Of course, Tony Stark held a party of his own, inviting people left, right, and center. The Avengers had just acquired the Mind Stone, defeating another remaining faction of Hydra for it. The victory felt significant, a milestone marked not just by accomplishment but also by the sacrifices made along the way. Stark Tower glittered under the city lights, the glass walls reflecting the bustling crowd within—heroes, dignitaries, and civilians mingling seamlessly amidst laughter and clinking glasses.

Steve Rogers wasn’t big into parties. The noise and extravagance often felt overwhelming compared to the simplicity he had grown up with—Sunday picnics, neighborhood dances where the biggest spectacle was a modest string of lights, and conversations that didn’t require shouting over blaring music. Yet, here he was, tucked into a quieter corner, nursing a drink he’d barely touched, trying to enjoy what he could. His sharp blue eyes scanned the room, observing more than participating, silently people-watching as Natasha’s witty remarks floated around him, going in one ear and out the other. She was animated, her laughter blending with the music, but Steve’s mind drifted elsewhere.

The world had moved on without him, and most days, it felt like he was running to catch up with something always just out of reach. The sleek architecture, the rapid pace of conversations, the casual way people held technology in their hands like extensions of themselves—it all served as a constant reminder of the time he’d lost. Even among teammates, even as Captain America, there was an undercurrent of disconnection, like looking through a window at a life that no longer fit.

His gaze found you across the room, drawn inexplicably. The pretty red dress you wore wasn’t overly elaborate, but its simplicity caught his attention in a way nothing else had that evening. The color complimented your features, the glossy sheen of your lips catching the soft lighting just right. There was an effortless elegance to you, something genuine amid the glittering crowd. Your laughter, light and unforced, drifted through the air, weaving its way into Steve’s consciousness more prominently than the upbeat music or the chatter around him.

He found himself staring, his heart doing an unfamiliar skip. It wasn’t just the dress or the way your hair framed your face; it was something more—an aura, perhaps, that seemed to pull him closer. Without fully realizing it, his feet carried him across the room, weaving through clusters of conversing guests until he stood just a few steps away from you. Natasha’s voice faded completely, the crowd dimming around the edges of his perception.

“Not enjoying the party?” His voice was steady, laced with that old-fashioned charm, yet there was a warmth in his tone that surprised even him. You turned, meeting his gaze, your eyes holding a spark that made his heart pound. Your smile was soft but genuine, the kind that reached your eyes and stayed with a person long after.

“Crowds aren’t really my thing,” you replied, a touch of amusement in your voice. “But it’s hard to say no to Tony Stark.”

Steve chuckled, relaxing slightly. “Tell me about it.”

As the conversation flowed effortlessly, Steve felt something shift. There was no pretense with you, no need to weigh his words or fit into the mold of Captain America. You weren’t captivated by the shield or the stories etched into the history books. You listened—really listened—to him, not the symbol he’d become. The words that left his mouth weren’t rehearsed speeches or strategic banter; they were genuine, pulled from the depths of a man who often felt out of place in his own time.