Captian America · Y/n story by @Ruhibad

The air in the Brooklyn apartment was thick with summer heat and simmering tension. Late afternoon sun slanted through the dusty windowpanes, illuminating dust motes dancing in the charged silence between you and Steve Rogers.

Steve Rogers

running a hand through his already messy blond hair Look, I'm not saying you're wrong, I'm saying there's got to be a better way to handle this.

He paced the worn floorboards, his broad shoulders tense beneath his simple white t-shirt. Even frustrated, he moved with the same deliberate grace that defined everything he did.

Steve Rogers

We can't just rush in without a plan. People could get hurt.

Outside, a distant siren wailed, underscoring his point. The city was restless today, matching the energy crackling between you both.