STEVE AND RHETT HAD A SYSTEM. It became an unspoken arrangement between the two that Steve, if he was able and allowed to, would come out and sit on the steps to watch the game that always unfolded every day during the afternoons, as it was summer.

It soon became a system that Rhett would bring two sodas. Steve, however, would never touch them unless he was prompted. Normally, he would have no problem stealing a drink from someone, especially since most boys were more than willing to rag on the little guy.

However, the blond boy was never once mean to Steve. So there was no real reason for him to try and do anything to jeopardize whatever type of relationship they had.

"Here," Rhett said loudly, passing over his drink. It took him a while, but he understood why Steve didn't want to take the soda. So the two would share the two he brought.

"Thanks," Steve said, taking a long swig before handing it back, giving the other boy a small smile.

It was after a few moments of fidgeting on Rhett's part that he finally asked, "How come you don't play ball with me, but you're always going off with James?"

º º º

It was nearing the end of the week, a Friday, and Rhett and Steve's conversations had flowed towards texting. It started on Wednesday when, in an effort to avoid having to work on lesson plans and grading, Rhett texted the man, asking him to tell him what was happening.

Steve, who had been working during the time, regaled the story of how he was drunkenly asked out by five women, bridesmaids who were accompanying the bride-to-be as she went bar hopping. He had turned them down easily enough, but had to make sure to ward off some of the men who had been eyeing them from across the way.

The night progressively became harder for Steve and, when the man finally finished dealing with whatever trouble was occurring, he texted Rhett, exasperated beyond belief. It was hard on the former Captain, but a wonderful source of entertainment for the teacher, having to muffle his laughter as he stayed awake through Steve's shift.

It was why he had asked Nicky to get him a sugary, caffeinated mess at Starbucks when he nearly fell asleep before break even started that day. He had nothing against Starbucks, but he didn't frequent it as often as he probably would have; he had a certain war criminal to thank for that.

Said war criminal was currently watching Rhett talk softly to the little girl in the stroller at the table next to them, calming her down while her mother took an important phone call, frowning as she spoke, biting her nails.

Steve couldn't help but smile as he watched Rhett make faces and babble, shushing her softly when she began to fuss. He didn't pick her up, as the mother didn't know he was interacting with her child, but he did hold out his hand for her to play with, whispering softly as he tried to keep her from sticking his finger in her mouth.

Steve couldn't describe Rhett. Couldn't describe what he was like, why he was who he was. He couldn't even describe how he felt when he watched him, whether it was admiration, awe, or confusion. Whatever it was, it had respect.

When the mother returned, taking the stroller and pushing it out of the cafe, shooting a nasty look at Rhett with tear-filled eyes, the man sat back up, watching them go for a moment before turning back to Steve who was still smiling at him.

"What?" he asked, catching sight of the look.

"Nothing," he replied, glancing back down at his unopened sketchbook, wishing he had taken a moment to try and do a quick sketch, something to remember the scene.

"Did you get some rest?" Rhett asked, leaning back in his seat, "You had a pretty rough night last night."

"Yeah," Steve said, rubbing his eyes, "But it's alright. She seemed very upset, which makes sense, her son keeps running away to find his biological father."

Steve had been preoccupied all night with a woman in the bar who had been sobbing over her drinks, having to move to the corner of the room as she was bothering some of the others who were there. He hadn't kicked her out as she had a son to get home to, and she hadn't wanted him to see her in that state.

"Damn," Rhett whispered, "That's...rough."

"Yeah," Steve nodded, "I never asked, how is your family? You never mention them. Not that we've been talking that long of a time, but I figured it would come up at some point."

He stiffened, struggling to keep up the walls hiding his memories. It had taken him all nine years to perfect this, working with Nicky for hours each day to try and keep himself sane, focusing solely on the life he led now, trying not to care about the memories he would be forgetting.

"They're not around," was all he said, clearing his throat.

Steve leaned back, looking guilty. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"You're good," Rhett coughed, closing his eyes and shaking his head, "Uh, can we change the subject. Um...are you seeing anyone?"

Of all the questions.

Steve, thankfully, understood why he asked—at least as to why he asked during that particular time—and humored him, trying to act as normal as possible. "Well, no. It's a little hard when you're in hiding. How about you?"

Rhett shook his head, thoughts shifting to how the both of them were on the run. "No. Uh, one of my students tried setting me up with her father, but that's a can of worms I don't want to open again. So I guess that makes two of us."

Steve laughed softly. "Two single men sitting at the same table in a coffee shop."

"Sounds like a romcom," the other man commented softly, not realizing what he said until it was out, but too afraid to mention it for fear of drawing more attention.

"I'd watch it," Steve said softly, and that was the end of that conversation.

They inched towards other topics, Steve asking questions about Rhett's work and his roommate—"I'd like to meet him sometime, he sounds interesting."—telling his own stories about his time back in the Avengers, though these stories were told in a hushed whisper, so quiet that Rhett had to lean forward with his elbows on the table to hear.

"Wanda's been texting less and less," he said, looking hurt, "I hope she's alright. Clint checks in sometimes, lets me know how she's doing, they're both good."

"You try calling them?" Rhett asked.

Steve shook his head. "I don't think it's a good idea. Best I just lay low. Who even knows where Nat is, honestly, I haven't spoken to her since we've run. I think Clint knows where she is, but he won't say."

"I'm sure you'll hear from them all soon," Rhett said, trying to sound reassuring; Nicky would be better in the situation, maybe he wouldn't have reassured him at all.

"I feel as though your glasses obstruct your face as is," Steve commented, adjusting his own, "Do you think mine are too much?"

Tilting his head, Rhett stared at him. Truth be told, it was hard to see the man before him as the Captain America shown on the news, TV, and required PSA videos they showed at schools. But there was something about him that was still Steve.

"It's not you," he said, "There's some of you there, but if I was looking for Steve in a crowd, I'd maybe look at you a second time, but move on."

"Good," Steve said, rubbing his chin, "That's good. I think I should do something else, just to be safe."

"I think you need to relax," Rhett said, going so far as to reach over and set down the arm that was raised, "Trust me. You're okay."

He recognized the worry well. He remembered when he felt the need to hide himself and change his face, do everything he could. But he stopped himself; he was going to stand firm, and fight if he was caught.

It didn't mean he didn't do all that he could, just that he drew a line.

"What do you know about hiding?" Steve adked, not unlike their first conversation while walking.

"You'd be surprised," Rhett sighed, looking away.

Steve decided to change the topic, both of them having regressed back to how it was a week before.

"Has it only been a week since we started talking?" he asked, thoroughly surprised.

"Huh. Yeah," Rhett said, raising his eyebrows, "Though, I guess, those two weeks of silence really added to it."

"I have to say, you really do remind me of someone," Steve said, shrugging and rubbing his face, "God, he's probably dead now. I don't even remember his name."

Rhett said nothing. Instead, he thought about baseball.

"I haven't played with the kids in a while," he said, guilt settling in, "I haven't been there in weeks."

"We can go now—" Steve said, moving to stand.

"No," he said, waving him back down, "It's too late already. Plus, it's Friday."

"I'm sorry," Steve said, with genuine apology in his tone.

"Not your fault," he replied, "Besides, it's nice to just sit instead of getting tackled by a bunch of kids."

Steve laughed at that, and that's all that mattered.

The two continued to talk as the hour ticked along, Steve not wanting to leave so soon, despite having work. Rhett wasn't keen on leaving either, but something soon forced him into action.

He was in the middle of telling a story of how Nicky brought home five puppies when he just stopped. An abrupt pause where time seemed to slow, everything around him pausing while he remained steady.

He felt someone looking at him. Unnerved, he glanced over his shoulder and saw him standing there.

He was just staring. Everyone seemed to be moving around him, but in a blur. He just stood and stared.

Then the moment was over and he was turning back around to Steve. It was as if the sound had been turned back on, everything now louder, fuller. His heart was racing.

"Rhett," Steve said, frowning, "Are you alright?"

"I-I think I have to go," he stammered, feeling his throat closing as he glanced over his shoulder again; a bad move if he wanted to maintain a sliver of cover.

He was gone. But Rhett could still feel his stare.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Steve asked, standing as well.

"No," he practically shouted, tripping over a chair as he tugged on his jacket, "No, I'm okay. Just-just text me when you get to work. Or home or—" he tripped over another chair as he ran off, bag in hand.

"Rhett!" Steve shouted, jumping over the gate and bushes separating the coffee shop from the street, stopping him in his tracks.

"I have to go," the other man said, pushing Steve behind him, shaking his head, "Please, you can't come with me, it's not—" he choked, feeling his hands begin to lose feeling, a fuzzy feeling spreading throughout his arms.

Rhett ran off, opposite the way he usually went, away from where the man had been standing, leaving Steve to watch him go, ready to call after him but unable to. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he found that there was no one standing there, save for the people moving about their day.

Confused, he walked off, wondering just how much Rhett knew about hiding.

º º º

Rhett was running. He could feel the stare boring into his back as he went, no matter how many turns he took or people he weaved through, he could still feel it.

He felt it as he ran down into the station, card nearly falling out of his hands as he made his way in, still feeling the stare despite having pushed through so many people, already underground. No matter where he looked, all the glances he threw, he couldn't see where he was.

That was more terrifying than when he had seen him in the street.

He jumped into the train car, making sure that he went into the one most filled. That was a mistake. His heart nearly burst out of his chest when they began to move and he realized that he could still feel the stare.

Trying to control his breathing so as not to startle anyone else, he looked at the glass, trying to calm himself down, focusing on anything else. It was when people were starting to get off that he saw him.

In the reflection of the glass, on one side, he was just standing. Staring right at Rhett through the glass. Just standing.

Panicked, he rushed over, unprepared and unarmed, but needing to know. Needing to be sure. With his hands balled into fists, he pushed his way through the crowd, afraid and uncertain, but acting.

No one was there.

He gawked, looking towards the glass, searching for the reflection of the man, for anything. Something to prove that he was back, or that he was imagining things. Something.

He was just gone. Rhett couldn't see him anywhere, but he could still feel the stare. He searched around the thinning car, heart racing as he continued to feel the stare, but find no one to connect it to.

When he reached his stop, he threw himself out, stumbling as he ran through the station, pushing through the confused and irritated crowd, running from whatever was watching him. Whoever.

He didn't stop running until he was almost home, feeling his vision grow foggy, his heart ready to burst. The feeling in his hands was growing numb and his knees were giving out, fear overtaking him.

He couldn't get away.

He fumbled with his keys trying to get into the gate, nearly kicking it open in his frenzy, grabbing them out at the last second and throwing it closed. He raced up the stairs, nearly tripping ever so often, catching himself, a scream caught in his throat as he felt the stare draw closer.

It was just a few feet away when he reached his apartment, flinging open the door and jumping inside, closing it right in its face. At least, if it had a face.

"Nicky?" he cried, reaching up and going through every deadbolt and lock, making his way down the door, "Nicky?"

No response.

He felt his chest constrict as he ran into his room, locking the door and barricading it, grabbing the watch that was sitting on his table, forever ticking away, never once breaking. The only memory of his own life, eternally mocking him.

He gripped it in his fist as he sat in the corner of his room, legs pulled up to his chest as he began to cry.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

( 12.01.18 )

This actually got to a decent size, I'm happy. I wanted the end scene to be more impactful, but I think it became too long winded and just wasn't well done. But I tried, you know? I know it was a little odd, but it'll make sense later down the road.

Also, I know that someone is probably going to say that grown men don't cry or whatever (or don't cry as easily, which you know, maybe you're right) but my point is is that Rhett has been through a lot and he's also friends with Nicky who firmly believes that crying is healthy. Rhett is also in a state of pure panic, so he's completely warranted in crying.

There was a brief Easter Egg in this chapter, alluding to my Tony Stark fic I have in the works. Try to find it.

I know that Rhett and Steve haven't been talking for long, but I'm gonna try to make this as realistic as possible, though this won't be as long as Lonely Hearts and their relationship will be different, you know, it's different for every person.

Anyways! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!