More than a week passed without seeing Steve. After he told you about his past and you asked him to stay, he did, but neither of you said anything for the rest of the afternoon. He slowly slipped out of your hug and sat back on the chair, without a word, teary blue eyes wandering around the room but always finding their way back to yours. You wanted to say something comforting, but words seemed too empty and meaningless, even in your head, that you decided to keep them instead.

For long minutes, all you exchanged were weak, reassuring smiles. The silence was nearly unbearable first; you wanted to break it with every passing second, but fought down the urge to do so. Steve was the kind of man who rarely to never let others to see him falling apart, but the little shifts in his features told you how much he was suffering inside. Maybe because his old wounds started to bleed again from diving into painful memories, maybe because opening up to someone was something so new and so scary he didn't know how to handle it yet. In any case, it didn't seem smart to push him into talking more, if he didn't want to.

The awkward silence turned into something more comfortable soon. If he was just sitting across from you staring into nothing, maybe he would have to get up soon to leave, but both of you had something to distract your thoughts. While you started to write, he was sketching again, and even though your mind wasn't exactly there, it helped to ease the tension. Staying together even if you didn't talk was more comforting than being alone.

It was late afternoon when Steve left, already dark and snowing heavily. You walked him out and after he said thank you (though you weren't sure what for, he inhaled deeply and stepped forward, maybe to give you a hug, but turned around and left before you could think much about it.

You didn't try to contact him in the next few days. The things he talked about were heavy, emotionally exhausting, and you wanted to give him some time alone. Steve would visit you if he was ready to meet you again, but as more and more days passed, you weren't so sure about it anymore. Sharing something so personal with you maybe was too much for him. Perhaps you crossed a line, and now you were genuinely worried he never wanted to see you again.

Until you ran into each other in the town.

A thick blanket of snow covered the streets by mid-November. It cracked loudly under your boots where the sidewalks weren't cleaned up. It was an early Saturday morning, and the sound of the wind whistling through the trees swallowed every other noise in the little town. Weekend mornings here weren't just quiet; they were strangely silent and deserted for someone from a big city. Cars passing here and there slowly through the snow covered roads. An old couple walking down on the street arm in arm, seemingly without any goal. A man on his bike, trying to fight his way down on the icy street without falling over. A bell ringing as people walked in and out of the bakery.

It wasn't hard to recognize Steve as he walked down the street; his tall figure, his broad shoulders, his dark blond locks messy from the cold breeze. He smiled when he saw you and you gave him a small hug when you reached him—you couldn't help it, you've missed him more than you thought you would.

Once again, it was you who talked more and he listened, but he never made you feel like he didn't care. After you told him you had to bring the car to the service but promised the shopkeeper you will check in later (they were only open until noon), you stifled a yawn. "… so now I have some free hours. Is there anything that's worth seeing?"

"Nothing that you haven't seen yet," Steve said, a light frown creasing his brows. "Why didn't you come to me first? I could've checked your car."

"I didn't want to bother you again," you waved, shaking your head. It wasn't exactly true though—you simply weren't sure he wanted to see you just yet, or anymore. You couldn't even try to swallow the next yawn, but it ended with a weak laugh. "Sorry. I haven't slept at all. I was reading a book all night."

"Do you need a ride home? You could sleep a little and I would bring you back later."

"No," you shook your head again. "I probably just need another coffee and I should be fine."

Steve nodded, falling silent before he shifted his weight from one leg to another. "Do you want to… There's a great coffee shop if you want to try it," he looked over his shoulder, then back at you. "I mean, with me."

You couldn't hide a chuckle and at this point, and you were not sure if he was blushing or it was the cold wind that bit his cheeks. "I'd love to," you said quickly, not wanting to make him feel more uncomfortable than he already felt. It was adorable how this grown up, handsome man got flustered so easily.

The coffee shop was small, modern but cozy. Just like the other parts of the town, this place wasn't crowded either, though there was definitely more people inside then out on the streets. Low music, chattering and clinking of cutlery filled the room, but it was still silent enough to hold a conversation. After you ordered your drinks, you chose a small table by the window, just enough for two people.

Sometimes we all feel everyone is watching us even if it's most definitely not true, but you couldn't shake off the feeling from the second you stepped inside the coffee shop. The young barista didn't even try to hide the curious smile of her lips, her supervisor who stayed on her heels but still took a moment to shoot a surprised glance at your direction. The woman who cleaned a table with one hand but her eyes darted between you and Steve, the man who just walked out of the shop as you took a seat, but watched the two of you with raised eyebrows.

"Steve?" you asked, shrugging out of your coat and leaning closer to him above the table. "Is it so surprising to see a new face around here, or why is everyone looking at me like I came from another planet?"

Steve, knowing the answer very well for the question he hoped you wouldn't ask, smiled while a sigh passed his lips. He rolled his sleeves up before leaned back on the chair, crossing his arms. "I come here nearly every day. I think they just didn't picture seeing me with someone else."

A small hum was your only answer, remembering again how alone he was. While you knew there was nothing wrong being alone from time to time, spending years like this, far away from friends and isolated from the idea of building new relationships, it seemed painfully lonely. It had to be, and you still had no idea how he didn't break under the weight of it. Had he never missed his friends? His old life? Or was he always like this, distant and careful? You had still a million questions, but couldn't bring yourself to ask them.

"Any progress with your book?" Steve broke the short silence, and quickly went on as you groaned in answer. "I know, I know you hate this question," he laughed. "But I'm just trying to help."

"You know, I actually made a great progress when you were with me," you said, and saw as surprise sat on his face. "But since then… well, let's just say I'm trying."

Steve watched you for a while silently as you rested your chin on your palm, looking around the coffee shop. He can practically see how easily your mind wandered, and he understood what you meant when you said it wasn't hard to distract you. He leaned in, resting his elbows on the table, drawing your attention back at him. It would have been enough to shift a little closer to kiss him, and you couldn't help but glance down on his lips. The thought alone sent a wave of heat rushing through your veins.

"Why are you still here?" he asked suddenly, pulling you out of your thoughts. His voice was quieter and deeper than usual. "I know I've already asked this, and you said you didn't want to give up, but I feel you weren't completely honest."

The waitress just arrived with your orders so you both leaned back, letting her to place down the cups, and you were glad you could ignore to answer Steve's question a little longer. How could you explain it to him? You couldn't even explain it to yourself.

"Steve, it's complicated."

"Maybe you could help me to understand," he smiled, but didn't push you further.

After you took a small sip from the hot drink, you placed the cup down on the table and drew out a long breath. Steve's eyes fell on your hand as it couldn't stop fiddling with the napkin and he smiled, leaning closer again. "It's okay if you don't want to tell."

"I just don't know how," you crumpled the napkin, before looking up at him with a sigh. "I never wanted to be a writer. I've just always loved to write. This was pretty much the only thing I've always loved to do, since I was a child, but I've never thought about making money from it. Or even to show my writings to anyone. But when I did, and I saw how much people liked them, I wondered… why not? Maybe I could do something from it. There have always been struggles, but I loved it. I think if you really love something you learn to love the problems too, because you know you'll get through it and you know they're necessary to reach your goals. But lately," you stopped for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. "Lately I just couldn't find motivation for anything. Everything just put an extra weight on my shoulders. I just wanted to find something that I genuinely enjoy doing, and don't misunderstand me because I love to write, but sometimes it's just a lot of stress. My first book just has been published and some of my friends already asked when the next will come out! I know it shouldn't bother me so much, but I worked on my first novel for years."

"So you didn't come here to focus on your book?" Steve asked quietly after you stopped. What you've said so far explained a lot, but he still couldn't see the full picture.

"No, I did. I really believed that if I was alone I could work better. Everyone kept badgering me all the time. The publisher, my co-workers, some of my readers, but even my friends and family. I just thought a little loneliness could give me the solace I need."

"But it didn't," he stated, not asked, like he knew exactly what you were talking about.

"Not really. Still more helpful than writing about teen girl's crushes for the hundredth time."

Steve chuckled, and ignored that you still left open the question he asked in the first place. "I don't know, the coffee quiz still seem great."

"It was actually very popular," you rolled your eyes with a smile, stirring the coffee before took a sip.

"I have to find it."

"Oh, you don't need to. The creator is just right here," you smiled. "Besides, you don't need to answer a single question, I know the answer anyway."

"Oh, really? And what would that be?"

"Espresso," you said with ease. "You're hot, strong… and sometimes a little boring."

As you kept your tone playful, he smiled too, which turned into a small laugh quickly. "So that's what you think of me?"

Slowly sipping your coffee, you nodded, before putting the cup down and leaned closer again, placing a hand on his arm. "I didn't mean it as an insult," you chuckled. "You're not boring. You're just… very closed. About everything. Why would I spend so much time with you if I found you so boring?"

"Because I'm the only person who lives near to you," he said. "And you love my dog."

You swatted his arm gently, letting out a small laugh. "You know it's not true," you said, though you knew he was only joking. "I like to be with you."

"I like to be with you too," Steve said with a sweet smile.

Hours passed like minutes while you were talking with Steve and by the time you remembered you should get the car, it was long past noon. It stopped snowing when you stepped out onto the streets—still quiet, though there were more people walking around than when you entered the coffee shop. After you glanced at your watch, you hid a yawn behind the back of your hand; as it turned out, the caffeine didn't help much on your sleep deprivation.

"I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot," you shook your head, stuffing your hands deeper in your pockets since you left your gloves in the car. As you didn't have a car now, Steve offered to take you home and bring you back for it when they opened the next day. "At this point I can't even count how many times you've helped me. How could I ever repay you?"

Steve smiled. "Well, I told you I'm keeping a list. I'm sure we can figure something out."

You laughed, bumping your shoulder into his upper arm, and didn't slow your steps down while you slid your hand along a windowpane, gathering snow into a ball and throwing at his chest.

Steve halted, looking at you with a light smile while you couldn't stop laughing at his expression. "Do you really want to get into this fight with me?" he asked, wiping the snow off his coat.

Hiding your freezing hands back into your pockets, you gave a small shrug, swallowing back a chuckle. "I don't know, Steve, do you? My neighbour has three kids. I've had a lot of practice."

"Alright," his answer was quiet and he nodded his head, and just when you thought he would just walk away, Steve leaned down to make a snowball, before threw it at you. You leaned away with no success, and while you crouched down to ball the snow in your palms, he hit you twice.

"Hey, it's not fair!" you shouted while threw the snowball at him, but he easily leaned away from its path.

It went on for long minutes whilst you were running up and down the sidewalk, trying to avoid the people who crossed the street. You were out of breath, fingers numbed from the icy cold; Steve's cheeks flushed pink, his hair a mess. Large flakes of snow started falling slowly and softly again. While you tried to run across the snow covered road, you slipped on the ice, lost your balance, and landed on your back. It happened so suddenly that all the air left your lungs and you huffed out a breath, but the soft, fresh snow broke the fall. While Steve hurried closer and crouched down, you already pushed yourself up on your elbows.

Worry deepened his voice and darkened his light blue eyes. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. Don't worry."

Steve kept a hand on your back and an arm around your waist while he helped to sit up, carefully, asking if you hit your head or if your back was aching. He acted like you just suffered the worst injury of your life, while clearly, you were completely unharmed.

"Steve, I'm okay," you reassured him once more with a smile, before you reached behind his back to pick up the hat that fell off your head when you slipped on the ice. But you didn't take it on, and while he was still too busy searching your face for even the tiniest flinch, a sign of a sore muscle or bone, you smeared a handful of snow across his cheeks.

He wiped it off his face, watching you with an 'I can't believe you did this' – look in his half-opened eyes.

"There's some snow on your eyelashes," you breathed out between laughs, wiping the melting flakes away from his eyelids. Before you could've finished, he grabbed your wrist and the next thing you felt was the cold snow all over your face; some of it sliding down on your neck where your scarf loosened. Your squeals and screams were mixed with both of your laughs while you tried to push his hands away. Steve stopped, making sure you were okay before easily pulled you up on your feet, keeping his arms around you. He didn't realize you had a hand full of snow before it landed on his face.

Time went by too fast while you were playing with Steve in the snowy streets like children. The snow that melted in your hair and beneath your clothes made you to shiver, something that you only realized once you stopped to catch your breath.

"Is it okay if we stop by my place first?" Steve asked once you were in his car. "If Thor dioesn't get food in time he will open every drawer and eat whatever he finds."

"Of course," you said while you took off your scarf and your coat; the melted snow soaked most of your clothes. When you leaned as close to the heater as you could, Steve's hand came to rub circles on your back, trying to warm you up a little.

When you were finally in his house, still shaking with cold, Steve led you to his bedroom, giving you a sweater and a sweatpants before he left you alone to change. You quickly shrugged off your wet clothes and while you dried your locks with a towel, you took your time to look around. A big bed filled most of the room, but there was enough space for a long table right under the window. Papers, notebooks, pencils, knives and other crafting tools you had never seen before were scattered around it. His desk looked like he always worked on something. A small pile of books on his nightstand. Some vinyl in a box pushed next to his bed, but you didn't see a record player. His clothes were clearly took big for you, but at least they were dry and warm and smelled like him.

Steve was in the kitchen, washing his hands when you walked in. While you were in his room he changed his clothes too, for an unbuttoned red and blue plaid shirt with a white t-shirt beneath. He couldn't hide a smile when his gaze shifted to you; how sweet you looked in his clothes with your hair still damp and fuzzy. It was a sight he would love to see every day, he realized, and the thought made him to smile even more.

"What is it?" you put a strand of hair behind your ear, starting to feel a little embarrassed under his stare.

"Nothing," Steve cleared his throat. "Do you want to help me cook dinner?"

Cooking with Steve was fun. It didn't look like he needed any help, but he made you to taste everything and asked you how you'd like it better. He opened a bottle of wine that Bucky left there at some point, but he didn't have actual wine glasses so you drank from mugs. It had been a while since you and Steve had anything alcoholic, so it didn't take long to feel warm and loose.

Steve didn't seem drunk or even tipsy, but his cheeks were more than a little flushed by the time you reached the end of the bottle, and he talked. A lot. Long after you finished eating and washed the dishes together, you stayed sitting by the table. He shared funny stories from his past and made you laugh until your stomach hurt. It worked well the other way around too; this was the first time you saw him smiling and laughing so much since you knew him.

The sun went down a while ago and the only light in the room was a small lamp near the table. Thor dozed off at your feet, and you felt you could easily fall asleep, too. When you both became quieter, Steve told you how being alone helped him to get better – and how it didn't. You didn't ask; he was telling you everything by himself. He talked about his friends and how they used to visit him every week in the first few months, trying to convince him to come home.

"Go home, Y/N," Steve said after you were both silent for a while and you looked up at him; he had a sad smile on his lips.

"Am I such a bad company?"

"No," he chuckled and leaned closer above the table. "You know you are not, and I love that you're here. But it's not okay. Being alone for so long is not okay. I know why you came here, and why you're still here, and it's not because of your book. You've had enough and you wanted some time alone. But running away is not a solution."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "I can't believe you're the one who's saying this to me."

"Just because I do this too it doesn't mean it's the right thing," Steve said, his tone more serious now. "I wanted to leave, yes, I wanted to be alone, but it's been more than five years now."

Steve slowly ran his hand down his beard and stared at the table, while you leaned back against the chair, fiddling with the sleeves of the sweater. He never talked so openly about his feelings, and though you knew he was lonely (because who wouldn't be), you started to think he got used to it enough to never leave.

"Steve," your voice was quiet and he slowly looked up. "If you don't want to be here anymore, why don't you just go home?"

He shook his head. "That's not so easy," he stopped for a few seconds, watching you silently before he went on. "That's what I'm telling you. Spend too much time alone and your mind start going places it shouldn't. First you think it's good, being alone, because you don't have to deal with other people and their bullshit. You become lonely, and loneliness is addictive. Everything is easier when it's only you. It's a peaceful place you don't want to leave. Only when you've had enough of your own bullshit, when you want some time away from your own mind, you just can't find the way out of the solitude you built up around yourself."

It hurt to realize he was right, because you already felt the disadvantages, even though you hadn't been there nearly as long as Steve. But it hurt even more to hear his words and understand how trapped he felt, and how he'd completely given up on trying to fight against it.

You were quiet for so long it was Steve again who broke the silence. "Just don't make the same mistake that I did. Go home before it isn't too late."

"Steve," you said gently and leaned closer, taking his hand into yours. "It isn't too late. From what you've told, you have amazing friends and I'm sure they would be more than happy if you could go home. You also have me," you said with tilted head and a broad smile that made him chuckle quietly. "Just let me know how can I help and I will. It isn't too late for you."

Steve nodded, though he was surprised how easily he believed everything you just told him. "Maybe… maybe you're right," he said, because even if your words sounded promising and he felt more than a little flicker of hope, it couldn't just wipe out years of despair.

You slipped closer with the chair and hugged him. It wasn't like the first time when he tensed first, not even like when you hugged him earlier today; he wrapped his arms around you and melted against you immediately. When he pulled back, he left his arm resting on the back of your chair, and smiled. "Thank you."

"See? What would you do if I left?" you asked jokingly.

"Honestly, I don't know."

You laughed at his tone and pressed a kiss on his cheek as you stood up from the chair. "It's late. I should go home."

Steve followed you after a few moments of hesitation, his skin burning where your lips touched it. "Are you sure? I mean, don't you want to stay for a movie?"

He didn't need to ask you twice to convince you. "How about we watch your favourite movie?" you plopped down on the couch and draped a blanket over your shoulder, while he turned the TV on.

You would have never thought he could smile so smugly the way he did after your words. "Are you sure about that?"

"Why, what's your favourite movie?"

Steve laughed quietly as he sat down next to you. "The Fifth Element."

"Oh my God," you laughed loudly. "I can't even—is that really your favourite movie or are you just trying to punish me for something?"

"It is my favourite," he crossed his arms over his chest. "Obviously not because it's perfect, but it's fun."

You shook your head. "I just thought you'd say something like… I don't know, Saving Private Ryan or Field of Dreams…"

Steve gasped. "Can we watch the Field of Dreams?"

"No."

The opening credits just started and you were still smiling so Steve turned to you, "At least good to know I can surprise you. Maybe I'm not so boring after all."

"Yeah, be careful," you rolled your eyes. "Maybe you're not an espresso but an Americano."

You warned him you will probably fall asleep, but you didn't think you would so quickly: not even a half an hour passed and you already found it hard to keep your eyes open. As the time went on you shifted closer and closer to Steve, until you leaned against him. He wrapped his arm around you, pulled you closer, and lowered the volume on the TV. He kept glancing at your direction for a few seconds from time to time, until he watched you for long minutes without looking away. It was so strange to be so close to someone, in every way, he almost forget what it felt like. With you, it was exciting and comforting. He wished he could keep you close.

It only took a few minutes to fall asleep after you put your head on his shoulder. Nothing woke you up, not even the quiet sounds of the movie or when Thor jumped up next to you on the couch, not even when Steve picked you up and walked into his bedroom with you in his arms.

Only when he carefully laid you down on the bed you finally opened your eyes, but you couldn't see much of him in the dark room. "What time is it?"

"Late," he replied quietly, pulling a blanket over you. "Go back to sleep. I'll take the couch."

Before he could walk away, you grabbed his forearm. "Don't be silly. Stay here."

Steve hesitated for so long and you were too tired to try to convince him. He almost left the room anyway, but changed his mind at the door. By the time he took his clothes off and lied down next to you, you were already sleeping again.