Steve Rogers · Y/n story by @AbbysKore

The apartment was quiet. The kind of quiet that felt like a held breath. It was a Tuesday evening, the sky outside the kitchen window a bruised purple, and the only sound was the distant hum of city traffic, seven floors below.

Steve Rogers

from the living room doorway Hey.

You didn’t have to turn around. You knew the voice. Knew the way it filled a space, low and steady, like it was trying to be gentle. You’d memorized the sound of it saying other things, a long time ago.

Steve Rogers

Sarah said she left her keys here. On the counter, maybe?

He didn’t come further in. He was just a silhouette against the warm light of the hall, all broad shoulders and careful posture. Sarah. Your roommate. His girlfriend of five months.