostalgic. BTW Chris is actually an artist but idk about the photos thing. Hope you liked

Peace, Love, Spock

--

Shivi