Another new one… I've had this one done for a while so I decided to just post the two I'm gonna be working on along with the one I have and another one. It's a prompt from my best friend and I figured it was time to finally post it. So here it is! And I hope you enjoy!
The crowded café had finally quieted down as Steve sat and sipped his coffee. It was a warm day for the fall and he'd decided to take shelter in the coffee shop by his apartment. He came here whenever he felt overwhelmed, or when had to hide from yet another bully.
Maybe his mom was right, he got into too many fights. It wasn't like he went looking for them, it just seemed to happen. He couldn't let jerks get away with being rude, or annoying some girl on the street! He would always call them out… Even if it meant getting his ass handed to him every other day. Steve was used to it at this point and he didn't see the point in trying to change.
Besides, the girls always seemed appreciative that he stepped in. Even if they did refer to him as cute and small. They didn't fawn over him, but they gave him enough attention for him to know they cared and appreciated his efforts.
Steve never said much to them whenever they came over to show their gratitude. He was too shy to say much of anything. They were always too pretty, or taller than him. He'd never really had a real conversation with a girl before, besides his friends and co-workers. Just brief exchanges of "it was nothing" or "anytime." That was about all his love life seemed able to handle.
He didn't mind too much. He didn't help them for the glory or to gain their eternal love. He fought guys two feet bigger than him because it was the right thing to do. And no one else would do it. Not in his experience at least.
He may be short, but he wasn't exactly helpless.
People easily forgot that little fact. It gave him a bit of an advantage.
No one expected a five foot, scrawny guy with asthma to fight back when a punch was thrown at him. Added onto that, no one seemed to have a problem beating a guy who was a hell of a lot shorter than them.
Steve always managed to get in at least one punch, though, it always hurt him more than it hurt them. For the guys he somehow always pissed off, his attacks never even registered on their pain scale.
However, that little fact never stopped him from doing what was right. He would fight to the end and defend the honour of those who were fell victim to the jerks of the street.
Today, thankfully, wasn't one of those days. So when he'd walked into the coffee shop the barista hadn't given him an eyebrow raise at his roughed up look and had simply begun making Steve's normal order while the short man took a seat near the back of the café. Where he always sat.
Open in front of him, beside his cup of coffee, was his sketchbook. Steve always carried it with him. It was like a safety net. Whenever he got stressed out, or was on the verge of an asthma or panic attack he'd just open it up and let his hand flow across the page. See the dark marks from his pencil glide and create an image before his eyes. His skillful hand accurately depicting his subject.
Steve had been drawing forever and his talent had only grown with him. It had become more than a hobby for him. It had become a part of his career, a part of him. Steve couldn't imagine his life without a sketchbook and set of pencils in his bag. He felt naked whenever he forgot them, which wasn't often.
Today he was sketching out the view outside the coffee shop. It was a scene that he had in the book a million times, but the scene was always different. Different people to sketch out, different signs on the shops across the street. Different cars on the street. For Steve it was the perfect scene. A constant in life, but able to change with the times. Just how people every day had to do. A perfect metaphor for life.
When he finished, Steve sat back and finished his coffee. He wiped a hand across his forehead and let out a sigh through his teeth. He glanced around the shop at all the people, checking to see if there was anyone else he could draw. Most of them he saw here on a regular basis, but there was always the occasional new one that would draw his attention and curiosity.
A new muse that Steve would quickly sketch out in secret and hope no one noticed. He did it more often than he probably should. No one had said anything yet, and he didn't know if it was because they didn't notice, or if they just didn't care.
It didn't matter. As long as he didn't offend anyone.
Sweeping his eyes across the shop, his breath caught when he noticed someone new sitting in the corner, almost out of his point of view.
He had mousey brown hair, and a strong jaw that was clenched as he took a sip of his drink. Steve could just make out his eyes, a deep grey blue. An almond shape that sparkled with the incoming light from the window beside him. They had a small moon shape under them and Steve could tell wherever he worked he probably had a late shift. Which explained the giant coffee cup in his hand. His shoulders were broad and Steve could feel his fingers itching to draw out the curves of his form. The downward turn of his nose, those shoulders, the shape of his jaw… All of it.
Smiling to himself, he flipped to a new page and subtly started to sketch out his form. Erasing and fixing until he was absolutely satisfied with each stroke of his pencil. There was no room for error, and Steve couldn't even explain to himself why this was so important.
Five minutes later he was finally happy with the outline of his subject. At the moment the man had his chin propped on the heel of his hand and was gazing vacantly out the window. An expression of boredom and slight exhaustion settling into every muscle of his face.
Steve eagerly began to add in those details. Feeling his hand fly across the page with precise speed. This was the best subject he'd had in a while and he didn't want to mess it up. Thankfully the man didn't move much, so getting his image absolutely perfect was no hard task. He kept still as a statue, almost as if he could sense that Steve was drawing him. That was impossible though, Steve barely looked up and there was the whole counter between them. Steve had to quickly glance around it to even see the man!
No way he knew!
Right?
When Steve finished he sneakily compared the two and when he was satisfied, he signed off on the bottom of the page. He looked back up at the man and saw him down the rest of his coffee. He stood up and tossed his cup in the trash, running a hand through his thick brown hair. He rolled his shoulders and walked out of the coffee shop, not even giving Steve a glance.
Thankfully. That meant he didn't know what Steve had done.
For once, Steve didn't want his subject to know. With anyone else he didn't care if they asked him about it, which they never did. But with this one he felt his cheeks flame every time he even thought about the man coming over and talking to him.
Steve ducked his head and stared at his drawing, he didn't have a crush. It was impossible, he'd only just seen the guy! But, sure, attraction. That's all it was. No harm in admitting that much to himself!
Satisfied with his work, Steve closed his sketchbook and packed up his things. He threw out his empty paper cup and slung his bag over his shoulder. He headed out into the warm air, pulling his jacket closer around him as a cool breeze whipped through his sallow frame. He had little to no defense against the cold air. His body barely had any body mass to even attempt to keep him warm! Most people assumed he had some terminal disease, but that was far from the truth. He just had several non-lethal ones.
Deep down, he felt that was worse.
He walked all the way back to his apartment alone, managing to avoid those who may cause trouble… Or who he'd make cause trouble. Steve had a talent for that. People hated it when he called them out on their shit. Though, he assumed people hated it when you called them out on their faults in general. He could understand that, even if it was important to him that people know when they were being an ass.
Climbing the stone steps up to his front door, he walked in and took the elevator up to the fourth floor. The cheapest he could get in Brooklyn. It was small with one bedroom, a living room, bathroom, and a small but good enough kitchen. He was the only one who lived there, so there wasn't the need for a big fancy place. He didn't make much at the journal he worked for. He drew comics and took pictures for the magazine, and he got a decent pay but it just covered his rent and weekly groceries.
His parents had left him some money, and he'd put it in a savings account. He refused to touch it and simply let it gather interest. One day he would travel to Europe and sell his art. That was his goal at least. People seemed to like it enough in the journal. He truly believed he could take it somewhere serious.
No more stalking people in the coffee shop off First Street.
He would definitely miss that place, though. It was a part of him and had really helped his art get to the point it was at. Still, Steve knew he couldn't hide it forever and had to start branching out if he ever wanted to make something of himself.
Steve refused to be seen as the little guy who couldn't fend for himself. That was one of the reasons he didn't turn away from a fight. Why show weakness? Why prove their suspicions right? He was better than that and he would show them!
Even if that did mean getting beat up and trudging home with a limp and a black eye.
Tossing his bag onto the ratty couch, Steve went into the kitchen and made himself a small dinner. Stir fry with pieces of chicken over top. He grabbed a glass of milk and sat in the living room to eat. Alone. Just like he did every night.
Nothing ever changed in his routine. Steve occasionally had friends over, but never anyone who wasn't incredibly busy. He had a group he met at a bar every Saturday night, but Steve only joined in occasionally. The bar wasn't really his scene. Too many people, too many fights to be had, and so many intimidating people who came up to him. It wasn't just women Steve had a problem talking to. Whenever men came over, he'd stammer and end up screwing it up royally.
He'd come to the conclusion that he wasn't meant to be in a relationship. He'd never actually been in one and the one time he'd actually kissed someone it had been a dare. Tony knew exactly how to push his buttons. The billionaire was always the life of the party. Daring them to take risks and always trying to pull Steve from his comfort zone. Most times Steve rolled with it, but others he denied their requests and watched them from a distance.
Steve loved his friends, mainly for the fact that they never teased him or made him feel as if he were less than them or like he was skinny guy most people saw him as. It was refreshing to be around a group who treated him like he was normal. Even if some of them were terrifying and he knew absolutely nothing about them.
They were nice enough to him though, so he didn't really bother to ask them about their personal lives. He doubted they'd tell him anyway.
Steve finished his dinner and washed his plate and glass, putting them in the drying rack. He checked his watch and sighed, it was already nine o'clock. The sun had set two hours ago. Steve knew he should probably get some sleep, he had to be up early tomorrow. The magazine had a huge shoot for an interview Peggy had done last week.
She always asked Steve to help her with the shoots, she told him he was the only one she trusted. Peggy was an intern from England, studying here until she got her degree in Business and could go into the corporate world back in her home country. She always told him stories and honestly she was the only woman who didn't look at him like he was a puppy or a doll that they'd break if they touched. Or, you know, like a freak.
Peggy treated him like any other guy and it was more than he could ask for.
He'd thought about asking her out a couple times, but the timing had never been right. Besides, she didn't seem interested in dating anyone. Being friends was more than enough for Steve anyway. He needed more female friends who liked him and didn't try and change every little aspect of his appearance.
Smiling to himself, Steve carried his bag back to his room and sat on the edge of the bed. He took out his sketchbook and opened it to the page of the beautiful stranger and stared at it again. The image of how calm and stoic he looked was already engraved in his brain. There was something about him that made Steve want to get to know him. But he knew that would never happen. Odds were that he'd never even see the guy again. What was the point of pining over a guy who clearly was way out of his league?
Annoyed with his brain, he shut the book and placed the sketchbook on the desk on to his left. He dropped his bag beside it and got ready for bed.
Crawling in between the sheets he couldn't help but silently pray that he'd see the guy again. Maybe at the coffee shop, or even just on the street. Once more, just once so Steve could confirm how he looked.
Rolling his eyes at himself he closed his eyes and drifted off into a comforting sleep about grey-blue eyed mysteries.