Steve can't get back to sleep. By all rights, he should be able to, considering he's exhausted, but sleep is apparently finished with him for the night. So shuffles from his room to the lift and leans against the railing, rubbing at his dry, tired eyes as it descends to the communal floor. It's a surprise to see the lights in the kitchen are on, but he supposes that it's not out of the question that someone else is having a hard time sleeping. He expects to find Bruce preparing a cup of tea, or perhaps Clint making some hot cocoa. What he does not expect is Phil in a t-shirt and sweatpants, stirring the contents of a large mixing bowl.

For a moment, Steve stands in the doorway and watches, feeling a bit conflicted. On one hand, he has something he needs to speak to Phil about that he's been avoiding, and he isn't exactly keen on discussing it now. On the other hand, an opportunity to spend time with the agent alone isn't something he wants to pass up on.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Making a cake," Phil answers, seemingly unsurprised by his presence.

Steve squints up at the clock.

"Phil," he says slowly. "It's quarter past two in the morning."

"Yes, I'm aware," Phil says. He lifts his gaze from the bowl to watch Steve as he continues stirring. "Having trouble sleeping?"

"You could say that again," Steve sighs, pulling out a chair and sitting at the counter. He takes in the various supplies spread out along the counter before shifting his gaze to Phil as the agent pours the pink mixture into a cake pan. "Why are you making a cake?"

Phil takes some time to consider the question and doesn't answer until he's settles the pan inside the oven. He turns to face Steve once again, leaning against the counter.

"It's Agent Barton's birthday," he answers.

"Why didn't anyone say anything sooner?" Steve wonders, sitting up just a tad straighter. "If it's today, that's not much time to prepare a party for—"

"He doesn't want one."

"I'm sorry?"

"He prefers not to celebrate it. It makes him uncomfortable, I think, having everyone's attention focused on him," Phil explains. "If you really want to do something, just get him a card and hand it to him without saying why. He'll appreciate it more that way. Would you like to lick the spoon?"

"Okay. Wait, what?" Steve says, trying to shake the cobwebs out of his head.

"I asked if you'd like to lick the spoon," Phil repeats, smiling patiently so that his eyes crinkle fondly behind those thick rimmed glasses of his that Steve likes far more than he should.

"Oh," Steve says. He runs a hand through his hair. "You know, I don't think I've done that since I was a kid."

"I'm of the firm opinion," Phil says, as he holds a spoon out to Steve, "that it's not a practice which should be abandoned just because we grow up."

Steve can't help the grin that tugs at his lips as he accepts the spoon being held out to him. Phil leaves him there, walking to the sink to rinse out the mixing bowl. The batter is strawberry flavored, Steve discovered, and really quite good. Phil had mentioned once that he'd taken cooking classes, but to his knowledge, Steve's never actually seen the agent cook.

His mind comes back to the topic he's been avoiding. Phil had mentioned Clint and, oddly enough, Clint had been the one to make him aware of the situation. Apparently the archer had been concerned on his handler's behalf, enough so as to approach Steve himself. Steve toys with the idea of bringing it up now as he watches Phil begin adding new ingredients to the mixing bowl. He's avoided it long enough and this is about as close to privacy as they're liable to get any time soon.

"Since you mentioned Clint," Steve begins, "it reminded me of a discussion he and I had recently."

"Oh?" Phil intones, focused on his ingredients.

"He told me you're gay," Steve says.

"I am," Phil responds, mixing the contents of the bowl.

"He also told me that you have feelings for me," Steve says, watching him carefully.

"I do," Phil answers, far more easily than Steve had anticipated. "I'd like to think we can conduct ourselves in a professional manner despite the fact, but if you feel it's going to be a problem or if it makes you uncomfortable, I'll talk to Fury about a transfer."

"It doesn't make me uncomfortable," Steve assures him. "And I'm not letting you transfer."

"Thank you," Phil says simply.

It's hard to read off of him, but Steve swears his response has made the agent seem… relieved. Steve drums his fingers on the countertop, watching Phil mix what he's now sure is frosting. He has another few questions, but there's no telling if they'll go as smoothly as this exchange had. No way of telling without just diving in.

"What kind of frosting is that?" he asks.

"Mango," Phil answers.

"Strawberry cake with mango frosting?"

"Barton has a horrible sweet tooth."

"Yeah, I can see that."

No, those weren't the questions he'd meant to ask. Steve mentally reprimands himself for cutting out at the last minute. He takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out slowly.

"Is it me or the suit?" he asks.

He hasn't felt nervous until now, until Phil pauses suddenly in his task. But the agent continues on after only a brief hesitation and answers Steve's question without appearing to be offended or hurt by the implication.

"I respect the suit," Phil says. "I don't want to date it."

"But you'd want to date me," Steve clarifies.

"That's generally what people who develop romantic feelings towards another individual would hope it might lead to," Phil says.

"In that case," Steve says, "will you have dinner with me?"

"As a co-worker, a friend or your date?"

"As my date."

"I'm free Thursday evening, does that work for you?"

"That works for me."

"Alright, Thursday then. Do you have a place in mind already?"

"I have a few I was considering."

"May I suggest something?"

"Of course."

Phil sets the mixing bowl aside at last and folds his arms across his chest as he meets Steve's eye. "You know that I still have my apartment. Why don't you meet me there at seven o'clock and let me cook for you."

"Should I bring red or white wine?"

"Red."

"Alright," Steve says with a nod. "Seven o'clock. Thursday. Red wine. Your place. It's a date."

"It's a date," Phil agrees.

For a few minutes, they both lapse into silence, each lost in their own thoughts. For his part, Steve can't believe it was that easy. All the time he'd spent fretting and picturing all the ways it could go wrong, and instead they'd managed to answer each other's questions and plan a date in under ten minutes. He happens to look up just as Phil does and likes the way the stomach flutters when he grins and Phil smiles back. He fishes for something to say, but instead just ends up noticing the flour fingerprint on the agent's glasses.

"Here," he says, reaching out, "you've got a—"

Steve doesn't think much of reaching out to remove Phil's glasses. He huffs on the lens before cleaning it with his own t-shirt and holding it up to the light for inspection. When it's met his approval, he gently returns them to the agent's face. The man smiles when Steve's hands linger far longer than needed.

"Would it be rude if I asked to kiss you before our first date?" Steve wonders.

"If it is, then I think I'm okay with rude," Phil answers, moving just a fraction closer.

"Good, because I don't really feel like waiting," Steve says, his voice dropping in pitch as he leans in a tad himself.

"Fine by me," Phil murmurs, and Steve can feel his breath on his lips

He makes the last push forward, bridging the last bit of space between them by pressing their lips together. It's slow and chaste and when Steve breaks away, Phil follows and the soldier has no problem returning, glad to see that Phil apparently wants this every bit as much as he does.

"Agent Coulson, I feel it's prudent to warn you that Dr. Banner is making his way to the kitchen for a cup of tea."

Phil sighs, pulling away just enough to answer and Steve just can't be assed to feel embarrassed that they've been caught. Because who's JARVIS going to tell, anyway?

"Thank you, JARVIS," Phil says, even as Steve kisses the corner of his mouth trying to get him back. Phil pulls back entirely, smiling apologetically as Steve makes a disappointed noise before he presses one last kiss to the soldier's lips. "Save it for Thursday."

"Right," Steve answers.

"Why don't you try to get back to sleep," Phil suggests. "I'm nearly finished here."

"Just make sure you get some sleep, too," Steve says, sliding out of his seat.

"I will," Phil assures him. He waits until Steve's at the door before speaking again. "And Steve?"

The soldier stops, turning back curiously.

"I'm looking forward to Thursday," Phil says. "I really am."

"Me, too," Steve says. "It's something I've been hoping I could look forward to for a while now."

He doesn't miss the small, genuinely pleased smile on the agent's face, even though it's gone in nearly an instant as Bruce enters the kitchen. Steve bids them both goodnight before returning to the lift, still marveling at the fact that, for once, maybe it really was that simple. Simple's good. Simple works for him.