"So you're still not dating?" Natasha questioned nonchalantly as she munched on a granola bar she'd managed to find in one of the several cabinets of Stark's overly large kitchen.
Steve, sitting on a bar stool with a glass of water held loosely in his hand, sent her a withering stare and sighed. She chewed loudly, mostly just to annoy him, and smirked as he shook his head and stared down into the glass in his grip. Sidling over to take a ginger seat beside him, she inspected the crunchy bits of peanut butter laced throughout her granola bar, busying herself as she caught Steve glancing at her out of the corner of her eye.
In the right light, his eyes shone like oceans, vividly staring at her with all the reluctant gentleness in the world, and she wondered, not for the first time, if his eyes had perhaps been softer before, before the war and before his transformation, before his whole life crumbled and was built anew. She wondered, and longed to see them with that untainted purity she imagined, and was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice how fully he was gazing at her, squinting as the light pouring in from the windows illuminated her features.
She did notice, however, when Steve reached out with strong, steady fingers to brush an errant curl from her face, tucking it behind her ear, and she blinked, startled, but masked it well, masked it as only a trained, conditioned spy ever could, and the corner of his mouth quirked up.
"Your hair looks best curly," he murmured, eyes widening as he blanched.
"I mean-Not that…your hair looks bad straight. It's just…"
Quickly, he averted his gaze, and she felt familiar heat rush to her face as she took another bite from her granola bar to hide the grin slipping onto her face.
