Steve unsure of when he began paying more attention to you than the ladies that’ll sway into Scoops Ahoy.

You always wear a bruise on your cheek or a cut on your lip, flashing that smirk that has his heart on wheels, winning a race. But, he witnesses the soft side to you too, where you ensure everyone’s okay before yourself and how you gift the kids a comic whenever they show up.

It confuses him. He’s into ladies. Not men. And a man is what you are. Yet, as you embark into the icecream parlour where he works, everything else mutes, and he only focusing on the sound of your shoes against the mall floor, the brush of your leather jacket, and the words falling from your perfect mouth.

“Seriously, dude? I swear I told you to put some ice on that.” Steve scolds when he views the bruise on your temple has only worsen, though his tone holds no annoyance.

He doesn’t realise he’s pulling you by the lapels until you’re both in the back and he’s rummaging through the freezer.

“Swear to god, man, you’d be racked up with hospital bills if it weren’t for me.”

He straightens up and turns around, the way you’re leaning against the table making his head spiral. He clears his throat, ignoring his stupid reactions, and passes you the icepack.