Into the Snow || A Captain America Love Story

3

The tower is booming. Tony and all of the Avengers are partying in the Avengers Tower. I stand in the corner, spinning my water around in its glass cup. I've never been the party type, another reason why I am the complete opposite of my brother. The lights, the noise, the darkness, the drinks, everything. I hate it. While everyone is having fun, even Bruce, I am in a corner. Natasha and Clint are back from a mission, so they are here too. However, someone is missing, besides Thor.
I hear the elevator open beside me. He wears a brown leather jacket to protect himself from the autumn air.
"Hey, Tori," Steve abruptly says.
"Hey," I respond.
I smooth out my blue dress. My black flats click against the floor as I step back from the elevator. My long brunette hair is curled down my back.
"You look nice," Steve compliments, gazing at my appearance.
"T-Thank you," I say. "Tony forced me."
"I can see why," Steve mumbles, examining the party.
We stand in silence for a moment, taking in what we said.
"Why don't you go out there and have fun?" he asks me.
"I'm not the party type,"
"I'm not either. Never have, never will."
"Really? I mean, you don't seem like the type. But, you're Captain America."
"Exactly. Ever since I became Captain America, I have gotten all sorts of unwanted attention. You're the only person who treats me normally." he says sweetly.
"I can see why. I have grown up around the Howard Stark and Tony Stark." I inform him.
"I still can't believe that Howard actually settled down," Steve says.
"Oh, I forgot that you knew him."
"Yeah, we've spoken quite a lot. Your brother is a spitting image of him."
"Yeah," I say sadly. "He is."
We stay silent and watch the Avengers party. Tony and Bruce dance while Natasha and Clint drink. I furrow my eyebrows at them. I don't understand the point of parties if you just get drunk.
"Oh, hey, Capsicle." Tony exclaims to Steve. "And hello, Mystérieux."
"Tony, you're drunk." I state bluntly.
"No, I'm not," he says, almost falling over nothing.
I sigh. "Let me take you to your room, child."
"No," he says, a hint of ire in his voice.
"Tony, please, I'm trying to make this as easy as possible."
"I'm staying here," he pouts like a child.
"I'll help you," Steve whispers to me.
"Thank you," I say, walking to Tony.
I help lift Tony upright by his arm while Steve does the other side. We take him to the elevator and up to his bedroom. Once I get him into bed, I tell him goodnight and turn out the lights. Before Steve and I even exit the room, Tony is snoring.
I close the door behind us and sigh. "Thank you so much, Steve." I say. "You really didn't have to."
"I had to, ma'am." Steve says politely. "It would've been rude if I didn't."
I crack the door open, checking on my brother. Seeing that he is sound asleep, I close the door again.
"I'm not sure if this is going to be too personal, but why do you do that? I mean, why do you put him in bed?" Steve asks innocently.
"Well, I have many reasons. Tony, well, in this state, he's accident prone. One day when I came home from work, I found glass shards everywhere, the couch flipped upside down, just the whole floor in ruins. And another reason, he's my brother. I don't want his drunk self to do something that could ruin his life." I say.
Steve nods. "I understand."
"So, Fury said to get used to each other, which means that we should try to get to know each other." I say.
"So, let's start off easy," Steve says. "What is a hobby of yours?"
"Um, I don't know. I'm always so caught up with work or Tony, so, I guess I don't have one."
"What?" he says surprised. "You don't do anything that you enjoy?"
"Would cooking count?" I ask.
"Yeah," he says. "So you like to cook?"
"Yep. I cook a lot when I can. My mother taught me at a young age."
"I don't understand the cooking appliances that people have nowadays." he says embarrassed.
"I can teach you."
"Really?" he asks.
"Of course. It's my hobby, so I'll enjoy every second. Now, what is your hobby?"
"You won't judge me, will you?" he asks, giving me puppy eyes.
"Of course not," I coo. "It's something that makes you, well, you. So no, I will not judge you at all."
"Well, I like to draw." he says.
"Really?" I ask grinning.
He nods.
"That's amazing!" I say astonished. "I've never been able to draw. When I try to draw something, it looks like a wool coat that exploded."
Steve laughs. Oh, his laugh, I think. I can listen to it all day.
"I would like to see it sometime." Steve says, still laughing.
"That would be so embarrassing," I say.
"If you can't draw, can you paint?" he asks.
"I can paint rooms, not canvases. I have zero artistic ability whatsoever."
"Really? Then, which of the arts can you do?"
"Well, I have always gotten good grades in writing at school. I like to write, I guess. I just don't really have an inspiration to write about."
"Inspiration is all around you. When I draw, I draw all sorts of things. I draw buildings, people, a random assortment. I really don't have a specific preference."
"Interesting. I'll try to look at my surroundings. But, let's go on to another question. How about your favorite color?" I ask.
He ponders for a second. "Blue. I just like the color. I really don't have a reason why."
"Which shade of blue?" I question him.
"Possibly navy blue? I just like blue."
"Glad to hear," I laugh, looking down at my dress.
"What is yours?"
"Oh, um, dark blue? Like a night sky."
"I like that too. It's just so settle, but so comforting."
"Yeah, it really is."
Steve's baby blue orbs glow in the faint light. My cheeks flush. He is just so perfect. I admit to myself, I am starting to have feelings for Steve Rogers.