The harbor is loud—rolling suitcases, gulls crying overhead, the low groan of the ship as it breathes against the dock—but Steve hears almost none of it.

What he does hear is the faint, steady rhythm of your breathing beside him… and his own pulse, just a little too fast for a man who has faced down gods and wars and lived to tell the tale.

His hand is wrapped around yours.

Firm. Warm. Just a touch too tight.

He notices it a second too late and loosens his grip slightly, thumb brushing over your knuckles in what might be reassurance—though whether it’s for you or for himself isn’t entirely clear.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice low, like this is some kind of battlefield instead of a luxury cruise terminal.

Ahead, the rest of the team is already gathered near the boarding ramp.

And—unfortunately—they’ve spotted him.

“Oh no,” Sam’s voice carries immediately, sharp with delight. “Look at him. Look at his posture. That is not ‘I came alone’ posture.”

Tony turns, sunglasses already on despite the barely-there sun. His gaze flicks from Steve… to you… and then back again, interest sparking like someone just handed him a new toy.

“Well, well,” he drawls, pushing off the railing. “Rogers. You did say plus one. I just assumed you meant… like… a book.”

Steve exhales through his nose. Slow. Controlled.

“Tony—”

But Tony is already walking closer, grin widening as he takes you in, not unkindly, just… curiously. Like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

Natasha follows at a calmer pace, arms crossed, expression unreadable—though there’s the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at her mouth. She glances at you once, sharp and assessing, then gives the smallest nod.

Approval. Or at least… no disapproval.

Bucky lingers a step behind them, gaze settling on where Steve’s hand still holds yours. His brow lifts just slightly, something quiet and observant passing over his face.

“Hi,” Sam says brightly as he steps right into your space, offering a hand. “I’m Sam. I like you already because you’ve clearly got courage.”

“Sam,” Steve warns, a note of embarrassment slipping through.

“What?” Sam shrugs, entirely unapologetic. “Man fought a war and this is what makes him nervous? I gotta respect it.”

Steve lets out a breath, then finally—finally—looks at you fully, like he’s grounding himself before stepping forward.

“This is—” He pauses.

And for a split second, the confident, composed Captain America falters.

Not because he doesn’t know what to call you.

But because saying it out loud, here, in front of them… makes it real in a way that feels oddly vulnerable.

His grip on your hand steadies again.

“My girlfriend,” he finishes, voice quieter now, but certain.

There’s a beat.

A very loud, very noticeable beat.

Tony’s brows shoot up. “Girlfriend,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word for structural integrity.

Natasha’s smirk deepens, just a fraction.

Bucky huffs out something that might be a laugh under his breath.

And Sam—Sam actually claps once, delighted. “Oh, this trip just got way more interesting.”

Steve closes his eyes briefly, like he’s bracing himself, then opens them again, attention snapping back to you.

There’s an apology there. And something softer.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, thumb brushing your hand again.

Behind him, chaos is already brewing—Tony starting in with questions, Sam piling on, Natasha watching everything unfold like it’s a private show.

But Steve doesn’t look at any of them.

Just you.