Old Soul (Captain America/Steve Rogers)

1

Moving day. The most stressful day I've ever encountered. At least, I thought so then.

"Is here okay?" the man driving the truck asks, pulling it against the curb of my new apartment building.

"Yeah, it's fine," I say, looking around at the great city before me. New York City. I never thought I would make it this far.

"Would you like assistance moving your furniture in?" the man says, hopping out of the truck to lower the back door of the truck.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair frustratingly as I see all of the heavy furniture I couldn't possibly lift by myself. But I spent all of the money I could afford spending on the moving van and it's driver.

"No," I say with a devastated frown. "I guess I'll do it on my own. Thank you for your help."

The man nods and then jumps into the pickup behind the moving truck, full of his pals. They all presumably trailed behind us to help me move my furniture in. Oh, well.

I walk around to the back of the truck, gazing at what was inside. I stood there for a minute of encouragement, my hands planted on my hips as I sized up the large sofa in front of me.

"You can do this," I mutter, grunting as I tug on the end on the couch. But it was way too heavy. I was convinced that an elephant sat on top of it as I pulled.

Realizing that the couch was too big, I started with a smaller box, figuring that I should start small and make my way to the top.

I carried all of the light boxes to the curb, starting with the medium sized ones with an effort. I was about half way through those boxes when I heard a deep, concerned voice from behind me.

"Here, let me take that for you," the voice said. Suddenly, a shadow looms over me, and I feel a presence appear at my side.

I turn around to see a man, about 6 feet tall with a broad, muscular build, having blonde hair and soft blue eyes. He was wearing a fitted t-shirt that showed every curve and muscle in his chest. Shorts hung on his hips and tennis shoes fitted his feet. He looked like he'd just gotten back from a run, I noticed. But that wasn't the first thing I noticed, for my immediate thought was that he was the most attractive guy I've ever seen.

He takes the heavy box out of my hands with ease, placing it on the curb as if it barely weighed a pound. I watched him move with wide eyes, a tight feeling in my chest. "Thank you," I manage to say. I had to remind myself breathe.

"It's no problem," he says, flashing me a perfect smile. He extends his hand to me. "Steve. Steve Rogers." He extends his hand.

"Avalie," I reply, shaking his hand. He had huge hands. It engulfed my own tiny one. "Daniels."

"Are you moving in?" he asks casually, his hands resting on his narrow hips. He held an air of easy confidence around him, as if helping people was natural for him. I've seen this many times before, and I normally didn't like this quality--I've dealt with too many over-confident men in my life. But I liked it on him. I liked the way he spoke it in a modest tone. I liked the way he smiled genuinely. I liked the way that he rushed to my aid as if he'd known me his whole life.

"Yeah," I reply. "Apartment 263."

"Really?" Steve says, his blue eyes like crystals in the sunlight. "It looks like we are going to be neighbors."

I bite my lip to fight off a huge smile. "Cool!" I all but squeal. And it was cool. Very cool. I would see him everyday and all of his hotness. 

Calm down, Avalie, I scold myself. Don't seem too over-excited, you'll scare him off. I clear my throat, nodding my chin in an attempt to seem nonchalant. "...Cool."