✧ Chapter 19 | Afterlight
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warnings in this chapter ⧽ romantic intimacy, kissing, references to past heartbreak, discussion of grief and moving on, mild sexual tension, implied overnight stay, food and alcohol, protective behavior, emotional vulnerability, fluff.
Author is a non-native English speaker, so please be gentle.
Steve
I arrived at Y/N’s house five minutes before the agreed time. It was not early enough to justify remaining inside the car.
That was exactly what I did.
I looked at the clock on the dashboard for the third time, even though the numbers had not changed enough to make checking necessary.
The lights inside the house were on, and through one of the windows, I could see movement behind the curtains.
I had entered enemy bases with less anxiety.
It should not have felt so different. I had already shared a house with Y/N, slept beside her, and spent weeks pretending to be her husband.
The previous night, she had told me she loved me. Only hours earlier, I had woken up to find her wearing my shirt while attempting to make breakfast.
Even so, this felt more serious.
It was the first time I was picking her up for a date that was not part of a false identity. There were no hidden cameras, communicators, or invented stories we needed to maintain. It would only be the two of us.
I got out of the car before I could find any more reasons to wait and walked toward the door.
I rang the bell and heard footsteps on the other side before the door opened.
Y/N appeared barefoot, wearing a dark robe tied around her waist.
Her hair was still partially pinned up, and she held an earring between her fingers.
Her eyes briefly moved down my body before returning to my face. “You’re early.”
I looked at my watch. “Four minutes.”
“Exactly.”
“I can wait in the car.”
She stepped away from the door. “Don’t be ridiculous. Come inside.”
I walked past her, and Y/N closed the door behind me.
“I only need a few minutes,” she said, walking toward the stairs. “Try not to judge the mess.”
I looked around. The living room was perfectly organized. “What mess?”
“Don’t look for it.” She disappeared upstairs before I could answer.
I remained standing in the middle of the living room for several seconds, listening to her footsteps move across the upper floor.
I knew Y/N’s rooms at the compound, but this house was different. Her space at the Tower felt temporary, as though she could pack everything she owned into a few boxes and disappear before anyone noticed.
The house in Queens carried signs that she had attempted to build something permanent. A blanket was folded over the arm of the couch. books had been stacked beneath a side table, a partially burned candle stood near the window. Photographs occupied one of the shelves.
I moved closer.
In the first photograph, Y/N stood between Natasha and Clint, holding a glass of champagne while both of them appeared to be laughing at something outside the frame. In another, Wanda hugged her from behind, resting her face against Y/N’s shoulder.
There was a photograph of Bruce and Tony in the laboratory, apparently in the middle of an argument, and another of the entire team in front of the Tower.
Y/N was not looking at the camera in any of them. She was always watching someone else.
I moved to the next photograph.
It was older.
Y/N looked younger, her hair different and her smile less guarded. I did not recognize the people around her.
There were entire parts of her life I did not know and the realization did not bother me. It made me want to ask about every photograph, every object, and every small memory she had chosen to keep.
I stepped away from the shelf and observed the rest of the room.
The house felt comfortable, but nothing had been positioned by accident. The curtains allowed a clear view of the street without leaving the inside completely exposed.
No furniture blocked the path toward the back door. There was a small wooden box on a table near the couch, and from the way it had been positioned, I suspected it concealed a weapon.
The house resembled her. Beautiful without attempting to look delicate, warm without ever completely lowering its guard.
An object on the mantel caught my attention. It was a small ceramic piece we had purchased in Florence.
I remembered her holding it inside the store and saying it would look good in the kitchen of the house where we pretended to live. I had assumed she left everything behind when the mission ended.
Y/N had brought it home.
I heard her footsteps on the stairs and turned around.
For several seconds, I completely forgot what I had intended to say.
Y/N walked down the final steps wearing a pale blue satin dress.
The fabric followed the shape of her body without appearing overly formal and ended below her knees. The thin straps left her shoulders exposed, and the heeled sandals made her legs seem even longer.
Her hair fell over her shoulders.
I had already seen her wearing far more elaborate dresses.
In Florence, she had entered rooms filled with powerful people and made everyone turn in her direction, but this was different. There was no false identity behind the dress.
She had not prepared herself to convince Voss, deceive guests, or maintain the image of a loving wife.
She had chosen that outfit to go out with me.
Y/N stopped on the final step. “Are you going to keep staring at me?”
I opened my mouth, but no response appeared immediately. A smile began forming on her face. “Steve?”
“I’m trying to remember how to form a complete sentence.”
She stepped down and approached me. “Is it that bad?”
“You look beautiful.”
“That was a complete sentence.”
“It was the best I could manage.”
Y/N smiled, and some of the tension I had carried since parking in front of her house disappeared. She picked up a small purse from the table. “Ready?”
I extended my hand. “I am now.”
Her fingers intertwined with mine.
During the first few minutes of the drive, Y/N controlled the music.
She connected her phone to the car before I had even left the street and began moving through a playlist that seemed to follow no logic.
A modern song was followed by one recorded decades before I was born, and then by something Tony would probably play at a party simply to irritate the neighbors.
Y/N increased the volume. “Do you know this one?”
“No.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“Why did you ask?”
“I wanted confirmation.”
I glanced at her. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Very much.” She changed the song again.
“I know this one,” I said.
Y/N turned toward me. “It’s from 1941.”
“That explains it.”
She laughed and rested her head against the seat.
Late-afternoon light passed through the windshield and struck her dress, making the blue appear lighter whenever she moved.
I kept one hand on the steering wheel and rested the other on her leg.
Y/N looked at my hand and then at me. She did not say anything. She only placed her own hand over mine and intertwined our fingers.
We remained like that for several miles.
“So you really remembered the restaurant,” she said after a while.
“I did.”
“We invented that story in a few minutes.”
“I know.”
“And you remembered the name.”
“I remember almost everything you say.”
Y/N turned fully toward me. “That sounds dangerous.”
“For me, it usually is.”
She squeezed my fingers.
The drive took almost four hours, but it did not feel long.
We talked about things that would never have had space during a mission. Y/N discovered that I still preferred plain coffee without sugar, despite Tony insisting on purchasing machines that offered more options than anyone needed.
I discovered that she hated olives. She told me about a trip she had taken before joining the Avengers and how she had missed a flight because she fell asleep at the airport.
I told her about the first time Bucky attempted to teach me to drive and nearly sent us through the front window of a pharmacy.
“So you were always bad at it,” she concluded.
“I wasn’t driving.”
“Details.”
At some point, we started discussing movies. Y/N became offended when she discovered how many I had not watched.
“You’ve never seen Jurassic Park?”
“No.”
“Steve.” She picked up her phone and began typing.
“What are you doing?”
“Making a list.”
“Of what?”
“Movies you need to watch.”
“That sounds like a long list.”
“It’s already at thirty-two.”
“You started less than a minute ago.”
“You’ve wasted a lot of time.”
I looked at her. “Maybe I was busy.”
Y/N raised her eyes from the phone and met mine. Her playful expression softened. “Are you busy now?”
“I’m exactly where I want to be.”
She did not answer, but she did not look away until I needed to return my attention to the road.
The restaurant was exactly as I remembered the description we had invented.
It was small, with only a few tables and warm lights hanging above them. The walls were exposed brick, and the music was quiet enough for conversations to blend together without any becoming too loud.
Y/N studied the dining room while an employee led us toward a table near the window. “You really researched it.”
“I wanted to make sure it existed.”
“And if it didn’t?”
“I would have found another one.”
She sat across from me. “You thought of everything.”
“Not everything.”
“Almost everything.”
I did not respond. She was probably right.
During dinner, we spoke about small things. Y/N asked what my favorite food had been when I was a child.
When I answered that anything my mother managed to place on the table had seemed good enough, she narrowed her eyes and said that did not count as an answer.
I thought for several seconds.
“Apple pie.”
“Really?”
“My mother made it whenever she could find enough sugar.”
“So you like apple pie.”
“I do.”
“How did I not know that?”
“You never asked.”
She rested her arms on the table. “What is your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
Y/N looked down at her dress. “Convenient.”
“It was blue before you appeared wearing that.”
I asked what song she listened to when she was alone. She refused to answer for nearly ten minutes before admitting the name of a song I never would have associated with her.
“Don’t laugh,” she warned.
“I’m not laughing.”
“You’re thinking about laughing.”
“Maybe.”
She kicked my leg beneath the table.
I discovered that Y/N disliked sleeping with doors open, always read the final page of a book before starting it, and kept tickets, cards, and small pieces of paper from important places.
The questions appeared in the middle of stories without any particular order. At one point, I realized Y/N was not watching the door.
She leaned over the table, telling me about an argument between her and Natasha that had ended with both of them being thrown out of a hotel in Prague.
Her shoulders were relaxed. Her eyes shone as she attempted to explain why it had been entirely Natasha’s fault.
I did not believe her and I did not care either.
I liked seeing her like that. Without tension in her jaw, without her arms crossed like a barrier, without the need to calculate every person around her, only Y/N, laughing in front of me while gesturing with a fork.
I wanted to see her that way more often.
After dinner, we walked through the streets of Georgetown.
The air was cooler, and Y/N held my arm while looking into store windows. We passed cafés, small shops, and restaurants that were still crowded.
She stopped in front of an antique store. “Can we go inside?”
“Of course.”
The interior was narrow and smelled of wood, old paper, and dust. Records had been organized into boxes, books were stacked along shelves, small objects were displayed inside glass cabinets.
Y/N immediately walked toward the books.
I moved through the aisles, looking at objects that seemed to have survived more decades than I had. An old radio occupied one of the shelves and beside it stood a camera similar to the one Bucky used to borrow from a neighbor to photograph girls at Coney Island.
The memories came without the weight they usually carried.
I did not feel the desire to return. I only smiled at the memory of Bucky insisting that he knew exactly how to use the camera, even though almost every photograph came out blurred.
I approached a small display near the register.
Among brooches, watches, and chains was a silver necklace with a star-shaped pendant.
It was simple. Small enough to wear every day, with softly rounded points and slightly aged metal.
I thought of Y/N immediately. Not because she was delicate like the object, because even when dozens of people surrounded us, my eyes always found her.
I looked toward the books.
She was distracted, running her fingers along their spines.
I asked the employee to remove the necklace from the case and purchased it before I could think too much, placing the small box inside my jacket pocket.
When I approached Y/N again, she held a record in her hands.
“You took a long time.”
“I was looking around.”
“Did you buy something?”
“No.”
She held my hand while we left the store.
On the drive back, I left the main route. Y/N noticed after only a few minutes.
“We’re going the wrong way.”
“I know.”
She looked at the map on the dashboard. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”
“Trust me.”
“Those words never end well.”
“You got into the car with me.”
“That was before I realized I was being kidnapped.”
I continued driving. “You’re very calm for a victim.”
“I’m wearing heels. Running would be inconvenient.”
The road became narrower and surrounded by trees. A few minutes later, we reached an elevated area away from the busier streets.
The parking lot was empty. The lights of the city spread below us, interrupted by trees and darkness.
I parked. Y/N looked through the window. “You planned this too?”
“Maybe.”
“Did you plan every minute of the evening?”
“Not every minute.”
She laughed and opened the door.
We left the car and walked toward the railing. The wind was colder at that height, and Y/N rubbed her hands over her arms.
I removed my jacket.
“I’m not cold,” she said.
I placed it over her shoulders anyway. “Of course.”
She held the lapels and pulled the fabric closer around her body. “Bossy.”
I stopped beside her and for several minutes, we remained silent, looking at the lights.
Y/N rested her shoulder against mine. “It’s strange.”
“What is?”
“Being with you without someone listening through a communicator.”
“I can call Stark if you miss it.”
She laughed. “I would rather enjoy this while he isn’t paying attention.”
“He probably is.”
“Don’t ruin the moment.”
Y/N briefly rested her head against my shoulder. The wind moved through her hair, carrying several strands across her face.
“I like this,” she said.
“The view?”
She raised her eyes toward me. “Us like this.”
I turned toward her. For a moment, I only studied her face. Distant light touched part of her skin while the rest remained hidden in shadow.
My jacket rested over her shoulders, and the blue satin showed between the lapels. I moved the strand of hair from her face.
My fingers slid behind her ear and settled against the curve between her jaw and neck. My thumb slowly moved over her cheek.
Y/N did not pull away. She leaned into my hand.
Part of me was still learning that I could touch her like that. For weeks, I had measured every movement around her. I had remained distant when everything inside me wanted to cross the space between us.
I had feared that any attempt to approach her would be enough to make her disappear again. Now, her fingers closed around the front of my shirt.
I lowered my face and kissed her.
The first touch of her lips was slow. There was none of the urgency of the previous night, when weeks of anger, desire, and longing had exploded between us. I did not need to convince her to stay or find the right words before she walked through another door.
I could simply kiss her.
I kept my hand steady between her ear and neck, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers. My other hand found her waist and brought her closer.
Y/N released a soft breath against my mouth. Her fingers tightened around my shirt, and I deepened the kiss.
My lips moved slowly over hers, extending every contact. I tilted my face and felt her mouth open beneath mine. My tongue met hers without urgency.
Y/N moved one hand to the back of my neck, her fingers entering my hair while her body settled against mine. I tightened my hand around her waist, eliminating the final space between us.
The wind continued moving around us, but I barely felt it. There was only her breathing mixed with mine.
The taste of her lips. The way her face fit against my hand.
During the weeks we spent apart, I had imagined that moment so many times that it should have felt familiar.
It did not. It was better, because she was there by choice and because when I interrupted the kiss for a second, Y/N pulled me back.
I kissed her again, more slowly.
My thumb continued caressing her cheek while her lips moved over mine, as though she also wanted to prolong every second.
When we separated, I did not release her face.
I kept my forehead against hers and breathed against her mouth. “I like us like this too,” I murmured.
Y/N opened her eyes. Her smile appeared slowly. “You’re getting good at this.”
“At what?”
“Saying the right thing.”
“I didn’t know there was a test.”
“There’s a test for everything.”
“Am I passing?”
She leaned forward and touched my lips once more. “For now.”
During the drive back, Y/N attempted to continue talking. For the first forty minutes, she still commented on the songs and added more movies to the list she had started.
Then her answers became shorter. At one point, I asked a question and received no response.
I glanced toward her. She had fallen asleep.
Her head rested against the window, and one hand remained over her leg. My jacket still covered her shoulders.
I lowered the volume of the music. The road lights passed through the car at intervals, illuminating her face before disappearing again.
The blue fabric moved with the calm rhythm of her breathing.
During the weeks we had been apart, I learned that someone’s absence did not require an empty room. Y/N could be only a few feet away and still seem unreachable.
I recognized her footsteps in the Tower’s hallways. I knew when she entered the gym and noticed when she left a room, even without looking toward her.
Part of me always remained aware of where she was. The other part attempted to pretend it did not matter.
I respected the space she had requested, but there had not been a single day when I did not miss her.
At night, I drew her.
Paper was the only place where I could watch her for as long as I wanted without asking anything from her.
I drew the expressions I remembered, the way she tied her hair, and the curve of her smile when she forgot someone might be watching. There were moments when I believed Florence would be the only life we ever had together.
That our final kiss had already happened. That I had understood my feelings too late and no explanation would ever be enough to recover what I had lost.
Now Y/N slept beside me. Her face was relaxed, without the distance she had carried during those weeks.
She trusted me enough to close her eyes and allow me to take her home.
I extended my hand and touched her fingers. She did not wake. I intertwined our hands and continued driving. For the first time in weeks, I did not need to imagine what it would be like to have her back.
She was there.
When I parked in front of her house, I remained still for several seconds. Y/N continued sleeping, her face partially hidden by her hair.
My jacket had slipped from one shoulder, revealing the thin strap of her dress. I did not want to wake her. I also did not want the night to end.
I brushed my thumb over the back of her hand. “Y/N.”
She moved and slowly opened her eyes.
It took several seconds for her to recognize the street. “Are we here?”
“We are.”
Y/N sat upright and ran a hand through her hair. “Did I sleep long?”
“A little.”
She looked down at our still-intertwined hands and smiled.
I got out of the car and walked around to open the door for her. Y/N held my hand as we climbed the few steps toward the entrance.
In front of the door, she opened her purse and began searching for the keys. I should have said good night.
Instead, I continued watching her, trying to find some way to extend the moment.
“I had a wonderful time,” I said.
Y/N raised her eyes. “So did I.” She found the keys but did not place them in the lock.
“Actually,” I continued, “I think it was the best date I’ve ever had.”
Her smile widened. “How many dates have you been on, Rogers?”
“Enough to know.”
Y/N tilted her head, studying my face as though trying to determine whether I was exaggerating.
I was not. The evening had not been perfect because everything happened exactly as I had planned.
Some of the songs had been terrible. Y/N had nearly knocked over a wineglass at the restaurant and spent part of the drive arguing with me about dinosaurs.
It was the best date I had ever had because it was with her. Y/N placed the key in the lock.
“Wait.”
She turned around.
I removed the small box from my pocket.
Her expression immediately changed.
I handed it to her. Y/N opened it and became silent when she saw the necklace.
The small star reflected the light above the door. She moved one fingertip over the pendant. “Steve…”
“I saw it in the store and thought of you.”
Her eyes returned to mine. “Because of the star?”
“It seemed like something you would wear.”
Y/N removed the necklace from the box and held the ends of the chain.“Can you put it on me?”
I nodded.
She turned around and moved her hair to one side, exposing the back of her neck. I placed the chain around her neck.
My fingers brushed her skin while I attempted to fasten the clasp.
Y/N remained completely still.
When I finished, I did not immediately move my hands away. I passed my fingers along the side of her neck before stepping back. Y/N touched the pendant against her chest and turned around. The small star rested against the pale blue satin.
“How does it look?”
I looked at the necklace. Then at her. “Perfect.”
Y/N raised one eyebrow. “The necklace?”
“That too.”
She smiled and gripped the front of my shirt.
Her kiss was gentle at first, only a lingering touch of her lips against mine. I placed one hand around her waist and pulled her closer.
The kiss continued.
When we separated, Y/N still held my shirt between her fingers. I brushed my thumb along the side of her face.
“Good night,” I said. The words felt wrong the moment they left my mouth.
Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re leaving?”
“I thought I should.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to do this properly.”
She studied my face for several seconds and then opened the door. “You picked me up, took me to dinner, bought me a necklace, and walked me to the door. I think you completed all the traditional steps.”
I moved slightly closer. “And now?”
Y/N crossed the entrance without releasing my hand. “Now you come inside.”
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