"Okay, so the layout of the building isn't that difficult," you reassured Steve, pointing at the store map at the entrance to Ikea. "If you just follow it around, it will eventually end at the check-out lanes. If we get separated, just meet there, okay?"
"I'm not going to get lost, (Y/N). I have an extraordinary sense of direction."
"Mmm," you hummed with a smile, nodding along and pushing him towards the escalator, but you nearly ran into him at full speed when he stopped abruptly before stepping on. "Problem, Cap?"
"No," he mumbled, starting at the moving stairs, "no, I just...I just need to time...this...right..." He finally jumped forward so that his foot landed square in the center of the step, grabbing the side rail firmly. You heard him let out a long breath and saw his body relax for just a moment until he looked up at the landing at the top.
"Oh my god, Steve, are you scared of the escalator?"
"Pfft, I'm not scared."
"Then what was that all about? And why are you staring at the top so intently?" You tried to put a supportive hand over his, but he immediately pulled it away. "Cap, you're sweating."
"Shh," he warned as you reached the end. He took an exaggerated step forward and skipped a few feet away, turning back to see proof that he was in the clear. When you wouldn't stop staring at him and refused to move, he finally relented. "I got a shoelace stuck in one once, and it left an impression."
Your hand snapped up over your mouth when a loud squeal of laughter escaped you and he turned red in embarrassment. There were no such things as escalators back in the 40's, so your mind kept replaying a full-grown Captain falling on his face over and over in your mind.
"When?"
"About a month ago," he exhaled heavily, lifting a small piece of hair from just above his forehead. "Here's the impression." When you began to laugh again, he straightened his posture and gave you a stern warning glance. "There's a nice impression on the back of Stark's head too, right where my hand landed when he started giving me crap about this. You might want to keep that in mind, doll."
With a small cough and a clearing of your throat, you pulled your list from your pocket and made your way into the store, being sure to stay just a few steps ahead. "Right, point made. So, living room first?"
~~~
Once you started walking through the store, you could see Steve's mind begin to churn as he read the tags for each item along the way. At one point, you had continued on without him, turning to see him in the midst of an array of couches and loveseats with a curious expression.
"Are you sure that a leather couch is the best idea?"
"No, I don't want that, it's just, some of these names are hard to say."
"Such as?" you goaded.
"Skog-ab-y? Lyck-sele? Oh, this one. Lug-nv-ik?"
"You can just say couch, loveseat and chaise. You don't have to use their Swedish names, it's okay."
All he could do was shake his head, still confused as to how each item was named and what each word really meant. "The names are there for a reason, (Y/N). If they didn't want us to use them, then why would they do that?"
Pushing the small cart ahead of you, the next area to look through was the kitchen supplies. You stopped for a moment to review the list, but it looked like a few items were missing from what you could remember seeing at Steve's new apartment. You turned to ask him for clarification, but when you looked back, he was nowhere to be found.
"You've got to be kidding me," you groaned, reaching for your phone. You opened it to send him a text but stopped at the sight of only one bar in your reception. "Why does the service always suck in here?" you mumbled, trying to send it anyway, but to no success. You wanted to just yell for him, but it was the weekend and the noise of families trying to wrangle their screaming and running children would easily drown you out. Deciding that Steve would just have to get whatever you chose for him and have to deal with it if he didn't like it, you hurried to complete the list and made your way to the check-out lanes, just as you told him to do if you got separated.
After standing in place for thirty minutes, you decided to back-track to try to find him.
Home décor was a total bust; you thought maybe he would be in the framed art area to find something in his style, but there was no sign of him. You paused to hold up your phone, hoping this time to find a miracle of reception, but no.
Bathroom, nothing.
Bedroom, not a sign of him, and you even checked every bed just to be sure.
Lighting, complete failure.
You decided to just go back to the check-out again and wait, dropping yourself into one of the display chairs with a view of the oncoming shoppers so that you wouldn't miss him. It was hard to miss Steve in a crowd as it was, but since he seemed to become an unfindable chameleon in Ikea, you weren't taking any chances. Finally, after another nearly thirty minutes, an excited and smiling Steve came around the corner with two full carts.
"(Y/N)! (Y/N), I love it here! Check this out!"
"What the hell, Steve? I thought we agreed that if we got separated, we'd meet here."
"What?" he huffed, his head down as he dug through his items, "I'm here. Okay, so I've got this Mostorp and a Bjursta for the living room, and I've ordered a Olofstrop and a Kivik that should be delivered in a few days. I've got a bunch of Grundtal racks for the kitchen...and...oh! Oh, I thought you'd like this one!" He held up a box with a plain looking floor lamp on the front, but the laughter wouldn't stop when he turned it over.
"Milf, Steve? You got a lamp called 'milf'?"
"Right?"
"Well, I suppose I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, if nothing else," you sighed, watching him dig around for more.
"This one's called Fartyg," he whispered with a childlike smile across his lips and a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "I got this one for Tony."
"Jesus, Rogers, are you twelve?"
"Don't be such a downer, (Y/N)," he laughed, slapping your arm soundly, "I haven't even shown you the Fartfull yet."