THE MORNING SUNLIGHT filtered dreamily through the gauzy curtains, scattering golden freckles across the weathered wooden floor. It wrapped the linen sheets in a gentle glow, warming their soft folds like a quiet embrace. The house breathed in a hush of peace, stirred only by the tender rhythms of morning—the distant chorus of birdsong, the sigh of leaves dancing in the breeze, and the promise of another simple, beautiful day.

Steve stirred slowly, roused not by an alarm or nightmare, but by warmth.

She was wrapped in a soft white velvet blanket, her frame folded perfectly into his arms, her back to his chest, her heartbeat steady beneath his palm. He'd drawn her close in his sleep, his nose brushing the curve of her neck, his stubble tickling the delicate skin there. She smelled like summer and flowers and everything sweet.

And when she sighed—softly, dreamily, like a lullaby—it felt like the world stopped spinning, just for a moment.

They weren't soldiers here. Not avengers.

They were just... them.

Just Steve and Ariel.

His arm instinctively tightened around her when she began to shift, and she let out a sleepy giggle—sweet and melodic, like bells in the morning air. She turned to face him, still halfway tangled in the sheets, and his heart stumbled when their eyes met.

Blue eyes—deep as the Atlantic—met hers, aquamarine and shimmering like sunlit shallows. Both half-lidded, still glazed with sleep.

A small smile ghosted over his lips. "Morning, beautiful," he murmured, kissing the tip of her nose—because he knew she loved it, and he loved giving her everything she loved.

She smiled back, lazy and radiant, the kind of smile that had the power to undo him completely.

"Morning, Steve," she whispered, her voice husky from sleep.

Funny—he used to hate the sound of his name. In the '30s, it made him feel small, like a footnote in someone else's story. But when she said it? When she breathed it like a secret?

He wanted to hear it forever.

She made a move to sit up. "I'll go make us breakfast," she offered, already attempting to escape his grasp.

But he pouted—yes, pouted, with all the stubbornness of a man who'd once gone to war over principles and now just didn't want to let go of the woman he loved. "No. Stay. Just a little longer," he mumbled into her shoulder, pulling her back.

Her laugh was low and warm. "Steve..."

He buried his face deeper into her neck, pressing a kiss there. "Please. Just... let me keep holding you."

They were safe here. In this moment, in this bed, in their little paradise where time didn't matter and the world couldn't find them. And God, he wanted to stay here forever.

"Fine," she relented, brushing a few strands of hair from her face, only for him to tuck them gently behind her ear. "But if you keep cuddling me like that, we'll both fall back asleep."

"Exactly the plan," he muttered with a sleepy grin, drawing her impossibly closer.

She let out another laugh and kissed his forehead. "You're adorable when you're clingy."

"I'm not clingy," he smirked. "I just like keeping the things I love most close."

And then he kissed her—just below her collarbone, where her skin was warm and soft and impossibly kissable.

Her breath hitched.

He felt it, and smiled to himself, proud of the way she always reacted to his touch—like he still had the power to make her fall for him, over and over again.

"Mm," she said, raising an eyebrow. "If that's true, I really hope you don't kiss Bucky like that."

He laughed—an honest, quiet kind of laugh, muffled by the sheets. Then he pulled back just enough to look at her, to soak in the way the morning light danced across her cheeks.

"Nope," he said. "Bucky doesn't smell nearly as nice as you."

Ariel gave him a playful nudge, but the look in her eyes was nothing but love—deep, knowing, eternal. A love forged not just in soft beds and lazy mornings, but through war, pain, sacrifice... and survival.

Steve studied her face like it was the only thing worth painting, memorizing every freckle, every smile line.

He didn't know how he got this lucky.

After everything they'd endured—HYDRA, the accords, Thanos—they had found this. A chance to be something more than warriors. A chance to live.

And he would do it all over again.

"I love you," Steve said quietly, with every beat of his heart stitched into those three words.

He waited, not for long, but just long enough to feel that familiar ache of anticipation—for her reply. The one that always made his chest tighten and his soul go quiet.

"I love—"

A shriek cut her off.

"MOOOOOOOOMMMMMYYYYYY!"

The sound echoed like a small storm charging down the hallway. Steve blinked, confused for a second—before the bedroom door flung open.

In came a whirlwind of pink pajamas and tangled red curls, clutching a slightly tattered dolphin by the fin.

"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy—James won't let me play with his spaceship!" the little girl wailed, her nose scrunched, her lower lip trembling in protest.

She didn't knock. She never knocked.

She climbed straight into their bed as if it were her personal kingdom, crawling over Steve's legs and collapsing dramatically between them.

Ariel laughed softly, pushing herself up on one elbow as their daughter nestled between them like a kitten desperate for affection.

"Oh, sweetheart," Ariel soothed, brushing the girl's wild curls back. "You've got a whole drawer full of toys. You don't need your brother's spaceship, do you?"

"But it's the millennium falcon!" the girl whined, clutching her dolphin closer and pouting at an Olympic level.

Steve was already smiling. He couldn't help it. Her cheeks were still warm from sleep, her tiny fingers digging into Ariel's hand like she needed her just to breathe.

Then those big eyes turned on him—blue and unyielding, stubborn like a storm. His eyes. Her hair might've come from Ariel, but the expression on her face was his mirror.

"Daddy," she pleaded, crawling onto his chest now like a determined little lion cub. "Can we go to the park today? Please, please, please? I want to feed the baby ducks!"

Steve blinked, caught in the gravitational pull of her hopeful eyes. How could he ever say no to that little voice? That little face?

His little girl.

"Anything you want, Seastar," he said softly, reaching out to ruffle her curls. They were warm and tangled, like sunlit seaweed after a long beach nap. "We'll all go."

"YEEEESSSS!" she shouted in delight, throwing her arms in the air and falling back dramatically onto the bed between them, limbs flailing like she'd just won the world.

Steve laughed, a real, breathless laugh—the kind that felt like sunlight in his chest.

Moments like this... They were everything. More precious than any shield, any battle won.

Ariel leaned down to kiss the girl's forehead. "You've got Daddy wrapped around your little finger."

The girl giggled with glee.

"Mommy, Mommy, I drew a picture for Auntie Nat! Do you wanna see it?" she asked, already trying to tug Ariel out of bed by the hand.

"Of course I do, Sweetheart. Let me just—"

"Nooooo, now! It's super important!" she insisted, her words serious, like she was announcing an Avengers-level mission. "And I gotta paint one for Auntie Wanda too—with watercolors! But I need your help, pleeease!"

"Alright, alright, let's go," Ariel giggled, finally giving in as she let herself be dragged—blanket and all—off the bed.

But just before they crossed the doorway, the little girl paused.

She turned back, eyes finding Steve again. And she smiled. That gap-toothed, morning-light, pure sunshine kind of smile that made everything make sense.

"I love you, Daddy," she said.

Steve sat up just slightly, hand over his heart. "I love you more, princess."

Then her tiny feet pitter-pattered down the hallway like falling raindrops.

And almost immediately after:

"JAMES SAMUEL ROGERS! Why are your toys all over the hallway?!"

Steve chuckled to himself and leaned back onto the pillows, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. The soft hum of the city drifted in through the windows again—the clink of dishes from a nearby café, the muffled horn of a bicycle bell, the early morning birds greeting the sky.

He closed his eyes.

But when they fluttered open again the light—the warmth—the soft, familiar presence he had held just moments ago—had vanished.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

A cold weight pressed on his chest. The room was empty. Silent.

"Ariel?" The word slipped from his lips without thinking, a fragile thread cast into the void.

No answer came.

Only the hollow echo of his own voice.

His heart lurched as he bolted upright, his fingers fumbling blindly across the empty sheets beside him. The bed—so vast, so achingly empty.

No warmth. No weight. No gentle breath mingling with his own.

Just the cold, cruel truth:

It had all been a dream.

A fleeting, cruel mirage spun from hope and memory and longing.

There was no Ariel. No soft laughter spilling through the halls. No family waiting for him in the morning light.

Only solitude.

His back pressed hard against the unforgiving wall, the chill seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt. He closed his eyes again, willing himself to hear her voice—her gentle "I love you," the soft hum of their daughter's morning cheer. But no. That was a lie... only a dream. There was no child. There never had been.

But the silence answered him like a stone.

The only sounds in the room were the ragged, uneven rhythm of his breath—and the relentless pounding of his heart, desperate to fill the void.

His fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling at it as if to wrench the dream back into existence. A heavy sigh escaped him—deep, wrenching, full of everything he didn't want to admit.

He was alone.

And it was real.

The walls felt closer, the shadows longer, the loneliness sharper than any battle he had ever fought.

Tears threatened to spill, but he swallowed them down, knowing no one was here to catch them. No one to whisper, It's okay.

I have to find a way, he thought. whatever it takes...

Because dreams—no matter how beautiful—couldn't save him.

Only hope.

Only the stubborn, fierce hope that one day, maybe, the impossible would become real.