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A solid body sank down onto the bench beside him but Steve doesn’t bother looking up at the moment. He knew it was Sam. Somehow, he was always very aware of the man’s presence. And not only because he had learned to recognize the sound of his gait. Just like he knew without looking that Sam wasn’t really looking at him either. They just sat quietly side-by-side on the bench, facing the crashing waves and the setting sun. It was comfortable. Peaceful even.
“You good?” Sam asked casually, offering in that way he had to listen or not based solely on whether or not Steve wanted to talk.
Steve stared blankly at the notebook in his lap for a moment, considering the question. It wasn’t technically a sketchbook of any sort but it did what he needed it to do. Provided that simple escape that art had always allowed him. Finally, he just shrugged, “Getting there, I think.”
Sam nodded slowly, shifting on the bench, one ankle propped on the opposite knee, angling his body more towards Steve. His arm draped over the back and from the corner of his eye, Steve could tell that those familiar dark eyes were staring into the side of his head. He couldn’t help the small smirk that inched across his expression as he forced his own gaze to stay on the notebook.
“So you going to tell me what that was all about?”
“Nothing to tell,” Steve shrugged, letting his attention stray from his notebook only so far as to watch the sunset. It was pretty. Almost made him wish he had access to paints so he could attempt to recreate it.
“Uh huh,” Sam stared at him disbelieving. “You’re sticking to that line then?”
“Another line you’d rather I use?” Steve asked, tilting his head in question.
“Maybe,” Sam responded. “If you’re callin’ the truth a line, then yeah.”
“Is it so hard to believe that maybe I’m just genuinely not interested in that sort of thing?” Steve sighed in exasperation, finally turning his head to meet Sam’s curious one. “I don’t need some...fling to be decently comfortable with my life. Just getting a little tired of Nat trying to play matchmaker. Maybe I didn’t say it as politely as I should have but the point still stands.”
“I get that,” Sam shrugged but met his gaze head on. “But there’s more to it than that.”
Steve was quiet for a moment, distracted from the conversation by the way the bright orange glow of the sunset played against Sam’s dark skin. He swallowed heavily, knocked temporarily speechless by the sight. He might have to save the image in case he ever actually did get the opportunity to paint again. Though he knew without a doubt even the best media available wouldn’t have a hope of doing this justice.
“Steve?” Sam prompted, nudging him lightly, the hand across the back of the bench reaching to pushing against his shoulder. Steve immediately felt his face heat at being caught staring so blatantly. He was usually better at keeping himself in check. He dropped his gaze in embarrassment only for Sam to nudge his shoulder again. Reluctantly, Steve glanced up again in time to catch the smug smirk on the man’s face. “So that’s how it is?”
Steve swallowed nervously and shrugged, very aware of how the movement lifted his shoulder more firmly into Sam’s touch. “Yeah, maybe that’s how it is,” he managed with a shaky smile. He wondered for a brief moment why he hadn’t tried to deny it, but then again, this was Sam. Steve wasn’t pretty certain denial would have been equally as revealing as the truth.
“Huh,” Sam tilted his head in surprise. “Who’d have thought.”
“Yeah. Sorry,” Steve said, ducking his head and forcing his gaze back out to the notebook in his lap.
“Don’t think that really demands an apology but sure,” Sam countered. Steve hesitantly met his gaze, shoving down the urge to get caught up in the sight once again. Sam’s smirk softened into something else that Steve can’t bring himself to place until he registers the light pressure of Sam’s hand cupped against his shoulder, thumb idly stroking soothing swipes over the cotton sleeve of his t-shirt.
“Doesn’t it?” Steve asked. “I know--”
“Apparently you don’t know anything,” Sam interrupted firmly. “Do I look upset?”
“No,” Steve admitted.
“No,” Sam confirmed. “That’s ‘cause I’m not. We’re good, Steve.” Sam hesitated for a moment, eyeing Steve cautiously. “Might go as far as to say on same page, even.”
Steve’s mind stuttered to a stop as he stared uncomprehendingly at the other man, no longer distracted by the way the light played, instead thoroughly distracted by the man himself. A small smile worked its way onto his expression and he arched a brow in question, “Might, huh?”
“Oh yeah,” Sam nodded firmly. “No way it’s a definite thing. Nope. Come on, Rogers, what do you take me for?”
The response startled a laugh from Steve and he grinned, a weight leaving his shoulders when Sam grinned too. Steve tipped his head and shrugged, “Think I can live with ‘might’. For now.”
“For now? Planning on that changing are you?” Sam challenged.
“Wouldn’t be me if I left it at that,” Steve countered easily.
Sam nodded, conceding the point, “Better bring your all, man. No half-assed, hope for the best kinda shots.”
“Wouldn’t dream of anything less,” Steve responded, all joking fleeing his tone. Because, if he was honest, Sam always deserved his best because that’s what Sam always brought to everything he faced. Steve couldn’t bring himself to imagine offering anything less than everything. He owed Sam at least that much. Sam must’ve read something to that effect in his expression, Sam seemed to read him as clearly and easily as Natasha always had after all, because his eyes widened slightly in surprise and his features softened.
Silence fell between them but it wasn’t awkward. The sunset drifted from the bright orange to a medley of pinks and purples. Steve couldn’t help but acknowledge that even those colors looked delightfully brilliant as a backdrop for Sam. His opposite hand lifted to cover Sam’s at his shoulder. Sam’s hand tightened under his and Steve’s smile lingered even as his head met his pillow hours later.