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When Steve first meets (Y/n)'s parents, he's thrown for a loop on how to act.
The message from his young friend had been pretty straight-to-the-point in a very (Y/n)-like way.
My dad wants to meet you. Are you free 1 pm this Saturday?
He'd been free and let her know that he was available for lunch, and that was all she told him.
So, now, Steve is left standing in front of the (L/n)'s apartment door, uncomfortably fiddling with the collar of his shirt as he waits for the door to be opened. He can faintly make out a muffled conversation from within the apartment, the pounding of footsteps, and then the door is pulled open to reveal a pleasantly smiling (Y/n).
"Hey," she greets, "you look nice."
The compliment is due, Steve believes, recalling his crisis over his wardrobe that had ended in him asking for Natasha's help and being laughed at by Clint. It wasn't his fault he didn't know what to wear for a lunch with his teenage friend's father.
"Thanks," he grins, a little relieved. "You do, too."
And she did. (Y/n) no longer looks like she is dead on her feet, and she has dressed in her favorite color- yellow, which Steve thinks oddly fitting.
She opens the door wider, stepping aside to let him into the decently spacious apartment. The décor is done in cool blues and warm browns and creams, and the walls are lined with picture frames and paintings. There are big windows opposite to the entrance door, filling the living room with natural light that is only hindered by thin, white curtains.
And, of course, he notices the subtle but recurring floral theme throughout the house.
He decides that he quite likes (Y/n)'s home.
"Hello," a man speaks up, entering through the hallways to Steve's left. "You must be Steve Rogers."
Steve straightens, smiling politely as he shakes hands with the man he guesses is (Y/n)'s father. "Yes. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. (L/n)."
The man's gaze is sharp and analytical- unlike his daughter's save for a rare few moments- as he stares up at Steve for a tense second before smiling back. "You can just call me, (D/n), Steve."
Steve is ushered further into the apartment and promptly seated on one of the large sofas, declining any drink other than a glass of water.
"So," (D/n) begins conversationally, "Captain America, huh? I'll admit, I found it pretty hard to believe when (Y/n) finally told me about her friendship with you. It's not everyday a man finds out that his daughter's been hanging out with a superhero."
Flushing, Steve resists the urge to glare at (Y/n) when she shoots him a bemused smile as she hands him his requested glass of water before sitting down next to her father on the other sofa.
