Random x Male Reader

Steve Rogers | Slow Dancing To Hard Rock

For the first time in months you managed to do something that was at least sort of productive. 

You were getting rid of clothes that you didn't need anymore. It was getting colder with every leaf that got plucked from its tree by the wind and slowly the world lost its colour. It was starting to adapt to how you felt.

Steve had suggested to muck out some old clothes  and give them to people who'd need and appreciate a little help.

Next to you was already a pile of warm clothes which you hadn't worn in years.
You ruffled through the T-shirt section, wondering what that white corner of fabric did in the mess of black, blue and grey pieces. Carefully you pulled it out from underneath the giant pile. It was super crinkly, but you didn't even have to unfold it completely to know which shirt it was. 

You've worn it so many times, it felt so familiar just holding it. A feeling of safety and... coming home flushed over you.
The black lettering of 'Stark Industries' was fading, leaving white spaces between the black print. It had the same craquelure patter an an old painting got at a certain age.

Suddenly all the memories of uncountable working hours together with Tony in the workshop or lab came crushing down on you like a wave.
Without any control over your emotions you started getting hot, the way too familiar lump in your throat taking away your ability to breathe.
Your knees gave in and you let yourself fall onto the floor with a thump. You tried to clear your throat and swallow, but it was in vain. 

It's been a long time since you let yourself cry. You had been repressing the shit out of everything that went down a couple of months ago. Barely letting yourself think about him, yet being reminded by everything of him. 

The tears started to flow, hot and seemingly without any end in sight. They started to mix with snot and you tried to calm down by breathing more calmly but it just got your breath stuck in your throat again.
 Angrily you wiped your face with your sleeve, clutching to the Stark Industries shirt. It still smelled like the workshop- like Tony.
Through the blurry vision, that you had right now, you spotted a grease stain on the back of the shirt. Tony used to be covered in grease and motor oil, but you tried to watch out and rub everything off with a rag immediately.
You tried to remember when it must've had happened, but all you could think of was how Tony used to curse, when he somehow got machine oil on you by accident. Apologizing over and over, because he knew how you watched out for that kinda stuff. Soon enough you stopped working in shirts altogether, because you grew tired of reassuring him that it was fine, starting small fights everytime.
You'd give everything for another fight with him. You wanted him to snap at you, scream at you and then apologize afterwards. What you'd give to be able to punch him in his face for doing what he did.

"Oh, (Y/N)." His undertone implied sympathy and sadness.

You jerked up from your slumped position. Running your fingers through your hair, you let out a shaky breath.
There stood Steve with a small tray with a bowl of snacks and two cups of tea. You followed his sympathetic gaze, and found yourself back at the white shirt in your lap, that was responsible for you to be a sobbing mess right now.
He placed the tray on the floor and let himself down next to you.

"Didn't mean to startle you", he spoke softly. You just sniffled and waved it off.
"Naw", Steve tutted once, "come on", and pulled you into his chest. 

Thick tears started flowing down your cheeks again. 
"I miss him so much", it was barely even a whisper.
You pressed your face further into his chest, hoping you would just somehow disappear, so you wouldn't have to feel anymore.
"I know", he reassured and rubbed your arm, "I know." Steve planted a kiss on your head.
After a moment of silence he added, "I miss him, too."