Steve Rogers Imagines

Tuesday.

A/N: So, we're going to pretend that Steve didn't just lose all his character development but instead retired, dyed his hair brown again and helps relocate displaced people from the blip like the good ol' hero that he is. 

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading! 

Steve Rogers, 39. Looking to get back out there. Likes: hiking, classic rock, and dancing.

The more he stared at the profile, the harder Steve cringed. He hated this. It was such a stupid idea. He loved his friends dearly, and he knew they wanted what was best for him. But this was just so unnecessary. He was fine on his own. He had settled into a little routine since...well everything. He got clean. He got a work from home job so he could be around to volunteer at the displaced shelters. He saw the boys for drinks once a week. He was happy.

But the boys weren't as convinced. They decided that Steve needed to start dating again – as if it was their decision to make. Sam suggested he could set Steve up with someone he knew, but not wanting to be stuck with Sam's leftovers, Steve reluctantly agreed to set up an online dating profile.

Even with Tony's various tips, Steve still didn't feel like his profile would stand out. He let out a huff, shaking his head at the silly app and locking his phone. He'd probably never hear anything and forget about the whole thing in a few weeks anyway.

It wasn't like those things actually worked.

–

Tuesday nights were the worst nights for tips. Monday was trivia night, Wednesday was karaoke, Thursday had half price pitchers, and obviously the weekends were always busy. Very few people went out to the pub on Tuesdays. So you spent most of your Tuesday night shifts doing crossword puzzles and occasionally pretending to do inventory if the boss was around.

This particular Tuesday night, you found yourself drying some glasses and attempting to follow the hockey game on the television when you noticed a lone gentleman seated in one of the booths.

He was handsome, a rugged look to him. The stubble around his jaw was patchy, with hints of blonde here and there. You watched as he suddenly pulled the baseball cap he was wearing off his head, running a large hand through his hair to try and tame it. You could tell he was nervous about something by the way his leg bounced under the table and the way he bit at his thumbnail.

You were just about to pop over and see if he had already asked for his drink order when a woman slid into the booth across from him.

That's when it hit you. He was here for a date.

A little bummed you weren't going to get a chance to hit on him yourself, you smiled to yourself and surveyed the rest of the bar.

Not a single other customer.

You glanced at your watch. 8:16pm. You sighed and picked up another glass before turning your attention back to the hockey game. This was going to be a long shift.

–

This was a terrible idea. Why did Steve ever think this would be a good idea? He had barely known how to do the whole 'dating' thing years ago. What made him think he could do it now? 

Steve had absolutely no game.

The poor woman who had agreed to meet him at the pub sat across from him, quite literally twiddling her thumbs as Steve stumbled to come up with a conversation topic. They'd quickly burned through the obvious ones: occupation, hobbies, thoughts on the weather. It was very possible that Steve had negative chemistry with the woman. Part of him wanted to put her out of her misery – apologise and give her an out to leave. She had been such a trooper so far, respectfully engaging in his poor attempts to start conversations. But food had already been ordered, and both were too polite to leave before their meals arrived.