Who Am I? » [Stucky]

188. Plans and Pressure

“What do you think?” Steve gave a camp twirl in his newly tailored suit. He struck a few poses, giving the over the shoulder smoulder and placing his hands heroically on his hips. He was like a supermodel his sultry strutting and sashaying stances.

“What do you want me to say?” Sam mumbled, slouching on the sofa in the suit emporium, drowsy from ours of slobbing about staring aimlessly at clothing.

“I want you to tell me what you think...” Steve repeated, twiddling with the posh button of the uncreased white blazer and fiddling with his Tiffany & Co. cufflinks. He admired himself in the mirror, pedantically picking out qualms with how the suit formed to his figure and decorative features he disliked.

“It’s a suit...” Sam commented plainly, staring blankly at Steve. He was wholesomely unimpressed.

Steve pulled an incredulous face, looked down at himself and back up at Sam with equal amazement. “Golly, someone get Sam Wilson a MacArthur genius grant! He can recognise a suit!”

Natasha cocked her head at the bewildered blond, way out of his depth with retail and weddings and a gave a twitch of a disheartened smile.

“I like it,” Clint said feebly, nodding convincingly, deceitfully fooling the whole entourage into thinking he truly had an opinion. He was engrossed in fantasies of escaping the stuffy shop full of snooping women, trying to wrangle a ticket to Captain America’s wedding.

“What do you like about it?” Steve asked, turning to the one decisive member of his three-person party.

“That...” Clint’s eyes widened as he tried to stay afloat, but he’d got himself tied up in a web of lies. “That... Where to start?” He shuffled upright in the sofa. “I like that its white-“

Steve gave a heavy-hearted groan of frustration, leaning wearily against the door of the fitting room. “Look, I know it’s been a long day-“

“And we’ve visited seven stores,” Clint complained, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Eight,” Sam corrected, swaying into the master archer and being shoved reluctantly back.

“And we’ve visited eight stores,” Steve acknowledged with a small nod of apology to his exhausted friends. “But this is my big day... I want everything to be perfect! I want to look perfect! I don’t want to get to the end of the aisle and have Bucky laugh at me or decided that he doesn’t want to marry me because I look stupid or-“

Natasha scoffed at his panic, endeared by the small tiff he was throwing. “Steven Grant Rogers, James Buchanan Barnes will love you no matter what. He saved you when he didn’t know you, he loved you when it wasn’t requited, he loved you when he’d thought you’d died. He loved you when you were kids, when you were a tiny anaemic adult and when you became Captain America... I’m pretty sure a highly attractive suit on an attractive man won’t send him running for the hills,” Natasha concluded, quirking an eyebrow at the flustered mountain of man, with his flushed cheeks.

Steve was sweltering in his suit with anxiety, his eyes glazed with tears.

“Just give me the name of the designer and I’ll stick with it... I can’t deal with this anymore,” he whispered in a voice overwhelmed with stress, he was in way above his head. “Gucci, which is the suspenders, Prada with the waistcoat or the Hugo Boss which is just the suit...” He demanded, unbuttoning the front of the dapper clothing.

“Gucci,” Natasha said simply. “It’s old fashioned, so are suspenders, a little like the pair of you,” she divulged, the sentiment perfect.

“Thank you, Natasha!” The blond cried. He rushed over, pressed a chaste kiss to her temple and rushed back into the changing booth with the shirt already hanging undone. The scrape of the metal hoops on the curtain pole was a cue the rest easy for all of them. “Oh and Sam?!” Steve squawked, voice sounding nasally and shrill limited to the cubical.