A day before you left Leadville, Steve spent his morning in the library. He returned a few books and while he was there, he chose something to read at his favourite spot: an ancient looking but extremely comfortable armchair at the back of the room. Time flew by and only his growling stomach reminded him it was late; he knew he should go back to his place and pack the things he would need for the weekend. He stretched his legs out and put Reaper Man by Terry Pratchett down when a woman pulled a chair closer to the small table and sat down across him.

An old, familiar, uncomfortable feeling came over Steve as he recognized the royal blue cover of The Great Gatsby the woman was holding. Gripping the padded arms of the chair, he squirmed.

While it wasn't one of his favourites, Steve had never found another story that made him feel such strong emotions. Even now, the thought only tightened his chest. He remembered all the three times he had read the novel.

First, when he was in high school. English used to be one of his favourite classes because his teacher taught the students how to use their heads instead of forcing his own opinion on them. Steve was pretty sure the professor was the reason he loved reading so much, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring himself to like The Great Gatsby. He found the plot weak, some scenes too cheesy, Gatsby's inability to move on unrealistic and creepy, and how could that boring girl cause so much drama, anyway?

The second time happened during the first year he spent at an art school. Steve didn't have money for books back then, but he had an English major roommate who gave him everything he didn't need anymore—this is how he got a copy of the novel he disliked so much in the past.

Nevertheless, he gave it another chance, because the story was still popular, he grew older, and perhaps he would see it through different eyes.

And he did. There were still many things he couldn't comprehend and found pointless and ridiculous, but Steve saw then, after he lost a loved one, why would someone cling to the past so badly. In his opinion, it was still overrated and he didn't say he liked it. The only thing it made him feel was uncomfortable sadness, because he understood something he couldn't understand years ago.

He read it again when he lived in Leadville. The town's library was small and sometimes Steve thought he already borrowed every book that grabbed his attention, but one day his eyes stopped on Fitzgerald's name. He realized he never tried anything else from the author. For some reason, he chose The Great Gatsby again. And then, when he finished the book for the third time, this time in one go, it hit him like a ton of bricks.

Instead of admitting something was definitely not okay, Steve ignored the problem and buried himself even deeper. Living in the past, just like isolation is lonely and addictive. After a few years, being alone and feeding on old memories instead of seeking new experiences became so natural Steve could no longer see how hollow it was. The more time he spent in isolation, the less lonesome he felt. It was so calm and peaceful and safe; if he felt good by living like this, why would it be wrong?

Then he met you. While you didn't talk much the first time you met, Steve was a good judge of character and there was something in you that caught his attention. Something inexplicable, maybe something insignificant, but enough for bringing up feelings he hadn't experienced in a while. It wasn't a good feeling; he remembered so clearly like it was yesterday: he felt lonely. It burned his chest all night.

Steve realized that day, while he isolated himself from everyone for five years, the world never stopped moving. He stuck in the past, refusing to do anything to move forward even though he knew there was nothing he could do to change what happened. His friends lived their lives, left old jobs and found new ones, moved around, got married and had kids, but for Steve, time stopped.

How did I get here? He asked himself the question more and more often, because it hurt to admit he allowed himself to get so low. He wasn't the kind who gave up; he faced his problems and made a plan to make things better. Grief and guilt drove him away and there was a time when he truly thought taking some time off, away from everything and everyone would help. Steve couldn't tell how it all backfired. What was his solace one day, it became a dreadful reminder of how alone he was. It punched him in the gut, seeing after five years how pointless running away was. Nothing really changed; if anything, his life only turned worse.

It was a terrifying realization of how empty his calm and safe place was, but even then, he thought more about how could this all happened instead of working out a solution. Acknowledging something and making the first step to change it were two, completely different things. He felt lost and hopeless—something he didn't think he would ever experience. It was you who slowly tore his walls down, pushing the right buttons but giving him space when he needed. And it seemed you always knew which one was the best for him. Looking back, Steve didn't know where he would be without you, though he knew there was still a lot of work to do.

As he stared the cover of The Great Gatsby, the old, gut-wrenching feeling returned and washed over Steve. While it was more like a memory, it still felt too strong and vivid, and he understood it was because he still lived more in the past than in the present. It was scary to think of how easily he could relapse, how many times he already did, and he wondered if he could ever go back to normal.

All kinds of emotions swirled inside you when you arrived to your apartment in New York. The upcoming job interview made you excited and terrified at the same time, just like the thought of spending the weekend here with Steve. While you were hopeful, you couldn't ignore the sting of fear deep inside your chest. Things had been going well, but everything could fall apart in the blink of an eye. It happened before, and the simple memory was enough to make your knees tremble.

After he dropped the bags down in the bedroom, Steve stopped in the living room. His hands were balled into fists, standing still but looking around like he had no idea how he got here. When your gaze met for a second, you could practically see the question in his eyes: what am I doing here? The clueless look he gave scared you for a second and you turned your head away, scurrying into the kitchen. Considering you were both nervous enough, you made tea instead of coffee.

When you finished, Steve was still standing in the same place, with the same expression on his face. It made your heart ache to see how lost he looked, and you were glad you convinced Bonnie to give you some space for this weekend. Giving him one of the mugs, you took his hand and pulled him to sit down with you on the couch.

"How do you feel?" you asked before blew on the hot tea. The way you rubbed his arm up and down seemed to soothe his nerves a little; you could see his features softening.

When you left Leadville, Steve was fine: he talked, he laughed, he even sang with you in the car at one point. His great mood helped you to forget about your own worries in no time. However, the closer you got to the city, the quieter he became, until he went completely silent. You couldn't even imagine how hard it must have been to return here after years of solitude. Realizing it wouldn't be the smartest to push him, you let him be alone with his thoughts for a while, even though his silence drove you crazy.

Steve took a deep breath and released it slowly, staring into the steaming mug. When he lifted his gaze to you, he shook his head. "I don't know." He paused for a few seconds, before a tiny smile lifted the corner of his lips. "Strange."

You weren't sure what to think. What was going on with him exactly? Did he feel good or bad? He sounded sad but there was no lie in his smile. Steve was a quiet type but he could never completely hide his emotions from his face.

He took a sip of his drink and leaned back against the couch, having no intention of leaving the flat. Steve wondered a lot how would it feel to come back to New York, but he never thought it would be so exhausting. "Can we stay in tonight?"

It was late afternoon; you could still go out, even just for a walk. The point of this weekend was to spend a little time outside, amongst other people, not isolated like you did so often; like he did in the past nearly six years.

"Just tonight," he said after your long silence, intertwining his fingers with yours and kissing your hand. "We can go anywhere you want tomorrow."

"Anywhere? Be careful what you say." You pulled your legs up on the couch and snuggled closer to him. Suddenly, staying in didn't seem such a bad idea at all, especially after days of driving.

The rest of the night passed quietly. You both avoided talking about the next day, but for different reasons. After you ordered some food and watched a movie, you went to bed early, even though you knew neither of you could fall asleep easily.

Steve's behaviour bothered you the most. It was the first time in a long time you couldn't read anything off his face. Before you left Colorado, you were prepared for everything: deep sadness, emotional breakdowns, an angry outburst; you even pictured him packing his bag and leaving you behind. However, you could see no sign any of these. Steve acted like it was any other day—except he was less talkative. From time to time, you caught him lost deep in his thoughts, but he didn't tell you what he was thinking of, and you didn't pester him. He had a lot to process.

If you didn't fall asleep on him like a human blanket, Steve would have tossed and turned on the sheets through the whole night. It wasn't just the soft bed that kept him up—it was all the noises that came from outside. He was tired, both emotionally and physically, but it took him long hours until he could doze off.

What only felt like a few minutes later, he woke up with a sudden, small jolt. Steve was sure he dreamt something, but it became more distant and foggy with every second, and by the time you looked up at him, he completely forgot about it.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he replied in a hushed voice, drawing lazy circles on your back. "Go back to sleep."

He didn't need to tell twice; your head fell back on his chest at the moment the words left his lips. Still floating on the edge of sleep, under your ear you heard how rapidly Steve's heart was beating, keeping you awake.

Steve slowed his breaths down and wondered if he should say something. He knew you were still up from the way your hand clutched on his sleeping shirt. When he spoke up, his deep voice sounded loud and heavy in the silent room.

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

The dreaded question again. Last time you easily avoided answering it—you were even glad he brought it up. During the past few days, you didn't talk about it on purpose, and while you knew you couldn't ignore it forever, you wanted to buy some time. The truth was, you didn't want to think of what's going to happen, because deep down, you had a terrible feeling.

"I don't know, Steve," you told the same thing you told him the first time he asked it, and hoped it was enough for him, but he saw through you.

"Maybe we should talk about this."

Tears filled your eyes, and you gripped his shirt tighter. This was definitely the first time he wanted to talk about something and you didn't. "I don't want to. Please."

Steve sighed and wrapped both of his arms around you, shivering as he heard the tremble behind your words. He wanted to slap himself in the face for not realizing earlier how scared you were. To him, you seemed so happy and excited, and why wouldn't you be? His mind worked all night to find an answer and a solution.

When you woke up with a headache the next morning, you found the bed empty. The curtains were pulled shut, and the door was closed. Checking the time, you were surprised to see it was already past ten; after last night, you didn't think you would sleep so well. For a few minutes, you sat on the edge of the bed in the silent, dark room, messaging your temples with the tip of your fingers. This trip started so great but now it was dancing on the edge of falling apart, and you weren't ready for the conversation you were about to have.

However, Steve couldn't be found anywhere. The entire apartment stood empty and disturbingly quiet. If you didn't see his bag, you would have thought he left and went back to Colorado.

But how could he go out alone? It's not like someone had to hold his hand wherever he went, but he might need a little emotional support. While you made some coffee, you tried not to overthink it. You already felt guilty for closing up on him last night; it was so hard to peel him out of his shell and the first time he wanted to discuss your future, you refused to talk. One part of you wished you didn't, but you knew your fears won this time. All you wanted was to enjoy this weekend without constantly thinking of what's going to happen once it's over, but you couldn't, because it terrified you.

Just as you left the kitchen with a cup of coffee, you heard keys turning in the lock, before the front door opened. While Steve stepped in, you could feel your jaw drop at the sight: he no longer had his beard and his hair was cut a little shorter, but a lot neater.

"Oh," you managed to get out, placing the cup down before you would accidentally spill the hot liquid on yourself. Steve put your keys down and shrugged out of his coat, and you couldn't take your eyes off him. He looked so completely different; even his smile seemed much happier. "Holy shit. Who are you and what have you done to my boyfriend?"

"I told him he should get his shit together. He didn't really like it and ran away. That guy. I don't even know why you bothered with him for so long."

"You look so good," you breathed out as if you didn't even hear what he said. The first thing you did when you were close enough was run your fingers through his hair; it was so soft and smooth you didn't want to let him go. Steve blushed and couldn't stifle his grin at your reaction: your eyes still wide and your lips parted, like you were completely in awe.

"And you have a dimple," you whimpered, touching his cheek with the tip of your fingers. "Oh my God."

Steve chuckled, and finally, the heart-warming sound shook you out of your daze. Your hands slid to his shoulders, locking eyes with him. "But… what happened? And why did you go alone? I started to think you left me," you added the last sentence with a laugh, only half-jokingly.

Heaving a sigh, Steve's eyes darkened with worry. He wished he didn't make you feel you had to hold back anything in front of him. "I woke up early and wanted to take a walk… alone. I didn't mean to scare you, I just think I needed this. You helped me so much, you really got me through the worst, but it means a lot to me I could do this by myself. A few months ago I'd have spent the whole weekend in the flat and there's no way you could've talked me into going out."

Seeing your features softening, Steve smiled, too. He kissed your forehead and pressed his palms against the small of your back. "And I would never leave you. If I ever made you feel like—"

"No," you shook your head, biting your lip. "I know you aren't like that. I've been just overthinking all of this." You felt as some of the weight left your shoulders, but there were still so many things left unsaid. "Listen, uhm… about last night—"

"Don't," Steve cut you off quietly, rubbing your back. "You were right. Let's not talk about tomorrow and just have fun today."

"Okay," you said hesitantly, narrowing your eyes. What happened to your Steve? Taking a walk alone in the city he avoided for years, dropping into a barbershop without planning it, enjoying the moment without overthinking everything… "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, giving you the most innocent look. He was such a terrible liar. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Well, yeah… but…"

"No buts. It was your idea."

"Fine," you said with a playful smile, though you still had no idea what he had in mind. It was so rare to see him like this, you decided to run with it instead of asking more questions and ruining the mood. "Any plans for today?"

"I told you. I'd go with you anywhere," he replied in such a way that sounded more like a confession. Steve expressed his love in many ways, but he could never say the words, and this was the closest he had gotten so far. It warmed you up from head to toe.

"I'm going to get in the shower," you said, slowly sliding your palms down his arms. Steve gave a short nod, and you had to bite back a smile as you watched his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "If you want to come with me there too…"

With closed eyes, you stood in the shower, letting the water run down on your body and melt the tension in your muscles. Steve was right. This weekend was your idea in the first place; it was about time to finally let yourself go a little.

A smile lifted your lips when you heard clinking and shuffling and a few moments later, Steve stepped into the cabin behind you. Before you could turn around, he took the plastic bottle from you and poured shampoo in his hands, gently rubbing it into your hair. The warm, sweet smell that Steve loved so much filled the room. His fingers felt amazing as they massaged your scalp and you could do nothing, but stand there with closed eyes, leaning into his touch. With every passing second, you felt more and more relaxed.

"You like that?"

The weak hum you gave in answer made Steve chuckle, and he didn't stop. He rinsed, then repeated the process. He was so careful not to get shampoo in your eyes or tangle his fingers into the wet, silky strands of your hair.

He moved you farther into the streaming water to wash the foam off your hair. When it was clean, you turned to him, leaning in for a slow kiss. Steve smiled, almost sheepishly as he grabbed the bottle of shower gel and poured some over your shoulder. His eyes wandered and he watched you like this was the first time he saw you without clothes.

Large, warm hands began swirling the gel in circles, rubbing it over your body. He started with your shoulders and he took a step back, carefully lifting your hand to wash over the length of your arm. He rinsed, kissed his way up from your wrist to your neck, then did the same with your left. Your breath caught in your throat from how slow and gentle he was. When his gaze met yours, you saw his light blue eyes turned almost black. The look he gave you made your knees tremble with anticipation.

He trailed his fingers down over the outer curves of your breasts, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your skin. While you enjoyed his feather-light touches, you craved for more; you made a move to step closer but slipped on the shower tray. Thankfully, Steve was quick to wrap his arms around you before you could fall, pulling your body to his.

He looked at you smugly. "Where are you going, sweetheart?"

"I'm going crazy," you said breathlessly. At this point, you weren't sure what made your pulse race: the way he watched you, the way he touched you, that you almost fell moments ago, or that you felt his hard arousal pressing against you.

He smiled and made sure you were steady before he pulled away, continuing to wash your skin. The tip of his ears turned red while he massaged your breasts, then rubbed the soap down to your stomach and your lower abdomen. After he rinsed again, he leaned down, sliding his palms to your hips. Soft lips brushed gently over your skin and a small sound of pleasure left your mouth.

"I could get used to these showers."

You felt him smiling between the valley of your breasts, peppering kisses down on your belly. While he lowered himself to his knees, Steve wrapped his fingers around your wrists and put your hands on his shoulders.

"Hold onto me."

"Steve," you weakly breathed his name out, tightening your grip on him whilst he slowly pushed your legs apart. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I don't want to break my neck. Or yours," you said, thinking of that you nearly fell only a few minutes ago.

"Just hold me." His hands rubbed small circles from your foot to your thigh, adding the perfect amount of pressure to it. He was so slow and so sensual, by the time he reached the top of your thigh every inch of you screamed for more. He moved to your other leg then, and you almost cried out in frustration.

A whimper escaped you when Steve finally touched you where you most wanted. His fingers slid through your slick folds, back and forth, but he pulled his hand away too soon. You looked him with pleading eyes while washed the foam off your body. His cheeks were pink, his mouth slightly open, but he had to press his lips together to stifle a smile when he caught your gaze, practically begging without saying anything.

Just when you thought he'd finally end your suffering, his lips moved to your knee, kissing his way up. Inch by inch, agonizingly slowly. "Steven, I swear to God…"

He chuckled, but when he spoke up, his voice was firm. "Be patient."

Steve's lips ghosted over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, sending a shiver down your spine and spreading warmth inside your belly at the same time. His smooth jaw felt so unfamiliar but so amazing on your body. He spread your legs further apart and touched your labia; soft, chaste, lingering kisses. You leaned back against the tiled wall, fingers digging into his shoulders. When he finally used his tongue, it was not shy or teasing; he gave in everything that left you speechless. Spine arching in pleasure, you threw your head back, almost knocking it into the wall.

Feeling your knees trembling, Steve stood up and cradled your face, leaning down for a deep, searing kiss. His palms slowly slid down on your sides, pressing firmly, feeling every curve and showing how perfectly you filled his hands. He looked gorgeous with his flushed cheeks and with the water droplets cascading down his muscles. His touch drew a shaky breath out of you, and he turned you to the wall. The tip of his fingers skimmed up on your spine, moving your wet locks out of the way so he could leave kisses on your shoulder and your neck.

Steve wasn't much of a talker, but he always showered you with compliments when you were intimate. He was telling you how beautiful you were, how good you made him feel, and how much he loved the sounds you made. His hands and his words did wonders and by the time he touched you again, you were glad he held you safely against him with his other arm.

While his fingers rubbed circles around your clit, his free hand moved to cup your breasts, massaging them gently. Your feet slid across the floor, carefully, parting your legs to give him better access. His lips moved from your ear to your neck, lavishing you with wet kisses. The sound of your own moan filled the bathroom, echoing around you when Steve pushed two fingers inside you. Slow and deep drags, driving you into a frenzy.

Knees buckling, he kept you closer and tighter, and you felt his heartbeat against your back. Nails digging into his forearm, you reached back with your free arm, taking him into your hand. A broken sound left Steve's lips; somewhere between a moan and a whimper. He buried his face into your neck—partly because he almost disintegrated right here and there, partly because he wanted to stifle his groans.

You tried to remind yourself you were not in the little wooden cabin anymore in the middle of nowhere; you had neighbours and very thin walls, but the delicious stretch of Steve's fingers felt so good, you could hardly control the noises you made. From the little, restrained moans he breathed into your ear, you guessed Steve had the same struggle.

He knew you were close from the way your hips rocked against his hand, desperate for more friction. It felt almost too much and not enough at the same time. Steve loved he could make you feel like this, making everything about you tremble: body, voice, breath. It pushed him closer to the edge, thrusting faster into your hand, but he stopped from time to time, pulling back from your palm, and you knew he was trying to hold himself back.

"Steve. Come with me."

His whole body reacted to those breathless, shaky little words and the feel your walls fluttering around his fingers. His movements became more erratic, stumbling over his words as he groaned something you couldn't get out against your neck. He held you tighter, curling over your form like a shield.

He stayed and waited until you both stopped shaking before his arms left you, leaning back so his chest no longer covered your back. His hands trailed up your arm, fingers gently rubbing your shoulders as he kissed the back of your neck. You felt him smiling; a satisfied little hum rumbling in his throat.

This was the feeling Steve had been looking for but never truly believed he could find it. Relaxed, content. Like he was home.