You have a minute?

Staring at the phone in his hand still seems surreal, even with all the time Steve's had to adjust to the world since coming out of the ice. The fact that the device alone can be operated by one hand is jarring enough; being able to do things with it beyond calling someone is another story.

Steve drops his phone beside him, his broad shoulders taut as he lays back in bed. After countless briefings and a long-winded training session in the Compound's gym, Steve's craving one-on-one time with anything that isn't Stark tech or S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel flitting after him.

And that's you, he supposes while watching your text bubble on his phone's screen. You're typing, and he waits for a response with that familiar furrow of his brows. If it'd been a few months earlier, he would have just gone to look for you as anyone from the 40s would've, but he's trying to be modern— trying to adjust to a time that makes him feel more like a fish out of water than the mere man he is.

Everyone's so absorbed in modern conveniences— instant messaging, fast food and the like— that they don't slow down. Everything has to be instantaneous or else it's deemed a waste of time, and Steve can't grasp why people want everything to be so fast-paced. Why does no one bother to truly connect anymore?

When you text that you're on your way to his room, Steve exhales while he stares up at the ceiling. The others have always harped on his distaste for today's expedience, but not you. Never you. You always meet Steve where he's at— whether focused on a mission or disgruntled with his flip phone— and he's always been grateful for that.

But at the end of the day, he's still a man who craves that sense of humanity that can't be satiated through a screen. He's not Tony, damn it. He's so lost in his head that he doesn't register that you've snuck in until your chin rests on his shoulder.

"Hey," he rasps, allowing your lips to connect chastely as he pulls you close. You're just the distraction he needs.