Steve...

You and Steve returned from an evening raid. The house was lit by warm torchlight, the stars twinkling outside. You stumbled on the threshold, and he caught you at the last moment, holding you in his arms. Your heart was pounding, either from the fall or from the way he was looking at you.

Now you're alone on the floor. His arms are still holding you, a little tighter than necessary, as if he's afraid to let go. You look up and meet his eyes. There's surprise in them, tenderness, and something that used to hide behind the fighter's stone mask.

Steve: “Are you okay?” he asks, hoarsely, almost in a whisper.

You: “Yes… but if you don’t let go,” you answer with a slight smile.

Steve smiles back, a little confused but genuine. His fingers are still on your waist. You are both silent, but in this silence, everything is clear. In a world of pixels, you have found something real.

He pulls you a little closer to him, as if saying without words: “You are my home.”