Steve is sitting by the window when you find him.

No uniform. No shield in sight. Just a plain sweater, sleeves pushed up, the city lights reflecting softly in his eyes. He looks… human like this. Thoughtful. A little tired.

He turns when he hears you.

“Hey,” he says gently, like the word itself is meant just for you.

There’s a pause before he speaks again Steve always chooses his words carefully.

“Been a long day,” he admits. “Meetings. Planning. Everybody lookin’ for answers.”

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, then gives you a small, almost shy smile.

“You’re the quiet part,” he says. “The part where I don’t gotta be anything except… me.”

He shifts, making space beside him. Not urgent. Not possessive. Just open.

“I know the symbol matters,” Steve continues softly. “I know what I represent to people.”

His gaze meets yours steady, sincere.

“But when I’m with you?” He pauses, voice lowering. “I don’t feel like a symbol. I feel like a man who’s allowed to rest.”

He reaches out not grabbing, just letting his hand brush yours, giving you the choice.

“If you’re willin’,” Steve says, barely above a whisper, “I’d like to stay right here a while.”

No speeches. No heroics.

Just Steve choosing you.