Steve Rogers/Captain America One Shots

Reason for Living

Your fingers trembled slightly, as anxiety continued to coarse throughout your veins, as you buried them into the soft linen towel, that you wrapped around each dripping wet strand of your hair. Staring back at yourself in your still and lost reflection that stood unmoving in the large hotel mirror, you watched your nimble yet unsteady hands work to squeeze the water from your newly dyed locks. The white towel growing dark and soppy in sections from the collected water, and slightly stained in places from your shaky dyeing job. But as you stared at yourself in the mirror, you studied the woman that looked back at you.

She was familiar, for her eyes still shone the same color they always had, even in the fluorescent bathroom lighting. And even as her face was washed of any remains of her makeup, she still had her faintly red tinted skin looking back. With the fair freckles sprinkled around her cheeks in light brown hues. But gone was the blonde that had locks flowing past her shoulder blades. The woman who found comfort in her long locks, as though a way to shield herself, was replaced by one with slightly uneven ends brushing teasingly against the tips of her shoulders. Leaving her exposed, without a curtain to hide herself behind when anxiety or uncomfortable situations were to arise. 

"It looks good on you." 

You weren't sure why his voice startled you, for you knew he was in the room just on the other side of the wall, and yet as his words sounded in the small space, your body couldn't help but jolt at his sudden presence. 

"The color or the length?"

Your hands stilled, as the towel lay wrapped around a final thick bundle of hair in your hand. And keeping your body still, your eyes moved to the right to look at Steve's reflection as he leaned his back against the doorframe as his blue eyes washed over you. His gaze warming your back like a spotlight pointed straight at your skin. He still adorned his darker uniform, as the sleeves were rolled up barely below his elbows as he kept them crossed loosely over his chest. Covering the rugged star stitched in the shadows of his deep nearly black color of his suit. But to you, the darkness that he wore hadn't managed to darken the man who wore it. Although his hair had grown darker and the beard encompassed his face in deep shadows, it still lighted his features somehow. And his eyes, the blue that swam within them, could never be dulled. Steve Rogers would always be a light that could never be extinguished. 

Steve's eyes met yours in the mirror as he waited a moment before answering, with a slight twitch of his lips as though his short semblance of a soft smile. "The confidence."

"All the time that I've known you, I've never seen you cut your hair any shorter than at your shoulder blades. And it's always been the same honey blonde you got from your mother. You've never had the confidence to cut away something you feel is a part of your identity. You've never had the confidence to change the image of yourself everyone else sees. But here you are."

Your steady gaze dropped as you listened to his heavy words, and looked down at the sink in front of you. The shiny white edges dusted in the loose ends, and the deep porcelain bowl filled with the now dark brunette shade of your long locks. The smell of your shampoo faintly drafted upwards, breaking through the dense scent of hair dye that filled the room. 

"It has nothing to do with confidence," You whispered in the spacious hotel bathroom, and yet the air felt stifling. "I could hardly get the scissors to cut it off," You add with a light spout of nervous laughter, that made your words seem distant and lost. Nothing like their own.

"Then what is it about?" Steve asked gently, as he pushed himself off of the doorframe. And although your eyes had still yet to rise, you could hear him growing closer. His heavy boots were powerful against the delicate tile that your bare feet stood still against, and the wind of his movements whirled around you. Sending the scent of his skin your way, the sweat and the soap and distinct note that was always Steve's, filling you with a sense of calm and anxious butterflies all at the same time.