➳ Oh, Well Imagine Marvel➳ FINISHED

•Eden~Steve Rogers•

Babe, there's something tragic about you
Something so magic about you
Don't you agree?

In school, Captain America was a common topic in almost every class. Social liked to focus on the history, what Mr. Rogers did for the world. In English, it was why. The question of morals and motivation as the teachers weaved him into stories from their own heads. Science, of course, discussed the serum and how it seemed to stretch and pull every cell in his body. Everyone was conditioned into believing Steven Grant Rogers was a gift from God. And he seemed every bit the saint, a package completed with a bow made of sad endings and tearful goodbyes.
When you first met him you were reminded of the endless nights spent writing essay after essay about him, there were so many things you could've asked, so many questions you had stored away that you now had the chance to dredge up. So you ran through all the things you raised your hand for in class but never got an answer to, looked Captain America dead in the eyes, and forgot each and every one of them.
Babe, there's something lonesome about you
Something so wholesome about you
Get closer to me
It was hard to imagine anyone being able to do half the things Steve had done, and the thought occurred to you that it must have been so isolating; not only now because he was catapulted close to a century into the future, but back in his era too. You knew for certain that you would never be able to face a whole army alone and not only make it out alive, but also rescue a small army of your own in the process. It wasn't a thought you openly shared with Steve, but on late nights right before you said you had to leave and the threat of an empty apartment made Steve's eyes glaze over, you couldn't help but reminisce in the idea.
Like you were trying to make up for leaving him alone, your thumb would run over his cheek or you would pull him off the couch with you and wrap your arms around his neck so tight that sometimes he forgot what it was like to be alone. Steve would close his eyes and breathe you in, and if you stood there long enough it felt like you'd actually been with him this whole time.
No tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony
No 'who cares', no vacant stares, no time for me
Time with Steve meant something. It wasn't mindless or empty, although that didn't mean you two talked about something particularly deep whenever you were around. You think it's the way even silence between you two has a meaning deeper than the conversation you'd have with someone like Einstein if you had the chance. Before you even knew Steve all that well you could tell by the kinds of breaths he took what was going on in his day.
Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago
Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword
Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know
I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door
It was something Steve clued in on from the moment you waltz into his life. This world wasn't what it used to be, what he was used to it being, but something about you struck him as home. It wasn't your hair - definitely not, with that shade of blue? - your eyes were lovely, but they were also shockingly modern. He couldn't explain it, but back in his day dames like you didn't have sharp gazes like that unless they knew how to use a gun. Maybe it was how you met, because like any good modern cliche you ran into him with a cup of steaming coffee, and even though he really did try to be mad and assertive like Sam was pushing him to do, he just couldn't glare at you and your squeaks of apologies.
Steve considers that it might be your laugh, and how you broke out of your concern almost immediately after catching his eye and started snickering - the kind of giggle someone would erupt into if their best friend fell down the stairs and they already knew they were fine. He thinks that for you, it was because "unlike every other guy in this locker room of a city" he didn't yell at you. He was glad that he hadn't listened to Sam in the end, because then he'd never had bought you another coffee and you would've never asked the barista for their sharpie to print a neat scrawl of digits on his hand for future reference.
He made sure to school Sam in the art of being a decent guy when he got back to training later that day.
Babe, there's something wretched about this
Something so precious about this
Where to begin
Sometimes he wished your relationship was a little more old-fashioned than what it was, but he also knew that this was the 21st century, and the societal views of relationships had changed immeasurably.
Plus, who was he to say no to you when you smiled so sweetly and smelled like heaven and hell threw all of their greatest attributes into a blender and showered you in it?
He couldn't tell if he was disheartened or intrigued when you slid off his bed that night, sheet dragging behind you as you told him this wouldn't be a reoccurring thing. It made sense, in an odd sort of way, to be nothing more than friends, but to deal with all the tension in the room the only way anyone is the 21st century seemed to know how. It was like a challenge, a game: like tag, except the loser was the one who fell in love first.
Babe, there's something broken about this
But I might be hoping about this.
Oh, what a sin
Steve lost that game so fast - Pietro would've been awed. He didn't want friends or benefits, he wanted you, and that was a realization he had to live with every time your "one time thing" turned into another dimly lit night complete with gasps and whimpers and promises made of his name.
He couldn't tell what was more off, everything going on between you two, or the fact that he kept telling himself this was nothing more than a way to fill his nights. That he was still competing in this game, that you were just a reason for him to wash his sheets every so often.
To the strand a picnic plan for you and me
A rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree
There was only so much a guy could take, especially after he decided you were the only kind of night he wanted. He wasn't going to lie, it took more courage than he had muscle to so much as call you up and ask you to meet him. But that little gut-wrenching anxiety was a goodworry, the kind he wouldn't mind feeling a whole lot more of in his everyday life.
But where else could you two have gone? This was a one way street, he was sure you could feel it too; the heart-thumping, gut-wrenching, gravity-stopping purr under your skin when you touched. You had to, because Steve couldn't stomach you feeling that sort of magic with someone else.
Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago
Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword
Like any good soldier would, Steve shot first and asked questions later. In this case, he kissed first and resorted to his words as a backup plan. When it was plain that scooping you off your feet and pressing your back to the bark of a tree in the middle of the day was not the way to tell you he wants more than mindless sex, he pulled away from the kiss.
Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know
I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door
With his lips still searing and the bark behind you biting into his hands, Steve admitted defeat. He waved his white flag with his forehead against yours and tried to imagine a life where you weren't like a magnet to him before deciding awful universes like those didn't deserve space in his head.
And after you kissed him again, familiar and foreign and warm, he tried to remember ever meeting a girl as disastrous as you. Afterall, with one lick of your lips you could have the First Avenger on his knees, and one flick of your wrist could crush the heart he'd poured into your hands.
Steve decided he wouldn't have it any other way.
Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago
Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword
Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know
I slithered here from Eden just to hide outside your door