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It’s a beautiful morning, not too early for the streets to be deserted, not too late for them to be crowded. The sun high enough to light the day but not high enough to make itself seen over the city buildings, or to take the crispness out of the air. Steve takes a blissful deep breath. It doesn’t compare to the first breath of fresh air he took before dawn, when he stepped outside to run, but he prefers this. It doesn’t remind him of the ice.
At the rate his metabolism goes, it’s hard for Steve to even be cold, which is nice. But as he exhales his breath and watches the fog of it dissipate, he can almost feel the gentle nip of the day. Before this body, he certainly would’ve. He wouldn’t have called it a gentle nip, for one. And he would’ve caught something, a cough, maybe, from a morning like this. Something that’s not quite a shiver runs down his spine, and instead of making his bones ache and his lungs hesitate, it just makes him feel fresh. He’s feeling chipper, maybe even like he doesn’t need a cup of coffee.
But then again, he’s a man of routine. “A large black coffee, two extra shots, please ma’am,” he requests of the barista even though he knows they both know his order.
“Sure thing, Captain Rogers.” A couple of months ago, when he’d started coming here, they might’ve tittered something swell. Ooooh, oh wow! Is that Captain America? Wonder what he’s doing around here. He really is easy on the eyes. Just give him his coffee, you dumbass, don’t make him late for his… Captain-ing. But now they were comfortable around him, or at least a little closer to it, even though for the life of him he couldn’t seem to just get them to call him Steve.
“And here we are! That’ll be two fifty-six, cap.”
Steve sticks out his hands with a bunch of crumpled ones. He’s been through this exchange enough times that he doesn't have to ask them to-
“Keep the change?” asked the barista, smiling.
Steve nods. “Keep the change.”
“Have a nice day, Captain Rogers.”
“Ma’am, you know you can call me Steve.”
“I know. Now, shoo! Before I try to give you a muffin. I have a line.”
Steve's still not sure if New Yorkers have gotten friendlier, or if they just want to please Captain America, but hell, he’ll take it. (Although he sure hopes it’s the first one - he’s not exactly the guy for all that fame stuff.) He stuffs his wallet away, adjusts the book he's been carrying under his arm this whole time, picks up his drink, and walks out.
With the sounds and sights of the city splayed out in front of him, he tries to discern with his fancy super senses if it’s any warmer than it’d been two minutes ago. He purses his lips, considering. Nope, he can’t tell. Shrug. The coffee'll keep his hands warm enough, anyway. Not like it’ll get colder as the morning grows later. (It will through the season, though. Have to find somewhere indoors for the winter. Maybe just stay at the café.)
Steve makes his way down the street, giving a couple small smile-and-nods to people who obviously recognize him. He’s never quite anonymous, but if he keeps his head down and his feet moving, more people fail to see him. Anyone who does, the crowd shields him from any meet-and-greet moments by simply getting in the way.
Finally, he arrives at the park. There’s no playground but a couple of scraggly trees, too small to hold much of anything. No joggers, since its closed in on three sides. Just a small square of green between the buildings. As quiet a place as you can get in a city. And there's never anyone else on the bench near the back. It’s one of his favourite places.
Today his seat is covered it a layer of cold dew, a few late fall leaves stuck by the moisture. He wipes away what he can off half the bench with his hand, and then wipes his hand dry on his trousers. Sitting down, he pulls his leg up for a makeshift drawing surface. He opens his sketchbook, flipping around a bit. He hesitates over a few different pages, looking to his own art and then at the chill world around him for inspiration.
He flips to the last used page, covered in another sketch, but, always economical, there’s still room for today - he puts pencil to paper.