Lessons in Rule Breaking and Other Reader-Inserts*Steve Rogers*Reader*

Walk Me Home Tonight - Pt.1/1

Sometimes it's hard to be in a celebratory mood when all you can think of is that life sucks, when you genuinely believe that being left on your own to drown your sorrows is for the best.

Sometimes people who care about you know better than yourself and come crushing your party of one.

Sometimes, despite the popular belief, you do realize how lucky you are having been introduced to Steve Rogers.

-.-.-

P!nk – Walk Me Home

I don't know. This song got to me for some reason. It has energy and hope despite having the potential to be pretty depressing if sang differently. Hearing it (and seeing the videoclip) made me want to dance – and write, apparently.

I didn't come up with better title. Sorry? But hey, it's a songfic anyway, so...

Enjoy :))

-.-.-

Walk Me Home Tonight

You stared at the amber liquid, lazily making it roll in the glass with idle motions of your wrist. It reflected the rather soft lights of the bar, an exquisite game of colour you found fascinating enough to dull your mind and muffle the noise of the party.

It wasn't that you were a party pooper, not usually anyway; just... the timing wasn't ideal.

Of course, Sharon could hardly move her birthday to make it more convenient for you, less so a party her colleagues had decided to throw for her. You knew Agent Carter for quite some time now; she had joined SHIELD about the same time as you, going through the same tough training. Except unlike you, initially without your knowledge, she had a picture to live up to.

You might even call her a friend, your chest bursting in pride for her when her hard work had finally borne some fruit and she had been promoted to an assistant director of the intelligence agency, which earned her a lot of new potential friends.

You were hardly acting like one tonight, much to your own annoyance, but for some reason, you found it difficult to leave your momentary emotional baggage at the doorstep, slipping it off as easily as your coat. You had wished her all the best, conversed for a tiny bit and then happily made space for more, for the forming line of guests waiting to celebrate with her as well.

You had retreated to your spot at the bar, possibly annoying the bartender, who would be more delighted seeing some heavier drinker occupying your seat, tipping way more, instead of having you nursing each glass of alcohol for about two hours.

You weren't even sure why you were still here; you had given up on the attempt on small talk with anyone, apparently unwittingly chasing away any potential company (and here you thought misery did love company – perhaps you were wrong, at least when it came to birthday parties of gorgeous women loved by everyone), so you might as well pack up your bottom and sulk at home.

You were stubbornly shushing the voice in the back of your skull, whispering about knowing precisely why you remained in your seat; about feeling less alone here, despite being a literal loner in a crowd.

You downed the rest of the bitter scotch, basking in the burn which it left on its way down your throat, your eyelids slipping shut in content, the noise in your brain falling silent completely for few blissful moments.

"Party of one?" a male voice gently asked, the tinniest note of teasing in it and while your heart skipped a startled beat at being addressed, you felt the burn in your throat slip lower, warming your chest and causing the corners of your mouth turn up just a fraction.