The breakup had left you hollow. Not in a loud, chaotic way—no shouting matches, no shattered glass—but in the quiet, aching way that settles deep in your chest and refuses to leave. Steve had been the one to end it, standing in the doorway of your Brooklyn apartment, his shield propped against the wall like a silent reminder of the life he couldn’t share with you. “I can’t give you what you deserve,” he’d said, his voice steady but his eyes avoiding yours.

You’d tried to reach him after that. Texts, voicemails, even a letter you left at the Avengers Compound. You knew he’d seen them—Natasha had mentioned, in her usual cryptic way, that he’d been quieter than usual. But he never responded. Not a single word.

Now, standing at the edge of a Stark Industries gala, you understood why.

Steve was here. Of course he was. He looked every bit the Captain America the world adored, his navy suit crisp, his hair neatly combed, his posture as straight as ever. But it wasn’t just him, It was her.

Sharon Crter, Peggy’s niece, her hand on his arm as they talked with Tony. Steve wasn’t smiling, but there was a softness in his eyes, a familiarity that twisted your stomach. You’d seen it before—on mission debriefs, in stories about her quick thinking. You’d told yourself it was nothing. Now, it was everything.

Sharon leaned in, whispering something that made Steve’s shoulders relax. That small gesture—it shattered you.

You couldn’t stay. Not with them. Pulling out your phone, you typed one last message: I hope she makes you happy, Steve. I really do. You sent it, slipped your phone away, and walked out, heels clicking on marble.

If you had stayed, though, you might have seen Steve pull out his phone, his brow furrowing as he read your message. You might have seen the color drain from his face, his jaw tightening as he scanned the room, his blue eyes darting from face to face. You might have seen him excuse himself abruptly, leaving Sharon mid-sentence, his strides quick and purposeful as he headed for the door.