Avengers: Imagines

Lonely was your Friday night without your best friend. She was out of town for that weekend to see family, but she promised an eventful night out the next weekend.

You had completely forgotten, having gotten fully dressed, vivid lipstick and all.

You were currently sitting at your window sill, looking out the open window into the night sky. Brooklyn glimmered back at you as your pencil began to dance across your sketch pad. You could just see Van Gogh's "Starry Night" as you looked at the sky above. If you were high enough, and you squinted really hard, you could see the moon peaking out from beyond the city.

Below, you could see a small bench beside the street. As you watched, laughing couples, running night-shift workers, and the occasional simple pedestrian would pass that little bench. Everyone seemed too busy to even notice it, let alone pause to sit. It was quaint, yet stable, and seemed to be the most ordinary thing in the world. Still, for some unexplainable reason, you were compelled to watch it.

You gazed for what seemed like hours until you saw something peculiar.

A tall man in dirty slacks and dark hair was walking with a short, scrawny-looking guy with blond hair. They both were laughing about something before the blond pulled the other to sit on the bench. It was an odd sight, with the brunette sitting leisurely and gesturing vaguely with his hands across the bench back while the blond was sitting straight and rigidly, like he wasn't taught to sit any other way.

Before you knew it, you flipped the page on your sketch pad and began to trace the basic lines. You looked up repeatedly to watch them and make sure you captured the image exactly.

When you had finally gotten the work down for the most part, you noticed that the blond was repeatedly looking at his lap and then upwards. You narrowed your eyes and saw he had some type of book in his lap. A small smile appeared when you saw he was drawing something as well.

You finished your shading and simply stared down at the two boys, hoping to catch a glimpse of what the blond could have been drawing.

That's when you realized, he was looking up at you.

A deep blush settled on your cheeks when you made eye contact with him. He went still and dropped his pencil to the cement.

The taller one looked back and forth between the two of you, and then let out a roaring laughter. He slapped his knee a few times and even wiped a tear away.

"Sorry, Doll," he shouted up to you. "He gets carried away sometimes!"

He began to pull his friend away, and gave you a small salute as they continued walking out of your sight.

•••••

The next weekend you were sitting in your favorite diner, with a partially melted shake from over an hour ago. You were unconsciously swirling your straw with your finger as you daydreamed about your brother off in the war. He had left only a month ago, and your mother was worried sick. You wrote a letter every week, only to get three or four sentences back. He wasn't the best with words; he was the quietest person you've ever known-

Your eyes refocused on the figure across the diner. You froze and could only stare. It was the same guy that had been drawing you (and you had been drawing him) the week before. This time, he wasn't with his friend. He was sitting by himself, looking around nervously as the waitress paid him no attention.

It wasn't a busy night. Only a few scattered tables were filled and even then they were booths or small couple's tables. The overhead lights were dimmed and the streetlights were shedding small amounts of light into the small diner. The light cascaded down his features, making the shadows around his thin face more prominent. He looked solemn and worn, as if he had experienced a lot of pain or rejection. It sparked sadness in yourself. It wasn't pity, but empathy.

And right then, you cursed yourself for leaving your sketchbook at home.

Before you could think twice, you put on a bright smile and walked over to his table.

A look of shock passed over his face as you plopped down in the seat across from him.

"Hey there," you greeted with a puff of breath.

He resumed a composed expression and stared back at you.

"I noticed you sitting all alone and felt bad. I hope you don't mind if I join you."

His jaw was hanging before he shook his head no.

"Good."

The waitress came by with a couple slices of pizza and a drink before she strutted away.

Steve looked uncomfortably at you.

"Go ahead, I already ate."

You looked around the diner, simply looking at it from a different angle.

"So, why are you sitting alone?"

He let out a deep sigh after he had swallowed a bite.

"My friend set me up on another one of his 'infamous' dates, and she is over an hour late. Frankly, it's not new that someone has stood me up before."

"Aw, well, she's missing out." You turned back to him and found him smiling.

"So, what's your name, stranger?"

"Steve. Steve Rogers."

"Well, Steve, Steve Rogers, my name is (F/N) (L/N). Nice to o-fficially meet you." You put out your hand for him to shake. He hesitated before his clammy hand shook yours.

"So, are we going to talk about the other weekend or what-"

A deep blush rose in his cheeks.

"I-uh..."

"Just so ya know, I had sketched you first, so I get the rights to your picture."

If his face wasn't red before, it sure was now. He attempted to ease himself by taking a large gulp of his drink.

He shook his head vigorously.
"Y-you really don't want to see it."

You noticed his arm tighten ever so slightly around a sketchbook in his lap.

"I really think I do."
"No, you really don't."

You found yourself ginning.

"What, is it bad?"
"Not necessarily."
"Are you a beginner? It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"No, I've been sketching for a while."

Your eyes widened and your mouth made a little 'o' shape.
And then, you smirked.

"Is it dirty?"

The face he made was priceless. He looked like he was about to faint.

"H-heavens no. My mother would kill me from the grave."

You dropped your smirk and looked down at your hands.

"Can I please see it? Pretty please?"
You looked up through your lashes at him, giving him the best puppy eyes you could muster.

He hesitantly shook his head no.

And then, you took it.

He protested profusely, but you had already flipped it to the marked page.

A gasp escaped your lips.

You looked practically angelic from your window sill. You were caught in a dreamy look, and you could see a glimmer in your distant eyes. The image was shaded brilliantly, making shadows swirl and light pop out. You looked as if you had a spotlight shining down on you and your pinned-up hair.

The whole picture was black and white, except for one thing: your lips.

They were the same cherry red as they were that night and the same shade they were as you looked down at the incredible drawing.

"It's beautiful," you breathed.

"I couldn't help it. I usually keep most sketches black and white, but your lips were a main focus point to center it."

He was an amazing artist; he really knew how to portray ordinary things in a truly remarkable way.

"Do you take classes?" You kept your eyes to the paper.
"No."
"Really? You're just this good?"
"I had to teach myself."
"How often do you sketch?"
"It's a hobby."
"But we both know you could get some sort of pay for it."
"I don't choose to."

"Why me?"
Silence.
"What?"
You finally looked up at him.

"Why did you sketch me?"
"Because you were just there looking all beautiful and I had been previously talking to my friend about how sketching wasn't a stupid thing and that inspiration was everywhere. He didn't believe me, so I pulled him down to see me sketch you. It was actually kind of ironic how you had been right there-"
"Wait, wait, wait. Hold on, you thought I was beautiful?"

He froze before he shrugged.
"Well, yeah, kinda."

"How sweet," you cooed.

The clock over the counter chimed ten times. You both turned to see the waitress giving you a dirty look. The diner was empty except for the two of you and the diner staff.

Steve handed the waitress some cash before he turned to you.

"I'll walk you home if you want."
You nodded with a bright smile.

You hooked your arm through his as you handed back his sketchbook.

He looked apprehensive, but he followed your lead anyway.

Whatta gentleman, you thought.

You both talked and laughed about art techniques, inspirations, idols, friends, family, love, war, and life. (It was a long walk.)

"Well, this is my stop."

You tucked a wisp of stray hair behind your ear.

He was only staring back at you with shadowed eyes, each holding a mysterious glimmer.

After a pregnant pause, you turned to step into your building.
"G-goodbye, Steve. See you around.
You heard his calm voice.
"Y-yeah, see you around."

You entered your building and walked up to your apartment on the fourth floor. You stopped just as you opened your door. Immediately whipping around, you raced down the stairs and out into the small drizzle that had just started. You called his name from down the block.

In the distance, he turned back. You ran to him, excitement building with every step. You slowed just before you met him. The rain had picked up some as you stood panting in front of him.

The funny thing was, he made the first move.

He leaned in and met you with a timid and unsure kiss. You matched him and took charge. It was only six seconds, but it was enough to send shivers down your spine. His eyes were still closed when you pulled away. You smiled as you ran back to your building. Watching from the window, you could see him slowly open his eyes.

Steve saw you had disappeared.

Maybe it was some wonderful dream, he thought.

He then caught the reflection of himself in the store window.

His mouth was red.
Cherry red.

He then began to skip away, attempting to whistle through the water dripping from his lips.

She was the most beautiful muse in the world....

And you both met in the park the next day.