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It was one AM, and all Steve wanted was some goddamn peace and quiet. Nat and Sam had been pestering him the whole way back, asking if he was ok. And he was, he really was.The mission hadn’t been particularly strenuous, but when it was the 8th one in the past two weeks… yeah. He just needed some time.
He barely glanced at Sam, Nat, and Bucky as they all trudged back into the building. They were all exhausted—saying goodnight would have simply taken too much energy. With no major injuries and no debriefings until the morning, bed was the only thing on everyone’s mind.
At least, that’s what Steve thought where his night—morning?—would finally end. Showered, in his PJs, and falling onto his nice cushy memory foam mattress that was the eighth wonder of the world, as far as he was concerned.
But now, two hours later, any hopes he had of a restful night had been dashed by his mind’s refusal to quiet. He lay awake, scenes of violence from the past week playing on loop in his head. A massive sigh forced its way from his chest as he stood up, resigning himself to the fact that sleep might not be in the cards tonight.
It’s not that these nights were uncommon for Steve. He usually found himself unable to sleep at least once a week—or at least enough that he’d established a routine. First, slip on a shirt and some thin socks with his loose lounge pants. Second, make his way to the kitchen to brew a cup of that nice, soothing herbal tea Bucky had introduced him to. Finally, creep down the hall to the tower’s always-empty library, sneak his pencils and sketchbook from their hiding spot and sketch until his hand hurt and his eyes refused to stay open.
It was a tried and true method. It might take hours, it might take minutes. But sleep would come as long as he followed those three simple steps.
Which is why he was rather taken aback to see Y/N in the library at three AM, throwing a wrench in step three.
To be fair, the fact that she was there wasn’t exactly what surprised him. It was more the fact that she had set up a canopy of blankets against one bookshelf complete with white fairy lights, under which she was nestled into more pillows and blankets than he thought existed in the whole tower. He could barely see her head poking out over the top of a book, and he’d like to think the shock of seeing her pop her head up like a prairie dog was the reason for his slack jaw and dumbfounded look (it wasn’t because she looked so adorably cute all wrapped up in softness under the glow of the lights, no sir).
“It’s 3am, Y/N! What could you possibly be doing at this hour?” he blurted, his exhaustion speaking for him.
Steve winced when she jumped, obviously too engrossed in her book to have noticed his presence. When she realized it was just him, though, she quirked an eyebrow and slowly set down the book. “Not sleeping, obviously. What are you doing up at this hour, Steven?” she retorted.
Her teasing tone made Steve feel even more ridiculous, and he ducked his head to hide his blush. “Not sleeping, obviously,” he muttered as he brushed his bangs off of his forehead, eyes firmly trained on the ground and clutching the warm mug of tea in his free hand a bit tighter than necessary.
A giggle burst out of her, and Steve looked up and offered a small smile in return. Indicating his favorite chair with his mug as a way of explanation, he shuffled over to it, grabbing a random book off the shelf on his way. She didn’t need to know about his sketching. Especially when more often than not it was her eyes, her smile that came to life on the pages.
Steve shifted uncomfortably in the chair and tried to get into this book on… horticulture? Cross-breeding plants? Fuck, this was bad. Resigned to his fate of sitting awkwardly—he couldn’t LEAVE, he just got there for chrissakes—he set the book aside and grabbed his mug of tea, sipping it while staring at the ceiling.
A soft voice broke the silence, jarring him out of his thoughts. “Y’know, you can come sit with me if you like.”
A glance in her direction revealed that she had already moved to one side of her nest, and was looking at him expectantly. “It’s really cozy, and I’ll only charge you a sip of your tea as an entry fee,” she said as she patted the empty space next to her.
With an offer like that, and the possibility to be next to her, he would be an idiot to say no.
Turns out, step three of Steve’s foolproof “how to fall asleep” plan was flexible. Sometimes it involved sketching. And sometimes, it could be sitting in a blanket fort at 3am with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
As they stayed awake, sharing a blanket and talking about everything and nothing at all, Steve felt more relaxed than he had in ages. Before he knew it, he was sinking further into the pillows, lying on his side with her mirroring his position, the conversation occasionally slipping into comfortable silence.
After a long pause, he told her why he was awake. How he couldn’t quiet his mind sometimes after missions. How even if he could sleep, sometimes the dreams were worse than reality. He confessed it sheepishly, a bit embarrassed and unable to meet her eyes. He was Captain America. The nation’s hero. What if she thought he was weak?
And she had reacted with kindness—although why he expected anything else he couldn’t say. She was softness and goodness and light personified, so of course she would squeeze his hand in both of hers, look into his eyes, and say with more earnestness than he had ever heard from any of his therapists that it was ok. That everyone had their demons, and that if he ever needed someone he could wake her up at any time of the day or night.
Another silence followed as he processed what she had just said, fighting to keep tears coming to his eyes. After all Steve Rogers had done, he was certain he didn’t deserve such care and affection.
So lost in his own musings, he almost missed her whispered words that made his heart stop. Or maybe it sped up, he couldn’t say for sure. All he knew was that he felt utterly amazed and just a touch guilty when she revealed that she had been awake because she couldn’t sleep when they were on missions without her—no, when he was on missions without her. That she worried about him, his safety, if she’d see him back healthy and whole in the morning. How it killed her to not be there, to not see firsthand that someone had his back in the field.
He gently cupped her face with his free hand—she still hadn’t let go of his other, and he wasn’t about to remove his hand from hers—and ghosted his thumb over her cheekbone as he promised her that he’d always come back if she’d always be here waiting for him. She smiled contentedly, swearing she would be, that haze in between sleep and wakefulness preventing either of them from realizing just how much the other meant every word of their promises.
When the sun started to peek over the horizon, coloring the library with warm dawn light, Steve finally felt himself falling into sweet sleep for good. Her breathing evened out beside him, fanning softly over his cheek. Before they were both lost to slumber and dreams better than reality, he kissed her forehead and whispered sweet nothings neither would remember in the morning.
It was Sam who found them still tangled together the next morning. Her head on Steve’s chest, and his arms wrapped protectively around her. The snap of a camera woke neither of them, and neither did the muffled “awws” and giggles that ensued when Bucky joined Sam a minute later. A few moments later, Steve’s phone—lying forgotten in his room—would ping with a barrage of photos and teasing messages.
When the couple finally woke, it was to soft good mornings and horrible breath, and confessions of affections long hidden away for fear of them being unreturned. As they left the solitude of the library, it was with the promise of something new, something wonderful, something perfect.