Steve looked across the bar that his friends had forced him (FORCED HIM) to come to, his eyes catching at one of the men leaning against the bar. There was something about him that kept Steve glancing back at him until he was finally caught doing it.

"Uh, you know Steven, eyefucking hot dudes across a bar isn't going to get you laid any faster than sitting here staring at your drink normally does," Clint said, leaning halfway across the table so he could be heard. "Just go talk to him."

Steve shook his head, laughing just a touch as he did. "I'm not really concerned with getting laid," he said, laughing harder as Clint gave him a confused and mildly horrified look.

"I knew it. You're such a fuckin' weirdo."

"Well, thanks for that," Steve laughed, shaking his head again at his friend. Hell, it seemed like that's all he did most of these bar nights, laughed and shook his head at people. Usually Clint. Sometimes Tom, if he broke away long enough to come out and drink a beer. And the two of them tag-teaming him about at least talking to some guys? Well, those were the nights he might as well settle in for a migraine, because they were going to drive him to it. His only hope those nights was that Nat would show up and Clint would get distracted by the long line of her legs and the way she wiggled as she walked.

Speaking of Natasha, Steve caught a flash of red hair coming toward them and nodded his head toward her to encourage Clint to turn and look. The other man did, and he crowed "Naaaaaaat" as he jumped up and headed toward her. Steve looked down at the table, focusing on his beer for a long moment in a bid to not be completely overwhelmed. Too late for that, in all honesty, but he could quiet his own brain's wild ramblings for a second or two.

He felt the presence beside him before it really registered that someone was there, and he looked up thinking it was the waitress who wandered the floor sometimes. It... was decidedly not the waitress. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with the guy from across the room, and he felt a faint flush go across his skin as he realized the brunet was smiling at him. That smile... it did something to him. The feeling of it started in his toes and creeped up his body from there.

"Sorry, I know it's kind of obnoxious, but I had to come over and say hi," the man said, reaching out his hand to offer it up. "I'm Trevor, by the way." It was loud in the bar, and it made it a little hard to hear Trevor, but Steve had had many years to get used to reading lips, so he found himself watching Trevor's mouth move.

"Steve." Steve smiled and shook his head, taking the man's big warm hand in his, shaking it. "It's not obnoxious, just so you know. I'd even go so far as to call it brave. I'm kind of shy so I just sit and watch people."

"You? Shy?" Trevor let his smile turn into a little smirk, and Steve's internal dialogue started up a whole diatribe about how much trouble this guy was going to be. "I don't see it."

"Uh... well. Hmm." He had no idea what to say to that. At all. Because he was shy, in his own way, but maybe not the way the rest of the world was. "I don't know that you're that good a judge of character, considering we just met and all." Of course, he was grinning like an idiot now. Especially because it had struck him very suddenly who Trevor reminded him of when he smiled.

"I'm an excellent judge of character, Steve," Trevor said, dropping his voice low as he leaned in to speak. Steve heard that just fine, considering how close the other man was. He was close enough to kiss, if Steve had wanted to. Close enough to do a lot of things to, in fact.

"We'll see," he said, raising his eyes up to meet the pale gray ones that looked back at him. "What are you drinking? I'll buy you one."

"How about you buy me a bottle and take me home?"

Oh. Well.

-----

It was the start of... something. God knew that Steve wasn't going to try to define it. And it wasn't like he didn't enjoy himself. In fact, he and Trevor were well suited in a lot of ways, and it didn't take long before they slotted themselves into each others lives like they'd always been there. They went on dates that were fun and adventurous and sometimes led to them missing half a movie due to being unable to keep their hands off each other. They went to gallery openings (one of which was Steve's, and Trevor strutted around being proud of him all night, and telling everyone that his boyfriend had made the art) and museums (Trevor loved the Guggenheim the best, but Steve would always choose MoMA as his top choice) and concerts (which were almost always too loud for Steve (even when he took out his hearing aids, which just proved how godawful loud it was), but he liked watching Trevor light up as he saw the bands play, so he put up with it). Before it really registered, they were SteveandTrevor, always assumed as each others plus one.

It was... good. It was nice. Being a part of something bigger than just himself was... nice. It didn't stop that small rat of fear that tried eating up his stomach on dark nights when memories flooded his mind, nor did it soothe his soul... but then, who expected that kind of thing out of another person, really? The idea that anyone could do that for someone else was based on silly romantic notions, and Steve did not need it.

It was just that... well, apparently he did do that for Trevor, at least on some level, and it was good to hear that he made his boyfriend happy. And it's not that he resented the other man, that would be stupid, but it did make him wonder if he was fundamentally flawed in some way. Like some part of him had broken one of the times he'd almost died or during some fight for someone's honor, and had never really healed. Maybe he wasn't meant to be soothed. Maybe his life was meant to be fraught with pains he didn't understand forever.

It was okay. He'd be fine with it.

-----

It took a while, but eventually Steve realized that Trevor didn't smile as much. He seemed fine, content even, but that smile that had drawn Steve to him in the first place no longer appeared as often, and Steve panicked about it on a deep level. It wasn't that he didn't like Trevor without the smile (at least, he didn't think so)... it was just such a change, when he looked back on it, and it unsettled him a little bit. Like some small painful place that hurt to touch, but you can't stop touching it anyway, he worked on the problem for days and days. He listened more, and watched more. He noticed the small injustices he'd piled on his boyfriend. Not just the obvious things, the things that normal, everyday relationships dealt with, but the tiny things, too.

The things like Trevor watching him draw and the way his brows would pull together just a little. It was disconcerting, really.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked, finding the courage to actually bring up the question after the fourth or fifth time he'd noticed it happen.

"It's just," Trevor started, pausing for a long moment before continuing on, "I used to think you were drawing me, you know? You'd sit and watch me and smile, and I'd smile back and you'd tilt your head down to your book and draw, so I guess I assumed... But it's not me. It never has been, has it?"

Steve blinked, slowly. Of course some of the pictures were Trevor. Everything in his life got drawn at one time or another. In fact, just a few days ago, he'd been working on a picture... He turned back a few pages, scanning for the drawing, but when he got there, he realized it wasn't Trevor at all. He'd thought it was, it's what he'd meant to draw, but the shape of his face was wrong, the eyes had a different tilt, the hair was faintly softly waved instead of Trevor's stick straight shag of hair. He turned back another few pages, and then a few more.

Trevor stood up, reaching for one of his older sketchbooks, opening to a random page, and held it out toward Steve. "I hope he's a real person, Steve. I hope he exists out there somewhere. That would hurt less, I think. To know that somewhere out there is someone who makes you have that soft look on your face all the time." He shook his head, and closed the book, putting it carefully back in its place. "I wish I was enough."

And that was how it ended. With a man who would never be enough, and another who would always wonder what might have been. Who might have been able to be in love forever if it meant that smile never left. But Trevor wasn't who he really wanted, and when he did the wash that had Trevor's last few things in it, and tucked them away in a drawer, he didn't mourn for what might have been. Not this time.

-----

The city was colder than it had any right to be. Steve couldn't imagine trying to play in this cold, but he knew that a lot of people didn't have a choice but to stay out on the streets trying to get as much cash as they culd to make it through the next night...

He found himself stopping next to the guy with the guitar, reaching into the pocket of his jeans to dig out real money. He only had two bills in his wallet, but they would be better than a handful of change. He grabbed both bills and held them out toward the man. "Hey, it's not much, man, but I hope it helps a bit," he said, focusing on the man's face. God, he reminded him of... "James?"