Diana finds the first one tucked in the small front pocket of her dress pants, a sheet of notebook paper folded into a square with her name scribbled across one side in a handwriting that was both new and familiar at the same time. It was a little wrinkly, the folds uneven and rushed, and one corner was bent, if she had to guess, from being hastily shoved into the pocket sometime when she hadn't been paying attention.
Flattening it out on her desk, she can't help but laugh. The words, though they take up less than half the page, are written in six different colors of ink. Gold, silver, and bronze metallic, red and orange glitter, and neon green, all from the packet of gel pens they'd found stuck in a box in the back of her closet a week ago.
Diana,
I love these pens. Seriously, this is great. Beyond great. Like you. You're beyond great, and I love you.
And I might be a little drunk. Or a lot.
I don't know when you'll find this. I don't even know yet where I'm going to put it.
You have a really really good day. An awesome day. A day as awesome as you.
Steve
So this is what he'd been talking about. They'd both gone out over the weekend, Steve with Barry (who had insisted on a Guys Night as an intro to the city) and Clark (who only agreed to go so Diana could go out with Lois), and when she got back she found them all in her living room, two of them drunk, all of them not very slyly hiding something. Clark and Barry ducked out soon after her arrival, and she'd come out from a shower to a very pleased Steve who'd look at her, giggle, and simply say "later."
She wonders if Barry and Clark had also written little love notes, if they'd all sat at the kitchen table or on the floor and wrote corny confessions with pretty pens.
—-
When she asks him later that night, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turn slightly pink, and rather than answer, he stares at the folded paper in her hand for a long minute before asking her "which one is that?"
The next one she finds two days later, this time in the right pocket of her jacket. It was shorter than the first one, and entirely in purple.
Diana,
Hi. I'm still drunk, and you're still beautiful.
My Angel. I love you.
Steve
"How many of them are there?"
"A few," he replies, but he doesn't sound entirely certain. "At least two, I think."
—-
The third Diana writes, a yellow sticky note left on top of the coffee maker where she has no doubt he will find it.
Steve,
You're very cute when you are drunk.
Diana
In her laptop, a still very colorful, but more soberly composed note appears.
Diana,
Am I not cute all the time?
Steve
Another, she tucks under his phone.
Steve,
Perhaps.
Diana
What may or may not be the last of the drunk notes is found almost two weeks later, wedged between two cartons of ice cream in the freezer, and is a whopping four words long.
Diana,
You're sweet.
Steve
She hears him cross the room, feels the warmth of his chest as he comes up behind her to peer over her shoulder. A quiet surprised "huh" sounds into her ear.
"You put a note in the freezer?"
"Apparently."