I'm Here | ✓

01 - Nerves

"So, this is it." Steve sweeps his arm around. I shut the door quietly and stare around.

"It's big."

"It's not..." He seems to realize mid-sentence that my apartment back in Romania was significantly smaller than this, and tries to backtrack. "Tony poured some money in my account before the whole Accords deal. It's too late for him to take it out now, so I spent it trying to set myself up with a decent apartment."

I slide around one of his bookshelves, noticing how there's intentionally a lot of open space with some areas to hide. It's strategic and smart. The only area you can't see very well is a small hallway to my right, and I peek around to discover it holds a bathroom on one side and a bedroom on the other. I force my face to remain impassive as I eye the scented soaps and the actual bedframe supporting the mattress. Maybe they were simple luxuries, but ones I didn't have frequently since the '40s. I appreciated them when I had them.

I step back and scan the exposed living room again. Steve watches me anxiously. "I can always grab you some spare blankets and pillows if you wanna sleep on the couch."

I shrug, still a bit apprehensive. "Sure."

Steve retreats to his bedroom. I can't help but watch him as he goes. The bed is a queen size, easily big enough for the two of us, but I reject that idea quickly. No. No. Why would I even expect that? Why would I want that? This is a strange environment, and I'm thinking about sleeping with my supposed childhood best friend.

I turn away quickly when Steve starts to come back out, his arms full of blankets. He piled them on the couch and starts to straighten them out before I can stop him.

"No, no, no, I got it." I'm plenty capable of making a bed, and this doesn't need to be anything fancy.

"It's fine - "

"I'm just being courteous - "

"Don't worry about it - " Steve looks down, and I find that my hand is clutching his arm. It's not tight, but I take it off quickly, stepping backward like I burned him. 

"Sorry." I gesture at the blankets clenched in his frozen fist. "You can do it, if you want."

It takes him a second, but eventually, he turns away with a small nod and gets back to straightening everything out. When he can't see me, I cover my face with my hands. Stupid, stupid Barnes. You can't do that. I'm gonna have to keep myself in check while I'm here.

"Thanks for not minding that we got back so late," Steve says, straightening. I shove my hands in my pockets to hide how they're shaking.

"It's fine. I've stayed up way later than this." I furrow my eyebrows. "It's not like I have a bedtime."

Steve blushes. "Yeah, yeah, I know, it's just, I don't know, it's dark out - "

I cut off his nervous rambling. "I stayed awake for a week straight once. This is nothing. You're fine." I intentionally leave out the part where, at the end of the week, it took me six shots to hit my target and my handlers were especially cruel because of it. Steve seems to connect the dots himself, though, knowing I wouldn't stay awake that long willingly.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, but which part he's sorry for isn't clear. I shrug it off. I've almost come to terms with it at this point.

"It's fine. You're right, it is getting late. Let's get to bed." I perch on the side of the couch, dragging my gaze away from him and counting the knives on his knife block in the kitchen area. He nods and paces away slowly. I count and count and think about where I'm going to put them.