It wasn't always like this. Tense. Regretful. Pain in your chest at the mere thought of him, even. You and Steve had been inseparable since everything was right in the world again and he'd decided to settle down and lay low for a while. He was close-knit with the rest of the Avengers, but still, he needed a break.

That's where you factored into the equation.

When everything happened, Steve decided he needed change. To turn a new leaf. Start fresh—but maintain his sense of home. He left Washington and moved back to Brooklyn.

Living across the hall from him forced you into his path a few times too many, and before you knew it, the two of you had clicked. You were spending sleepless nights on his couch watching reruns of home improvement shows, or challenging each other to following unnecessarily complex recipes from your New York Times subscription. Within weeks you'd become best friends, and everything was fine. Which didn't last long.

Steve fell for you. Hard. And he was obvious about it, too, even though he wasn't trying to be.

You thought back to one night last November in your apartment, when Steve had accidentally shown his cards. Your home seemed to fascinate him, and you couldn't count the times he'd asked if you'd really read all the books on the shelves that lined the walls of your studio apartment. You were curled up on your couch–because Steve liked your place better, apparently—and you'd realized that he'd began the evening on the other end of the sofa, but had somehow crept his way over and engulfed you in a warm entanglement of limbs.

You'd just told him about going home to spend Thanksgiving with your parents, and he'd unexpectedly piped up, suggesting you stay in the city instead.

"I can't just cancel on my family, Steve," you reasoned, freeing your arm from his grip so you could take a sip of your wine. Guilt ate at you a little as you remembered that he didn't exactly have the luxury of going 'home' for the holidays, so you made a suggestion, "you could always come with me."

He chuckled at that and you looked up to meet his gaze. His eyes found yours with little hesitation.

"Nah, I don't wanna do that to you," he spoke quietly, tilting his head back a bit to rest on the back of the sofa, "I'm being stupid, anyway. Of course you have to go home. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"What?" you responded as your face fell, your arms subconsciously holding onto him a little more tightly, "No, Steve, I don't know why I didn't invite you sooner. I think you should come."

Silence loomed between the two of you, though there wasn't much space for it. You were nestled into him and his nose was only a couple of inches from yours. You could see the gears turning, though, as his brows knitted together with concern and he opened his mouth as if to say something.

"Steve," you slightly grinned, but spoke somewhat sternly, "what is it?"

"It's stupid."

"No, it probably isn't," you protested, "Tell me."

He sighed with a playful roll of his eyes, shifting in his spot to put some space between the two of you in his uncomfortable state.

"Fine," he started, bringing a large hand up to scratch a nonexistent itch on his scalp, "I, I just, I had this idea, you know?"

You nodded.

"This idea that we could do the whole Thanksgiving thing here, or at mine, or whatever you want, really. I just thought it might be nice to do the big-dinner-thing even though there are only two of us?"

You pursed your lips, your heart breaking a little. This was what you were afraid of.

"You know, I, I don't really have family, and most of the time you don't exactly get along with yours, so why not spend Thanksgiving with one of the only people I really love?" he finished, trailing off and making it sound like less of a question. It was a statement. A bold, honest, raw statement that you hadn't yet acknowledged until this moment, and you were terrified.

Because you loved him too.

You went home for Thanksgiving. You pretended that your heart didn't break a little when you knocked on Steve's door and were met with no answer, knowing that he was inside and he'd be spending the weekend alone. You missed him, but you knew things had gotten out of hand; This was never meant to happen.

It was always just friendship between you and Steve. Nothing more, nothing less, because once you'd gotten to know him, you'd realized how precious he truly was. After having him play such a big part in your life, it was clear that you didn't want to go back to not knowing him. And coming to terms with your romantic feelings toward him was scary and out of the question—you'd have rather had him as your friend than your ex.

But now, he wasn't your anything.

Days passed and he tried to get a hold of you, but you couldn't risk it. Thinking back to what you felt when he finally said it made your heart lurch in your chest, and you knew that was dangerous territory. You couldn't fuck this one up—so you decided you wouldn't let yourself. Steve was off-limits.

Steve was off-limits when you passed him in the hall and he shot you that charming, but pained half-grin. Steve was off-limits when you were late to work and he was there, holding open the door to your building because your hands were full. Steve was off-limits when he was calling you at midnight—somehow, over the years, he'd found a way around that can't-get-drunk thing—going in circles about his confusion and longing to talk about absolutely nothing and everything again, anything to just be with you. Steve was off-limits when you wanted nothing more than to pick up the goddamn phone.

It didn't stop eating at you because eventually, he stopped calling. That hurt even more.

But you knew you couldn't budge. The feelings had to dissipate before you could even think about going back to the way things were.

And as you sat at table two of the hotel's banquet hall, watching the snow cascade in a white blanket over New York while your sister danced with her new groom, you wished Steve could have been there with you.

You'd invited him ages ago. He agreed with no hesitation. But after all of this, you were positive it was a write-off. There was no way he'd show face without a call or a text, especially not after the neglect you'd shoved in his direction over the past month.

Everyone was tipsy. The room was candle-lit. You wore black, mourning the loss of your place in the wedding party once your sister had annulled her feud with her childhood friend—surprise surprise. In a room filled with love and laughter, you'd never felt more alone.

A voice pulled you back into reality. A familiar voice.

"S'cuse me," it spoke, kindly but timidly, "I believe this seat is mine."

It couldn't be.

You looked up from your daydreaming gaze to see Steve, dressed for the occasion, motioning to the empty spot beside you.

"Steve," you spoke, not sure what else to say as he looked at you with a questioning expression, the pain in his eyes tugging at your heart strings.

"Steve, I'm so sor-" you started, but he cut you off because you'd suddenly stood and there were tears in your eyes and fuck, he thought, she's so goddamn beautiful.

"Hey, hey, you're okay," he spoke, barely a whisper, pulling you into the arms you knew all too well.

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to suppress your feelings while appreciating being in his arms once again.

"I just can't believe you're here," you gulped, pressing your cheek to his as he held you close, "you still came."

"Well," he chuckled, "I couldn't leave my best girl."

You giggled at his traditional way of speaking, pulling yourself from his arms to meet his crystal gaze.

"Not here, anyway," he concluded, motioning to the room around you, "I figured today would be kind of...hard."

For a moment, you said nothing. And then, you wanted to say everything.

Steve could feel it. Either the anticipated apology or the angry meltdown. He wasn't sure.

Before you could open your mouth, he opened his.

"Care to dance?"

You frowned a little as you nodded, unsure of how you could have treated someone so gentle so harshly. And somehow, some way, he still wanted to dance with you.

The song changed to something slow and Steve's hands fell to your hips, and you knew there were endless pairs of eyes on you, but you didn't care. Neither of you did.

Your eyes, so crisp, so green

Sour apple baby, but you taste so sweet

You got hips like Jagger and two left feet

And I wonder if you'd like to meet

"Steve, I'm really sorry," you spoke, head resting on his shoulder.

"You don't need to explain yourself, really," he responded, brushing your forehead with his cheek, "I overstepped. I scared you off. That was the last thing I wanted, but I felt like I couldn't go another day without telling you how I feel."

"Steve-"

"No, really," he insisted on speaking, so you let him, "I saw you everywhere. You were in my living room. You were in my kitchen. You were in my sweaters and on my phone and in my brain that can't seem to shut up sometimes," he paused, tightening his grip around your waist, "And then I started thinking, why should it? Why should my brain shut up?"

"It shouldn't," you replied, "you love who you love."

"And I love you. And I'm sorry," Steve spoke, and something about the snow and the candles and the song and the man wrapped around you told you that it was okay.

Oh, we're dancing' in my living room, and up come my fists

And I say I'm only playing, but, the truth is this

I've never seen a mouth that I would kill to kiss

And I'm terrified, but the truth is this

Your hands found his lightly-stubbled cheeks before you could verbally respond, pulling his face down to yours to meet his lips in what truly was the kiss-to-end-all-kisses. It was warm and soft and euphoric as his grip tightened once he processed what was happening, and you didn't have to say it back for him to know.

Beautiful stranger, here you are in my arms and I know

That beautiful strangers only come along to do me wrong

And I hope, beautiful stranger, here you are in my arms

And I think it's finally, finally, finally, finally, finally safe

For me to fall