𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 ✓

SEVENTEEN

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a/n: hi there! just dropping by to say:
If you haven't already checked out my new Steve Rogers
story, you totally should!

(also: it's smuttier than my previous works...)

anygays, let's begin.

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His arms still wrapped around me, I now just surrender. I completely break down, my entire body is shaken by my desperate sobs as I press my face against his chest, wetting his shirt with my tears. He remains silent, just holds me tight, his face pressed into my locks, letting out occasional mumbles to calm me down.

"Shhh, it's gonna be okay."

I always assumed he'd be bad with people, especially with people who cry. Turns out, he's great at comforting people, even people he's mad at because they just declared their hate for him. I hate that as much as I like it. I try to concentrate on his heartbeat, his scent, his warmth. Anything instead of the thought of my unconscious mother in a hospital bed, maybe even on the verge of dying.

I slowly calm down, my sobs are not as frequent, the tears not blurring my vision. Gently, he nudges me away from him, trying to look me in my face. One hand softly brushes a strand of hair out of my clumpy lashes. It lingers at my cheek for a second as he examines my flushed, puffy face. I inhale deeply, my chest shaking as I prepare myself to give him an explanation. After he comforted me, he deserves to know what the woman who hates him so much is going through right now.

"It's my mother," I explain with a dry throat, and he presses his lips together in shock.

"She was in a car accident. In Morrocco. She's in a coma." My sentences are short, husky, and not in a particular order. I just blurt them out, trying to make it make sense to him. I've never felt so helpless in my entire life.

"She's going to be fine, I'm sure," he mumbles, but his facial expression doesn't let me believe him somehow. I shrug, another sob shaking my body like an aftershock. He gets up and holds out his hand for me to take. After some hesitation, I take it, and with one swoop, I'm up on my weak legs again. I see how his shirt is soaked in my tears.

"Sorry," I mutter, but he shakes his head. He's still holding my hand.

"I mean earlier," I choke out, "I just wanted my friend to stop assuming things about us just because we're forced to live together for two weeks."

He cocks his head to the side and huffs. I can't quite make out what this reaction is supposed to mean. I glare down at our hands that are still entwined. His thumb draws comforting circles on the back of my hand.

"Your mum's gonna be fine," he eventually avoids my statement and thus leaves me in the dark about what the hell he is thinking about that explanation right now. Anything. Just say anything, Golden Boy.

"I feel so helpless," I reply, "She's in Morrocco visiting family. She had a car accident. I'm just..."

I cut my own sentence off and rub my aching face with my empty hand. His grip around my other tightens.

"Go on," he asks softly, a faint chuckle threaded into his voice, "Tell your favorite co-worker."

I shake my head and suppress a smile. I just had a breakdown, and he makes me smile nonetheless. How does he do that??

"My aunt died in a car crash when I was seventeen. I was pretty close with her. That's why I drive so carefully today."

His jaw clenches at the revelation, and he nods. He nods like he gets me now.

"I'm just afraid my mum will..."

"She won't," he interrupts me, and my gaze jolts up to his. His ocean eyes meet my honey-colored ones, and a shiver strikes through my body like lightning. He is so insanely considerate despite everything I said about him today?

Without giving it further thought, I take a step forward and wrap my arms around him. It's a silent thank-you, an appreciation of what he did for me. His back stiffens, but he eventually hugs me back. I inhale his scent, this woody smell paired with the remains of sunscreen, and pull him against me as tight as I can.

After a few moments, I pull away, my hands fall back to my sides while his stay on my waist, sending electric heat through my body from there. I gaze up at him, his soft expression, his stubbled jaw, his brow furrowed in concern. Concern about me.

My mind is blank as I get up on my tiptoes. I notice how he studies my face but eventually lands on my lips, his pupils dilated as he continues to look at them. Subconsciously, I wet them with the tip of my tongue. Suddenly, there's only two inches between us. I get flashbacks from the night of the rainstorm. I feel my guts twist, butterflies begin to dance in my stomach. If I just...

I inch closer, our noses touch, my eyes flutter shut. Just a little closer...

My hands drift up to his shirt, grasp onto the fabric for support. He is taller than me by quite a lot, and standing on my tiptoes is actually quite straining. This time, there is no thunder interrupting us.

Instead, he pushes me away from him, heavily breathing as he looks at me like I just busted him doing something illegal. He almost looks frightened.

"What..." I begin, my hands still floating in the air in front of me as he is no longer close enough for me to touch him. I tilt my head to the side, one single tear, a straggler from earlier, rolls down my cheek. I see how deep his breaths are as he tries to calm his pulse.

"I don't think that's a particularly good idea, Emmons," he eventually sighs almost inaudibly, and my heart drops. So he does hate me. I knew it.

"Why not," I blurt out. If he really despises me, I want to really hear it out of his mouth. His shoulders rise as he takes another breath, then they drop lower than they'd been before. He looks like he struggles to find words. Eventually, he does.

"You're just confused after the thing with your mum, Charlotte," he then explains, slightly louder, "You'd regret it."

No, I wouldn't, I want to say, no, scream at his face, but I just swallow the disappointment down. Because maybe, he is right. Maybe I would regret kissing him in hindsight.

"Mhm," I instead hum, and new tears start filling my eyes and blur my vision. I feel stupid. He would never kiss me, his annoying co-worker.

"You should go to sleep," he orders in a rather steady tone, and suddenly, all the affection is drained from his voice. He is almost harsh, his teeth clenched. I just nod and rub my hands together, trying to get rid of the sweat on my palms.

As I walk to my bedroom, I secretly wish he would follow me. But he doesn't. I get into my pajamas and after some time of laying in my bed with my aching eyes wide open and directed at the ceiling, I hear that he's going to the bathroom to brush his teeth. I know he won't come in here afterward. Not after his shift in behavior earlier. It almost feels like we're two weeks in the past again, being cold and mean to each other.

I don't want that anymore, I catch myself thinking before I eventually drift off to sleep.