Steve Rogers One Shots

The Studio

Hours and hours and hours.

That's how long Steve had been wandering the streets. His sketchbook was tucked under his arm with a few pencils in his jacket pocket. The fall breeze was cooler than usual, nipping at his chapped cheeks that were numb from fighting against the gusts of air.

Steve hears classical music playing down the street, some of his favorite songs drifting toward him in the wind. Everyone has taken shelter from the weather in their homes or offices, no one bothering to even peek out of their warm caves.

Peeking down the street (well, more like an alley), he notices that it's covered in cobblestones and clear of dirty napkins or bunched up newspapers. Turning onto the quaint path, Steve follows it to a little shop, glowing warmly with lanterns hanging by the door.

He sees a sliver of light through a crack in the door, the breeze pushing it open by accident.  Steve gently applies a little pressure with his finger tips, the door obeying to his touch.

The wood creaks when he swings it open, revealing a medium-sized room with wooden floors peaking out from under the spattered cloths protecting them, tube lights plastered to the ceiling. It looks more like an art studio, the atmosphere a change from the bare, frigid streets. Music is dancing in the air, making Steve want to sway to the gentle beat. The most fascinating about the place, though, is the walls.

They start on Steve's left, a raging ocean blending into a field a swaying grasses. Then an army, charging toward a fire that sweeps them up and transforms them into a light snowfall over a sleeping city. Crouched down at the edge of the never-ending mural is a girl. Her eyes are on him as he surveys the sea of colors that blend perfectly together.

Your expression is almost bashful when you see him fully absorbed in your creation, his mouth slightly agape. He takes another step in, not bothering to notice you still smiling to yourself. Finally, you unfold your sore legs and place your still-wet paint brush behind your ear.

"Hi."

The jerks his head to you, his cheeks reddening even more when he sees you in your splattered shirt shifting to reveal your soft skin. Your hair is pulled back tightly, a few strands plastered to your head and one of your pant legs hiked up higher than the other.

"Sorry to intrude, I just heard the music and I found this place. Which is amazing, to say the least."

"Why, thank you," you chuckle, skimming the finished walls with your eyes. "Why don't you close that door behind you, it's freezing out there."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to make any trouble..."

"It's fine. Besides, I never have company since this place is hidden so well." In the time that it takes you to announce this, you've reached behind him to shut the door and hold out your least dirtied hand to introduce yourself.

He accepts and announces his name, Steve. You smile and step back, sweeping your arm out. "Welcome to my art studio. Or what's of it," you shrug sheepishly.

He laughs and keeps his eyes glued to the interior. "It's beautiful. How long have you been at this?"

"Two months, 3 weeks, and 6 days," you state proudly, walking into the middle of the room and turning to fully admire your work. You see him smiling at you, his hand pulling out the pad that had been tucked into his armpit.

"You draw?"

"Just some stuff on the side, nothing serious. Nothing like this," he breathes, scanning the walls yet again.

"May I?" You walk up and place an open hand in front of him, biting your lip. Why would a total stranger show you his drawings? When you see him hesitate, a thought comes to mind.

"I showed you mine, so now it's your turn."

He chuckles at this and flips open the front cover, holding out the bundle of paper. You gently rifle through, your jaw slacking as you gawk at the elaborate pencil images. You would've thought them to be simple black and white photographs if not for the hairs of pencil lines and occasional shift in shading.  You notice a monkey on a unicycle, holding up some type of shield.  Then a women, with full lips and dark, sparkling eyes.

"These are-"

"Amateur?"

"Spectacular! I could never master something like this, and your technique is so clean." You reluctantly place the images back in his waiting hands, your cheeks growing pink. "It's really awesome."

"Thank you, but I could say the same to you. I would never be able to get this down, and paint is a lot harder to work with."

"Well, how about I make a deal with you." Steve raises his eyebrows in question, a soft smile settling onto his lips.

"Shoot."

"You teach me how to sketch like this, and I'll teach you how to paint. I'll even let you help me finish my walls."

He ponders this for a minute, a slight frown playing at the corners of his lips. "But we've only just met."

"Then let me make you something. How about some hot chocolate?"

He looks so hesitant, his hand reaching for the door. "I don't want to take up any more of your time, really."

You smile at him and tug at his jacket sleeve like a little child. "Please? At least take me up on my deal if you won't stay. This can wait a little longer. After all, I've been at it for-"

"2 months, 3 weeks and 6 days," he chuckles. Steve pauses, relaxing and leaning into your touch. "Okay, I'll take you up on both. But I won't stay long!"

"Yes! Wait, we should shake on it." You hold out your hand and he takes it, giving it a firm shake. You then take him by surprise, dragging him up the stairs with your hands still attached. "Come on, I'll show you the rest of my paintings."

"You have more?!"

You giggle at his expression, dragging him up the stairs to your apartment.

I'll probably add a Part 2, so stick around! I'm sorry that I haven't really talked to you guys, I've been SO busy with summer homework. Please, message me with requests since I think I'm going to add some of the other Avengers, or tell me anything, really!
Thanks,
Vanessa :)