the elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and the quiet hum of the avengers training floor spills out. it’s early — too early for anyone but the real morning people — and steve’s already there.

he’s in a gray cutoff shirt, drenched in sweat, hands wrapped, throwing careful, rhythmic punches into the bag. focused. controlled. the perfect soldier.

until he hears your voice.

“good morning, cap.”

his entire body goes still. the bag swings once, hard, before slowing. he doesn’t turn right away — he can’t. he takes a breath first. shoulders rise. shoulders fall. a heartbeat of preparation.

then he does.

and he’s ruined.

you’re walking toward him in fitted leggings and a little tank top that dips in the back, hair still slightly messy from sleep, lips glossy, eyes warm. you look soft, comfortable, beautiful in the way that hits him square in the chest.

he says nothing at first. just stares. too long. then he remembers he’s supposed to speak.

“hey.” his voice is low, rough from training. he clears his throat. “didn’t think you’d be up yet.”

you smile, setting your water bottle down, stretching your arms over your head — slow, sleepy, unbothered. steve looks away fast, gaze jerking down to the floor, adam’s apple bobbing.

“didn’t sleep much,” you say casually. “thought i’d get a workout in.”

he nods too quickly. “right. that’s— that’s good. it’s good to, um… stay active.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you okay?”

“yes.” too fast again. he winces at himself.

you step closer to him, close enough that he can smell your lotion — vanilla, warm, soft. it’s like being hit with a truck made of temptation.

“relax, cap,” you tease lightly. “it’s just me.”

“that’s the problem,” he mutters before he can stop himself.

your head tilts. “what was that?”

he panics, straightening up, grabbing the nearest excuse — his towel — and wiping his face like it’ll hide the blush creeping up his neck.

“nothin’. just— you, uh…” his eyes flick over you once, traitorous, reverent. “you look ready for a workout. that’s all.”

you grin, stepping into his space, close enough your shoulder brushes his arm — and it’s over for him. his breath catches. his eyes soften. his self-control wavers.

“spot me?” you ask, all innocent.

steve swallows hard. yeah. he’s done for.

“…yeah,” he says quietly, voice dropping. “’course i will.”