Steve shows up at your place way later than he said he would, hair damp from the rain and jacket slung over one shoulder like he forgot how to use his arms. “Long night?” you ask, stepping aside to let him in. “You have no idea,” he sighs, toeing off his shoes. The second he sees you, though, his shoulders drop. Like he’s finally somewhere safe. You don’t even say anything—just open your arms. Steve doesn’t hesitate. He steps into you, forehead pressing against your shoulder, arms wrapping tight around your waist. “Can we just… not talk for a minute?” he murmurs. “Yeah,” you whisper, fingers sliding into his hair. “I’ve got you.” You sit together on the couch, his head in your lap, your thumb tracing slow lines along his temple. The TV hums quietly in the background, forgotten. After a while, he looks up at you, eyes soft, a little vulnerable. “You know you make everything quieter, right?” You smile down at him. “That’s kinda my thing.” Steve huffs a small laugh, reaching up to lace his fingers with yours. “Don’t ever leave,” he says, half-joking, half-not.