Are you the type of person who like, owns a set of screwdrivers?
Yes
Just got the crib. Some assembly required
Can I borrow some?
Of course
I'll come up in a sec
you flip through the instruction manual until you land on a summary page of the tools you need. the numbers don't really mean anything to you, but the screwdrivers will probably be labeled, or steve can help you figure it out.
after snapping a picture on your phone, you stand, puffing out a heavy sigh.
when you swing open your apartment door, you stand face-to-face with over six feet of super soldier. "oh, hi."
he has a whole toolbox gripped in his hand. "hey."
as subtly as possible, you rotate to the right by about forty degrees, hoping your growing belly will conceal the mess of baby crib parts strewn all over your living room floor. "i was gonna come up to your apartment."
his blue eyes catch the instructions unfolded on your coffee table, and dread mixes in with your surprise.
"oh, steve, i can—"
"i don't mind." he strides past you, the toolbox lying open on your rug and the paper shuffling in his hands before you can even blink.
he always does this. carries your groceries. offers to take out your garbage. drops packages off at your door.
once, you ran into him by the mailboxes, frustrated by your hormone-addled brain making you forget your afternoon ultrasound appointment. so he offered to drive you there.
you turned him down.
he's kind, but disarmingly so. you never know what to do with your hands, when steve's take over.
"just because i'm pregnant doesn't mean i'm helpless," you say, lowering onto the armrest of your couch, maximizing your distance from him.
steve locates the largest piece of the crib's frame, scanning the instructions and digging around for the proper screwdriver. "and i don't help you just because you're pregnant."
he sounds nervous but manages to toss you a half-smile, charming and earnest and horrible.
it confirms your worst fear: he likes you.
and you like him.
"you shouldn't be nice to me."
"why?"
"i swear, i like... repel nice guys." you watch him rip off the cardboard packaging, launching it elsewhere. "it's my superpower."
his hand darts into the pile of disassembled parts to retrieve a plastic bag of screws. "it's like you want me to make a captain america joke." his jaw muscle twitches. "plus, that's not true. your ex is just an asshole and an idiot."
one of his hands curls into a loose fist.
"i'm just saying," you sigh weightily, getting to your feet and slowly escaping into your kitchen, "if something terrible happens to you on a mission, it'll be my bad luck, but it's your fault for doing me too many kindnesses."
steve grins to himself. "good thing i can take a hit."