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The first time you interviewed Steve Rogers, he was all Boy Scouts and “thank you, ma’am”s.
He seemed almost childlike in his earnestness, and his uniform, with its bright, primary colors and too-clean white that only slightly outshone his sparkling smile, made him feel like someone you’d see at Disneyland. “Someone in PR thought the suit was a good idea,” he admitted to you sheepishly as you shook hands. “I don't typically wear it when I'm not on a mission.”
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The second time you interviewed Steve Rogers, it was much like the first. He smiled in recognition as you sat down across from him, and the expression grew into a grin when you commented that you preferred the crisp button-down shirt he was wearing to his uniform. “We got a new PR person,” he disclosed. “They wanted me to be more approachable, less fictional character.”
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The third time you interviewed Steve Rogers, he actually cracked a joke: “What’d you do to get stuck with this boring gig?” he asked with a laugh as he sat down. (He always stood up when you both entered or left the interview room.) “You must have terrible luck when drawing straws.” You chuckled, trying to play off the flush you felt at seeing the sparkle in his eye. You also tried not to think about the fact that the handshake seemed to last longer this time.
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The fourth time you interviewed Steve Rogers, he stepped in for a hug rather than a handshake. “We’re old friends at this point,” he teased. You worried that he heard your heart threatening to beat its way out of your chest. He was just so solid . And warm. And you couldn’t get over the fact that Captain America had just hugged you.
Talking to him was easier than ever, and before you knew it, your allotted interview time was up. You’d barely gotten through two of your official questions; it was too easy to go on tangents. Steve wasn’t much help, either, as he seemed more interested in talking about you than himself. He brushed off your attempts at steering the conversation back to the topic at hand every time. “What’s your favorite color?” (You said blue because you were looking at his eyes. That wasn’t actually the truth, but you couldn’t really explain your flub.) “Where are you from?” “What’s your favorite childhood memory?” “What’s the best book you’ve read recently?” “Have you ever walked over the Brooklyn Bridge at sunset?” “What’s your favorite food?” He apologized as you got up to leave, and he seemed almost sad that you had to go. “I don’t suppose you’d want to—,” he started to say, but stopped abruptly as the door opened and an assistant practically pulled you from the room. You looked back as the next reporter entered and tried to catch his eye, but he just shook his head slightly and greeted the man with a nod of his head.
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The fifth time you interviewed Steve Rogers, you spent more than an hour getting ready. You’d been shocked when he’d followed you on Instagram a week after your last interview. (His account name? @notcaptainamerica.) And you’d nearly thrown your phone across the room when he liked the photo of you in your Captain America costume from Halloween three years ago. You’d exchanged a few likes since, and the occasional DM when you got up the nerve to send him photos you’d thought he’d enjoy. (He “LOL”ed at the Captain America PSA meme.) You tried not to be obsessive about checking his account, but found yourself scrolling through it frequently before falling asleep at night. You didn’t think the many selfies with Thor were his idea, but they made you smile. And when he tagged you in a photo of a gorgeous sunset over the Brooklyn Bridge, you just stared at your phone for a good hour.
When you entered the interview room and he pulled you into a hug, you definitely felt it as his hands brushed down your back. “Good to see you,” he said, his voice a bit deeper than normal. “I, uh, like your beard,” you replied, immediately wishing that you could take it back. You sat and looked down at your notes, starting to ask a question when he interrupted: “Did you know that you’re the last interview of the day?” You looked up at him, not quite sure how to answer. He was smirking at you, which was a far cry from the innocent smile he’d given you the first time you’d met, and your breath caught in your throat. “I made sure of it.” He leaned in, pretending to adjust the leg of one of his jeans, and your body unconsciously responded in turn. “I hope that you don’t have any plans after this,” he whispered into your ear, his breath warm on your cheek, “I made reservations.” He flopped back into his chair with a look on his face that you couldn’t quite place, but sent your brain reeling into dangerous territory. You stammered through your questions, and he answered each of them graciously, the smirk never leaving his mouth. When your time was up, he rose as you did. “Just gotta grab my jacket,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind motorcycles.”
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The sixth time you interviewed Steve Rogers, he laughed as you sat across from him in his sunny kitchen. You were wearing a loose S.H.I.E.L.D. sweatshirt that you’d found in his closet, and he was making you breakfast. He was wearing old sweatpants that fit just tight enough in all the right places, and a white short-sleeved henley. You smiled as he passed a mug your way. “You know,” you said, “I kinda miss the uniform.” He grinned, turning to open the fridge and pull out some eggs. “It’s been known to make appearances … on special occasions.” He winked as he pulled a bowl out of the cabinet and laughed as you choked on the sip of coffee you’d just taken.