"please, don't break my heart. don't tear me apart"
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it was a hot summers day in the middle of 1945. june 11th, to be exact. steve rogers was behind the counter of carter's flower shop, taking orders and packaging purple white roses neatly, wrapping them with bows before handing them to customers. steve was measly, 5'4, skin and bones, pale with blush tint to his cheeks. his voice was shaky when asking what the customers wanted in their bouquets, getting nervous when exchanging the money and giving the right change. he was every customers favourite worker, he was a sweetheart with pretty blue eyes and a mop of blonde hair on top of his skinny frame.
throughout the day, steve would package and present orders of flowers from customers all throughout the city, from pretty orchids and lily petals to black roses and sunflowers, he loved his job. he didn't love it so much when the sun was beating down on him and he could feel the sunburn erupt on his back after a long day. he didn't love his job when his nose was stuffed with the same scents strong enough to give his weak self a headache.
he loved his job when the customers would smile widely at him after collecting their bouquets, when they would tip him extra money for tying the prettiest bow across the packaging. customers truly did love him, the local flower boy. he could be seen with petals left in his hair or on his clothes, or often seen stood outside the shop in the early morning hours, presenting the outdoor flowers neatly for the public, it was his passion.
"You're closin up tonight, rogers" he heard his boss, peggy carter yell at him from the back room. "S-sure thing" it was already 7pm, the day was hectic. he was sweeping petals from the floor with sweat dripping from his forehead. peggy was a sweet girl, reminded steve heavily of his dead mother sarah. peggy grabbed her coat before planting a kiss lightly on steves cheek. "Thank you, sweetheart. Don't forget it's payday on friday" she says while adjusting her hat to her head and walking out the door. the smell of her perfume lingers as steve smudges the red mark left on his face from her lipstick before wiping it on his trousers. steve was left to tidy up, put away special orders for the next day and pre-package certain plants for wedding occasions.
steve did everything with such care, not wanting to disappoint himself or his boss.
after he was finally finished at 10pm, he felt ready to leave. he picks up his hat and coat from the cloak stand and heads out the door after shutting off the shop lights. although it was summer, the brooklyn streets were cold and dark at night time after the sunset, steve was grateful for only living five blocks from the shop. the streets were empty, like a ghost town, he didn't always mind the peacefully dark walk back home though. the flood lights on the street speckled with raindrops, steve walked with his hands in his pockets, humming a song through his chittering teeth.
the street was completely empty until he noticed a tall man walking his way, he seemed intimidating. he couldn't fully see exactly who he was so he kept his head down. he could hear the click of uniform boots coming towards him as the man walked past him. their shoulders barge one another's and the man's voice bites sharply "watch where you're going, flower boy" the voice fades as the man walks away from steve, it was low, raspy and captivating. he smelt of a strong cologne that wafted steve as he walked past him. he must have been a soldier, the way he spoke was lad-like and daunting. steves mother told him to stay away from the tall men in black clicker boots.
steve stood there for a minute, he was probably trouble, probably a scott, or a barnes, or a novia boy. all he rich soldier boys with rich military families are no good, according to steves mother.
steve finally arrives home, his house empty and quiet as usual apart from his small cat asleep on the sofa. he hangs up his coat and hat before heading upstairs. steve wasn't exhausted, he got dressed into his night vest and shorts before pulling his sketchbook from the drawer next to his bed. he flicks through his paper studies of faceless customers from his days at work, scenery of flowers and faces among them. he decided to sketch something new. he sketches the encounter that happened that night, although small he still thought about it. he lightly sketches the dark night sky, the flood lights and buildings surrounding the shop.
he sketches a man in a soldier uniform, he sketches himself walking past him. he sketches he moon and the stars as above as he looks out his window before finally giving into the screaming bags under his eyes.
steve falls asleep with the pencil left in his hand at 11:30pm.
