You had heard it once said that a book lover never regrets their passion of reading until it was time to move. And holy shit was the person that said that ever right! You'd been an ardent reader for as long as you could remember so it was only natural that when you found out that the bookstore around the corner was having a sale you'd found yourself a box and loaded it to the brim with books you knew you'd never have the time to read. The kind hearted owner had laughed at your almost unhealthy enthusiasm and offered the sensible suggestion of using smaller boxes and making multiple trips, but whether out of stubbornness, laziness, or short sightedness you politely shook your head and insisted that you would be fine.
And at first you were! Granted walking down the busy city streets carrying a box you could barely hold let alone see over had gotten you a few concerned and questionable looks, but the trip was short and you and your box had made it back in one piece. Your warm sense of pride quickly changed, however, as you came to the sudden realization that your building did not have an elevator… and you lived far from the first floor.
A whispered curse hissed past your lips as you stared at the foreboding staircase before you. Your pride would never allow you to admit it, but you weren't in the best shape someone your age could be. And while you'd smiled the whole time while carrying that ridiculously heavy box, your arms already felt sore and your lungs were slightly out of breath. A more immature part of your brain played with the idea of simply giving up and leaving the box in the hall for someone else to deal with, but that idea was quickly dismissed.
With a deep breath and a quick mental pep talk you fought to psych yourself up. Your fingers fought to grip the sharp corners and smooth edges of the box as you cautiously pushed yourself up the first step.
The first flight wasn't ientirely/i 'pull your hair out one by one with a pair of iron hot tweezers' painful, but halfway up the second flight your fingers were cramping and you had to stop every other step to find a new grip on your somehow even heavier box. You fought the instinct to take a rest as you began up the third flight, simply wanting to push through it and pass out on your couch. With that beautiful mental image in your mind you felt a small spark of re-found energy and hoisted the box up for a better grip while also reaching for the next step.
A few things happened quite suddenly. First you came to the curious realization that your foot wasn't meeting solid ground quite like you'd expected it to; that was definitely odd and a bit concerning. Second, you suddenly remembered weight and balance and how when coupled with gravity they could either be your friend or foe. At that you were getting the slight suspicion that science had once again betrayed you. The final thing was your sudden realization that yes, you were falling; no, there was nothing you could do to stop it; and holy fucking Christ reading too much was actually going to be the death of you!
There was no time to scream but an embarrassingly pathetic squeak did manage to escape you as you fell… not quite as far as you imagined you would. Hell, it didn't even hurt. Infact the cold hard ground was quite warm… and had really nice arms that were currently holding you up.
"Careful there," the owner of the arms that had likely just saved you from a broken neck helpfully advised. The voice was friendly and not at all unpleasant, but you'd probably find that true of just about anyone who saved you from falling down a flight of stairs. "Do you need some help with that?"
The stubborn half of your brain demanded that you say no and win this battle against physics on your own while the logical, and much more physically exhausted, side of you cried out in joy over the possible assistance. The two did battle until you noticed that the strain on your arms had been miraculously lifted and that the tall back of a blonde figure was now walking away with your box.
"H-hey!"
"Where were you taking this?"
Your mouth quickly fought for a smart aleck reply that your brain was too tired to devise before you let out a sigh, "Straight ahead to your left."
The blonde figure made a vague noise of either interest, acknowledgement, or both before following your directions and stopping in front of your door.
"You know, you didn't have to do this," you said, stubbornly trying to avoid thanking him as you unlocked your apartment.
The towering man simply walked past you and placed the box on your dining room table, "I know."
You weren't entirely sure what part of this twisted your nerves in all the wrong directions. It wasn't like you weren't going to invite him in; he was being extremely helpful and he had gone out of his way to do so. There was no reason (excluding your barely wounded pride) for you not to be gracious, but you crossed your arms in classic 'ready to bitch' fashion nonetheless. However, his reaction was nowhere near what you expected.
His eyes briefly met yours before quickly jumping between your hair to your tattoos and finally coming to rest on the floor, all in only the span of a few seconds. As if by magic this almost proud man turned into a pile of almost uncertain mush and could barely even look you in the eye. His shoulders squared, his eyes stayed to the floor, and his hand scratched a phantom itch on the back of his neck. "Was there anything else you needed help with, ma'am?"
"Uh, no?"
Color you confused and surprised. You didn't know what to think as he quickly made his way to the door.
"Have a good day, ma'am."
Without thought or permission your name burst from your lips just as your hand shot out in front of him. There was a pause before you said it again, somehow managing to keep eye contact with him, "That's my name. Not 'ma'am'."
You couldn't stop the amused twitching of your lip as you watched the very visible understanding and realization dawn on his features. You'd never seen someone with such an emotive face before.
With a happy yet strangely timid smile he shook your hand, "Steve. Steve Rogers."
His eyes once again turned away but this time you bent down to meet them once again, "Thanks, Steve."
You almost wished you had contained your snicker at the pink that hued his cheeks as he quickly left your apartment, "A-anytime, ma'am!"
"Steve!"
Your voice caused him to stop in place and look back at you with an expression that you could only describe as 'deer in the headlights'.
"I'm going to get you to call me by my name," you teased adding a wink for good measure.
His mouth opened and closed a few times and this time you definitely couldn't have stopped the laugh, even if you'd wanted to. Closing your front door you shook your head in amusement, you'd met your share of interesting people living in this city but you got the feeling Steve was going to be something special.
"Steve Rogers, huh? … Why does that name sound so familiar….?"