Lessons in Rule Breaking and Other Reader-Inserts*Steve Rogers*Reader*

For a Smile - Pt.1/1

A smile costs less than electricity, and gives more light. (Scottish proverb)

You see him run past every morning. So you smile, because he looks like a nice person.

How could he not be when he smiles back and the world stops for a while to pay respect to such beauty?

And sometimes... sometimes this incredibly handsome man smiles first.

-.-.-

I'm passing this guy near a café playing music every morning when I go to school and at some point, our eyes kinda met and we smiled at each other; now we do that every day.

I kid you not, he's got the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. It's not a Hollywood-star smile, no – it's a guy-next-door smile, heart-warming, with his eyes simply shining. He's like a kid on Christmas Day.

We never say hello. Or Olá, in this case. Nothing. We just smile. It's one of the most pleasant feelings I ever had.

Anyway, just so you knew what brought this on O:-) Haven't seen him for two weeks now, btw, which sucks. I miss him.

Enjoy and drop a comment if you feel like it ;)

-.-.-

For a Smile

Warm honey, sandstone and apricot orange melting into indigo, cerulean blue and stone-grey sky. Merigold playing with salmon and rose pink, teasing each other and making space to the warmer shades of orange.

You watched the beautiful colours of sunrise as you shifted your legs for a bit, causing the simple plank hanging on two tattered ropes sway, a smile tugging on your lips.

It was a little childish really, or it may appear to anyone who would be passing by; but given what an early riser you were, just so you could watch this breath-taking game of colours, the little miracle of nature, no person could question you as you were dangling your feet off the old swing.

On your way to work, if the time allowed it, you would always make a stop on your favourite spot; a no-name park in upstate New York you were walking through every day, rather calm and drunks-free at the early hour.

Once upon a time, someone had placed a simple swing on one of the trees farther from the path. You sent a silent thank you every time you parked your behind there. You weren't a monster; if a kid wanted to sit here, you would have gladly (...reluctantly) made space for them, but they seemed to always be more mesmerizes by the playground with the actual swings, the chutes, the monkey bars and the sandpit. You couldn't say you complained, having the old-fashioned swing for yourself though.

It was childish, perhaps; though your mother had once chosen you should be going into accounting and so you had. Numbers and bills were things even adults hated, but it was what being old enough meant. You didn't mind it too often, plunging into them for living, but... you needed to compensate, so you felt entitled.

Plus, the motion of the swing was soothing, as if magically transporting you back to your childhood indeed, with less worries, more ease and pure mind.

Yeah, sitting on the swing was the favouri-

Rapid staccato of feet hitting the ground in the distance, no doubt scaring off the birds chiming their morning songs, reached your ears and you had to admit you wouldn't be completely honest with yourself if you said this was the favourite moment of your day only because of the aforementioned reasons.

There was one more.

It had strong long sweatpants-clad legs, broad shoulders in a sports t-shirt with seams crying for help, blond hair and-