A/N: Thank you for commenting, you're the best! There'll be one more chapter and an epilogue. Meanwhile, I'm preparing a new story (tattoo artist Steve Rogers x florist OFC), that I hopefully will post after I closed this one. :)

If you had learned one thing these past few days, you learned you can never wake up early enough to find Steve sleeping soundly. Sometimes, by the time you opened your eyes, he'd already returned from the kitchen with a plate of food. Sometimes, he sat next to you on the sheets, reading or drawing for hours before you finally rolled over to him. On most days, however, he loved to lay and hold you in his arms while you were still asleep, listening to your steady breathing and watching your peaceful features.

When you woke up this morning, it didn't come as a surprise you found Steve's side of the bed empty. You waited, hoping that he only left to make some coffee or breakfast, but half an hour was enough to realize that wasn't the case. The cabin was quiet—strangely so, actually. Only when you lifted your head from the pillow and looked through the window, you realized why: the snowstorm finally stopped.

After a long, hot shower, you wanted nothing but crawl back under the covers and sleep through the rest of the morning. As much as you hated to admit, you were scared of talking to Steve; mainly because it didn't seem like he wanted to talk at all.

It wasn't okay. He needed to learn he couldn't just turn his head away and bury his thoughts and feelings so deep where no one could pull out of him. He needed to learn how to express himself through words. He needed to learn there was nothing wrong with being vulnerable sometimes. By now, you knew it wasn't just the result of the past five years—Steve had always been like this. He believed he had to seem strong and in control of his emotions all the time. When he felt he couldn't hold himself any longer, when he felt he was getting angry or depressed or overwhelmed by emotions, he isolated himself from others so no one could see him.

While you knew it wasn't just a bad habit he could shake off overnight, you wanted to make him understand he needed to change. Not only because this behaviour wasn't healthy and good for him, but also because it wasn't just about him anymore. You were a couple—it wasn't right he still closed up on you.

The kitchen and the living room were both silent and empty. Frowning to yourself, you were just about to go to the basement and check if Steve was there when the front door opened. Thor ran into the house before Steve could hold him back; melting snow dripping from his fur, leaving slush and puddles of water all over the floor. You knew the dog was going to jump at you and he did, bouncing up and down and crashing his paws against your thighs. It seemed as Thor wasn't aware of how big he was – he loved to sit on people's lap like a small cat and could easily knocked you off your legs on a daily basis.

Steve grabbed his overexcited dog and pulled him off of you, murmuring a sorry before he led him close to the fireplace where he wiped him dry with a towel.

"I was shovelling snow all morning," he said. The cold air tinted his cheeks red, his hair messy as he took his hat off. "The storm stopped but we still don't have electricity."

"That's great," you said nonchalantly as walked to the kitchen counter, silently cursing yourself for doing the same thing that he did.

Steve looked up but he could only see your back while you filled the coffeemaker with water. He heaved a sigh, knowing well he screwed up but having no idea how he should handle the situation. After he mopped up the mess that Thor did, he walked to you and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

Immediately, you pulled away with a noise that was somewhere between a shriek and a giggle. "You're cold!"

In answer, Steve wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his frozen cheeks into your neck, making you scream and laugh in turn as you tried and failed to push him away. He watched you after he pulled back, his hand lingering on your back, but you avoided his gaze, and it made him to take a step a back.

"Are you hungry?"

Stirring your coffee, you nodded, silently scolding yourself for staying quiet instead of telling what was bothering you. The way Steve acted oh-so-casually made your stomach ache. Did he really think everything was fine? Maybe he didn't even realize what he did was hurting you. Or, on the contrary: it wasn't fine and he rather closed up on you than saying anything. God, you had no idea how he was doing this all the time: a few hours of keeping your thoughts to yourself and it was already driving you crazy.

"Steve," you said his name when you couldn't stand the silence anymore. He turned to you with a concerned frown, because you sounded so desperate all of a sudden. "Do you regret what happened last night?"

"No!" He replied instantly, frozen with plates and cutlery in his hands. "No, of course I don't."

"I just… I feel like you distanced yourself from me. Again."

Steve put down everything he was holding, scared he'd accidentally drop them with his shaking hands. "I'm sorry. I… you're right. I probably did. It was just—"

"Let me guess," you cut him off quietly. "Too much?"

It wasn't your intention to sound bitter and you regretted at the moment you said it out loud, but it was too late. Steve bowed his head and stared the floor, a hand on his hip while the other gripped the edge of the countertop. He tried to collect his thoughts, but his mind went blank. While he knew saying something so many times made it sound like it was nothing more than a poor excuse, he thought you understood him.

"Listen, Steve. I know you aren't used to many things… and it's fine. It is. But you can't shut me out every time this happens!" You placed your mug down and stepped closer to him. He lifted his head, sadness glistening in his eyes. "I'm trying to be patient, but it's not okay that you push me away, then you act like nothing happened."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," he said so quietly as if his voice could break in any second. Steve was disappointed in himself; he wanted this to work so much between you and him and the fact he kept screwing it up all the time made him feel terrible.

"I know," you breathed out, running your palm down his arm. The small contact soothed him, but it didn't take long; what you said next made his pulse kick up a notch. "I'm just scared."

"Of what?"

Biting your lip, you shook your head and turned away from him for a few short moments that seemed like an eternity for him. "You know how I feel about you. I'm already so deep into this and I'm afraid one day you'll push me away for good."

"That's not going to happen," Steve said firmly, holding your face between his palms. He brushed his thumbs across your cheeks before he let you go. "I want to stay with you. Just tell me—help me how I could be better at this."

You smiled weakly, because all of a sudden, he seemed so lost and vulnerable. It was rare to see him like this and he almost never asked of help. Sometimes you felt Steve had absolutely no idea how relationships worked.

"Come," you led him to the couch and Steve followed you without a word. "For a start," you said, taking his hand into yours after you settled down. "Just talk to me. I know you're trying, but I think you still don't understand what I meant. When I ask how you are, you always say you're fine. Even when I can see you're so tired you can hardly stand anymore. Don't do that! Tell me how exhausted you are and tell me you had a shitty day at work."

Steve chuckled quietly and leaned back against the sofa. "I just don't want to complain."

"Why not? I complain about my book all the time. Am I annoying? Don't answer that," you held up your hand before Steve could open his mouth, but he intertwined his fingers with yours.

"You're not annoying," he kissed your knuckles, watching you with a loving smile.

For a while, you both remained silent. You were glad it was no longer awkward, but you still had much to talk about. "I just want you to understand that it's okay not to be okay. It's okay to fall apart sometimes. And I know sometimes it feels better not to talk at all, but you can't do this all the time."

Steve couldn't say anything first. What you told him made his heart swell, almost painfully, filling his eyes with tears. Not wanting you to see him cry, he turned away to take a deep breath. He wasn't sure why your words affected him so much, but they did, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like this. A great burden was lifted off his shoulders and he felt like he was walking on air. It was dizzying. He'd carried so much weight on his shoulders for so long.

He shivered when you touched his cheek, turning his face to you. When your eyes met, he let a few tears to fall out, but he didn't look sad. An almost invisible smiled lifted the right corner of his lips, and you understood they were tears of relief. You brushed them away and pulled him into a tight hug. Steve said thank you, but it sounded more like an apology.

The days quickly turned into weeks, and within a blink of an eye, two months had passed. It was still cold up in the mountains, but the snow slowly melted away and you could feel the warm rays of the sun on your skin more and more often. When you first came here, nearly six months ago, you didn't think you'd stay here for so long. It was crazy to think of how everything had changed in such a short time, making it feel like years went by since you got lost in the forest.

Steve was true to his promise. Opening up and learning to talk about his feelings was still hard for him, but after he realized how much depended on it, he was determined to give in everything he could. You didn't rush him. You told him it was okay to take baby steps and he doesn't have to change overnight—it wasn't possible anyway. Hurrying would only lead to more repressed emotions.

Steve's alarm woke you up at four in the morning, making you want to scream even before you opened your eyes. With your face pressed against his back, you tightened your hold around his bare chest and nudged his leg with your feet until he finally turned his phone off. He lazily turned around and tugged you close, before you both fell back to sleep very quickly.

Things didn't exactly go as expected last night. Knowing how exhausting Steve's job could be, your plan was easy: have a nice dinner, maybe watch a movie after. But when Steve arrived late afternoon, you were still sitting in front of your laptop. You were so engrossed in writing you didn't realize the time, you forgot to eat, and functioned only on coffee all day.

After you made some food together, Steve had the wonderful idea that you should take a hot bath and drink a glass of wine. It sounded amazing and became even better when he joined you in the bathtub. One glass followed another until you had no wine left, but unfortunately, you found a bottle of champagne. It was a terrible combination, but after all the work, you just wanted to turn your mind off for a while.

At least this was what you told Steve. He was so genuinely happy every time you talked about the progress you made with your book it made your heart swell with joy. It really did, but it wasn't cloudless; not when you thought about how close you were to finish your novel, the thing that brought you here in the first place. While you both worked hard on what you had now, neither of you talked about the future. Even if you had months until finishing the story, you knew you couldn't stay here forever, unemployed and far away from friends and family. Thinking about it, you had no idea how you always managed to avoid talking about this.

Ten minutes later the alarm rang again, making the both of you groan. You had no idea how Steve woke up every day at these ungodly hours. He was an early bird—he usually got up very easily, gave you a soft kiss, and was long gone by the time you woke up again.

This morning wasn't easy for him either. He spent long minutes laying on his back, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. When he threw the blanket off his body and tried to get out of the bed, you snuggled up to him, resting your head on his chest.

"Stay here."

"I have to go to work."

"You can take a day off," you whined, looking up at him from under your lashes in the shadowy room. You knew well he almost never took time off from work. "Please."

Steve looked through the window with a sigh. It was still dark outside; the room was cold as nothing covered him, his head ached, but you were so warm and he wanted nothing more than spending the day in bed with you.

"My boss will think that I'm dying," he rasped out, but drew you closer and dozed off again minutes later.

When you woke up much later that morning, you found Steve sitting with his back against the headboard, his sketchbook on his lap.

"Morning."

Steve's voice was quiet, deep, but you could hear the smile hiding behind his word while your head was still buried into the pillow. Yawning and stretching while you sat up, you pulled the comforter up to your shoulders. Even though your head still hurt, the sight of him sketching, shirtless, with a light frown creasing his forehead and his hair an absolute mess, brought a smile to your lips.

"Morning," you leaned closer to kiss his cheek and caught a glimpse of what he was working on before he closed the notebook. "What is it?"

"Nothing." Steve ran his fingers through his hair as he always did when he was nervous, avoiding your eyes as you rested your chin on his shoulder with a smug smile.

"Is that me?"

Steve sighed in defeat. He knew you will not let it go. "Yeah."

"Let me see."

He handed the book to you and you opened it where his last drawing was: portraying you, sleeping on your side with nothing covering your body. It was so detailed that looking at it almost made you embarrassed.

"So this is what you're doing while I sleep? Drawing me naked?"

Steve chuckled, fiddling with a pencil. "Yeah, I mean no. Just… sometimes."

While you flipped through the pages, Steve was pretty sure he never felt more embarrassed before. He felt like you just found his dirty little secret.

"Wow," you breathed out, completely in awe. You saw his sketches of you before, but never the ones where you were naked. Actually, you had no idea he was drawing you like this from time to time. "You make me look beautiful."

"Because you are beautiful."

"Cheesy," you said, and almost burst into laughter when you looked up and saw his flushed cheeks.

Steve sighed with a small smile and took his sketchbook back. "Can I finish it?"

"Yes!" You threw yourself on the bed, the back of your hand against your forehead. "Draw me like one of your French girls."

Later, after you took a hot shower together, Steve left to the kitchen to make some breakfast. You were still in the bedroom, taking on your clothes when your phone started ringing. The number was unknown, but you picked it up anyway.

Steve didn't understand what was taking so long. When the two of you left the shower, you made it very clear you were starving and you'd sell your soul for a sandwich. He just wanted to check in on you when he heard as the bedroom's door opened, and he immediately noticed something happened. You didn't look angry or sad—you looked surprised and a little lost.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you replied after a deep breath whilst walked to him. It didn't convince him at all. "I got a call from a literary magazine in New York. They offered me a job."

Steve's expression went from surprised to excited very quickly. He knew well that editing one of these magazines was something you'd love to do. "That's amazing! You accepted it, didn't you?"

"Oh, I have to go to an interview first. Next Monday."

While Steve gushed and lavished you with compliments, your smile wasn't completely honest. As Steve mentioned too, it was a great opportunity, and you knew you shouldn't let it slip through your fingers. The woman on the phone told you they thought specifically of you for the job, but right now, it only made you scared rather than excited.

It didn't make it easier at all that Steve seemed so happy; did he not think of where this will leave your relationship? He's not going to ask you to stay, and you were not sure you should ask him to go with you. Leadville had been his safe place for so, so long. Moving back to New York would be a big step.

After you finished your breakfast, you both went silent for a little while. You couldn't read anything off his face, and this was the first time you thought he maybe, finally started to think about what was in your head, too.

"What are we going to do if you get the job?"

Even though you had no idea and you couldn't answer his question, the fact he brought it up first made you smile. It wasn't any easier for him than it was for you, but he was no longer so afraid of talking.

"I have an idea," you said, leaning closer to him. "Come with me to Brooklyn for the weekend. We'll go earlier, spend a few days there, and then we'll talk about this again."

Steve nodded with a smile. The idea of leaving Colorado after five years sounded terrifying, but he had never let fear hold him back.