Hug It Out - Pt. 1/4

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Steve Rogers is a man out of time and he knows that. After all, he learns something new about this century – hell, millennium – each day. But just when he thinks nothing can really surprise him anymore, there's a woman to prove him wrong.

To be fair, it's not every day he goes for his usual run and meets a person willing to hug everyone who asks for it.

Set somewhere in between CA:Winter Solider – without the mess.

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For all the amazing people supporting my writing.

Mainly for those who put up with my messy brain and read whatever comes out even when waiting for something else. You're appreciated. You're loved. I'm sending a virtual hug; if you come to Pilsen or Prague, I'll even give you an actual one, for free.

The start of this one is a bit descriptive. Sorry? Enjoy ;)

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1. Fancy a hug?

Ever since Steve Rogers came out of the ice, the world wouldn't stop surprising him. The era he had been born in, he had lived in, pre-war and war, it surely was strange. Hell, he was a living evidence of just how crazy those times were.

But this century, this millennium.... don't even get him started.

The flashing billboards everywhere. The music. The clothing – women's especially; seriously, he was just a guy, he liked to look as any other male individual, but what they wore sometimes, that was clearly indecent. And the technology – Steve had thought that the war had made the progress faster, but the devices that existed now, they were simply unreal.

To not only be a negative grandpa (thanks, Stark), he could admit that he enjoyed some perks of modern times – food was way better, Internet offered a faster way to search for information than giant libraries (though it was not always reliable, but whatever ever was), talking via screen seemed to bring people from all around the world closer; as much as it was putting an unexplainable distance between them.

Long story short, the time Steve lived in now, it never ceased to amaze him, always offering something new.

And new was good. But as a military man, he liked a routine too. It was how he had met Sam, who had become a great friend to him. Mainly though, it was how Steve found his peace – in his morning run. Or an afternoon run. Or an evening run. Running at any time, to be honest, as long as it allowed him to clear his head and explore this century rather unnoticed.

On his run, he was just a regular guy, one of many people trying to live at least a bit healthy, not suspicious when looking around and observing the world, quietly learning.

He had glimpsed a young couple, clearly on a date, sitting close together on a bench, each staring in their own smartphone. He had met families enjoying a picnic. He had seen homeless people too, begging for at least a penny. He had encountered an elderly woman, walking her dog, the animal having an aura of being her only joy in her age. And many, many more.

Gradually, what he eyed during his routine became familiar. Whatever he encountered, it stopped being new and shocking.

Most of the times anyway.

The young woman's t-shirt rather shone in the park. It was a late April day, spring in all its glory – complete with its unpredictable weather, causing Steve to move his run to the afternoon due to the morning rain – and people clearly took advantage of the warm sunrays breaking through the clouds. Nothing unusual about that.

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