Nothing but the Truth - Pt.1/8

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On a second thought, you weren't in the mood for a salad today-

"-and it landed in my plate."

"I hate you," you mumbled, turning around with your tray, only to feel a bump from your side, causing you to sway the tray hazardously.

You would have been able to balance it and save it, but the soup was fucking hot as it splashed from the bowel to your abdomen and your hand and with a yelp, you let go of the tray in order to pull the burning-hot material of your blouse from your skin, your afflicted hand shaking wildly in attempt to cool itself at least a bit.

Before you could fully comprehend what was happening, you heard a shattering noise as the tray hit the ground, a 'shit' and a 'sorry' and you were being cooled down from a bottle of water which Steve charmed out of fucking nowhere, the cool liquid like a balm on your burned skin.

Yeah, you were soaking and you'd feel like dying of embarrassment because of people probably watching you later, but at the moment, you adored Steve for his quick reactions.

He was asking for another bottle of water, but you stopped him with a simple raise of your hand, eyes closed as you breathed through the pain; less sharp, but still present.

Whoever you had collided with was long gone, the staff eyeing you with concern and already rushing to you with cleaning supplies. Steve's gentle hand led you away from the mess, brows furrowed as his eyes kept flickering from your face to spy in how much pain you were, to your slowly reddening burns.

"Let's get you to the bathroom and then get you some dry clothes, okay?" he whispered over the buzz of cafeteria and nodded at the staff as they dismissed you both with a wave of a hand. You felt a different kind of burn in your face as many, way too many people stared at you.

You were sure some of them were cackling, you noticed even when you tried your best to keep your gaze glued to the ground; when you looked up and saw their gaze travel up a bit, whatever mean smile they had froze on their lips and they swiftly minded their business again. You only guessed that they had met Captain America's disappointed glare; you had seen it, never been at the receiving end, luckily, but you didn't blame them one bit and you were immensely grateful to Steve for not letting you do your walk of shame – in which you were an utterly innocent participant – alone.

He waited in front of the ladies' room until you cooled your burns again, walked you to your office where you stored an extra set of clothes just in case of whatever and offered you an apologetic smile and soft 'I'm sorry' on his lips.

"...what are you sorry for?" you asked him, utterly confused and it distracted you for a minute from the embarrassment that had come knocking at the door of your mind. Christ, how many people saw your little scene? Did anyone snap a picture?

"If I haven't been teasing you about the-"

"Oh my god, Steve," you groaned when you caught on, your hand landing on his bicep on autopilot, a gesture to get him shut up, which was something you were used to from when you wanted to silence Sam whenever he was being stupid.

You quickly snatched your hand away when you realized that the sensation was slightly different, the bicep under your palm felt just a bit thicker and firmer than usual and you had in fact very much groped Steve.

Great, now both of your hands felt like on fire.

You gulped, hoping foolishly that he hadn't noticed your slip. You had noticed, okay. You would have very interesting dreams tonight...

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