Oneness
Steve was exhausted by the time he arrived to his dorm room. He opened the door and stripped off his jacket, throwing it haphazardly on his bed. He frowned when he saw you in your pyjamas, hiding under the blanket with a tub of ice cream. You were watching Scream on your laptop, but Steve knew you were not a big fan of horror movies.
“You’re back early,” he said.
“My date ditched me. So I bought ice cream and came back here,” you explained, half opening your eyes when Drew Barrymore’s parents found their daughter’s body hanging from a tree, her insides on the outside.
Lovely…
“Why are you watchin’ this?” he asked as he sat next to you on your bed.
“Because everytime Ghostface kills one of these kids, I picture Brock Rumlow’s stupid face,” you replied. When he cocked a brow at you, you shrugged. “It’s therapeutic.”
“I bet,” he teased, then nodded toward the tub of ice cream. “Can I have some?”
You held it protectively against your chest. “No, it’s mine.”
“Sharing is caring,” he replied, taking the spoon out of your hand. He scrunched up his nose after he wolfed down a spoonful of ice cream. “Ugh, vanilla.”
“Oh, please, it’s Madagascar Vanilla Bean Ice Cream,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’s the good stuff.”
Steve licked the spoon before saying, “the spicy vanilla?”
“Your nickname in high school,” you deadpanned.
You tried not to laugh, but the look on his face was priceless. A mix of affront and mortification all rolled up into one expression. Your laughter filled the small bedroom and Steve did his best to look annoyed. He snatched the tub of ice cream from your hands and playfully pushed your shoulder.
“I hate you.”
Giggling, you scooted closer to him. When all your attempts to catch his attention failed, you knew he was sulking. You childishly blew a raspberry at him and tried to jump out of bed.
“Nah, you’re not goin’ anywhere,” he said, slinging his arm over your shoulders and bringing you closer to him.
You didn’t protest. Instead, you wrapped your arm around his waist and rested your head on his chest. It had been a long day, you closed your eyes and let the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat lull you to sleep.
“Hey, peanut?” Steve pushed your hair out of your face. He felt more than heard the murmur of your voice. “Brock’s an ass. You’re better off without him.”
“I know,” you mumbled sleepily, nuzzling your face against his chest. “No one’s good enough.”
Steve chuckled at your answer, “Ah? Why’s that, peanut?”
“’Cause they’re not you,” you slurred before you fell asleep against his chest.
Steve went completely still. He looked down at your sleepy form, all curled up against him in your single bed, and smiled. There was nowhere else he’d rather be.