Little Talks ☇ C. Evans

61 ) rain

Leaning back in the passenger seat of the rental car, Poppy rubbed her red, puffy eyes and let out a breath. She hadn't stopped crying since that morning, and now—sitting in the car with Chris, rain hitting the windshield hard as music played softly in the background—Poppy couldn't seem to bring the tears to an end.

Chris's right hand was extended across the middle console and resting on her leg; it was a small gesture of affection—of comfort. He knew words couldn't bring her happiness, so he decided that if she could at least see that he was there for her, that might be enough. He hated seeing her so broken, so lost. She was the girl who had the brightest smile he'd ever seen, and seeing her breaking down was making him unable to remember the last time she smiled.

He glanced over at her every few minutes to see if she was okay; he knew she wasn't, but he just couldn't help it. As he drove through the small town, they barely came across any traffic. It had been hours since the funeral; both of them had attended the burial, too, which Poppy had not taken well at all.

Poppy's left hand fell from her face and she let it rest on top of Chris's hand where it rested on her leg. She gave his hand a light squeeze as she choked back another sob. He could feel her trembling beneath his touch and he all of a sudden could feel his chest tightening. He knew he didn't have the right to be this stressed, but being absolutely helpless in stopping Poppy's tears was definitely making him upset.

Chris's breaths became rapid as he tried to calm his body down, though once he got worked up, it was hard to stop. Poppy looked over at him, another tear staining her face. She watched Chris struggle to catch his breath, concerning her, as if she wasn't already in an uncontrollable situation as it was.

"Chris, pull over." Poppy strained her voice, trying not to allow it to crack.

Chris shook his head as he shifted uneasily in his seat, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Poppy wiped away another tear and looked even more seriously at him, her fingers intertwining with his.

"Are you okay? Pull over if you need to." She repeated, his hand shaking in hers.

Barely nodding in response, Chris pulled over to the side of the road and unbuckled his seatbelt, as if it was causing him even more stress.

"I'm so sorry," he managed to mutter out through his breaths, his blue eyes fixated on the steering wheel.

"What's wrong? Tell me about it? Is it your anxiety?" Poppy questioned him, putting his well-being in front of her own.

Chris turned his head to look over at Poppy, then glancing at their hands and back at her, "Don't worry about me."

"Too late, Meatball. I always worry about you." Poppy sighed, one of her leftover tears falling in her lap.

"I have no right to freak out," he sucked in a deep breath. "I'm making everything worse, I'm sorry."

"Chris, you're not making anything worse. You're actually the only reason why I'm still pushing through." She reached across the middle console and rubbed his back, feeling him relax slightly beneath her hand.

Chris finally was able to get over his panic attack, only to look at Poppy seriously. "I just—I play a hero in a movie; that doesn't make me one in real life. I'm sorry that I'm not very good company when under this kind of pressure."

Poppy turned completely sideways in her seat, now resting her other hand on Chris's, "You know, I did used to think that Steve Rogers was the real hero. . .but now I realize that you were actually the hero all along."

Chris looked down and shook his head, a tired laugh escaping his lips, "I'm afraid I'm not a hero at all, Pop-tart. I'm a mess in reality."

"Then you're my mess, Chris Evans." Poppy replied, squeezing his hand tightly, the softest, warmest smile on her face, despite her tired, puffy eyes from crying so much. "You're here with me when I needed you most. You are my hero."