Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
(Y/n) still leaves him flowers, and Steve is glad that discovering her identity didn't bring an end to that. Now, she also leaves a little note attached, informing him of whatever the flowers mean.
He thinks it a nice change of pace from things usually are for him. There is something so inexplicably wonderful about a perpetual stranger going out of her way to bring him flowers everyday simply because he looked like he needed it.
But he feels weird about simply taking, especially now that he knows who's responsible, so Steve finds himself wanting to do something nice for (Y/n) in turn.
Problem is, he doesn't know the first thing about what a teenage girl would like, and the answers that the Internet gives him don't sound like they're going to work.
So, on a Sunday evening, he finds himself ringing her doorbell and standing uncertainly in wait for the girl to open the door.
"Oh, it's you," she notes, blinking back her surprise. "Hello, Mr. Steve."
Being referred to as 'Mr. Steve' is a little strange for him, but he goes with it anyways. "Hello," he returns politely. "I'm sorry for showing up all of a sud-"
"It's fine," she interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. "Did you need something?"
He blinks, feeling a little (a lot) silly, but he decides to go for it since the door is open anyways and he can't just walk away. "I've been meaning to do something nice for you in exchange for the flowers, but I don't know what you'd like."
(Y/n) perks up, grinning blindingly at him. "That's very sweet of you," she smiles brightly. "You could probably have just gotten me a tub of ice-cream or a chocolate bar, though."
Sheepishly, he rubs the back of his neck. Safe to say, Steve knew next to nothing about what to do when anyone of the opposite sex was involved, regardless of age.
"No worries!" she announces. "We can go now, if you're free."
Since he is free, Steve awkwardly consents to treating the girl to an ice-cream, and trails along with her as she strolls along the streets, completely ignoring any discomfort in his demeanor.
Randomly going out for ice-cream with someone you don't know very well isn't a regular occurrence- he's sure of that, but somehow, that thought is pushed to the back of his mind as soon as (Y/n) starts talking.
She starts off with an observation about the flowers that had sprouted up through the cracks in the pavement, switches to pointing out a weirdly shaped cloud and how blue the sky is, and then she talks about a poem she's having trouble with finishing.
"You write poems?" he questions, thinking that it's strangely fitting for the girl who dresses in paint splattered overalls and leaves flowers on his doorstep to also write poetry.
