Work Text:
The ballroom was alive with soft jazz and the murmur of high society conversations, but to Steve, it all faded into static. The golden glow of chandeliers reflected off polished marble floors, casting a warm, romantic ambiance that only made the weight in his chest heavier.
Scattered among the guests were familiar faces. Tony, effortlessly charming as he entertained a group of diplomats. Thor, laughing a little too loudly with a drink in hand. Bruce, keeping to the edges of the room, ever the observer. Even Clint was here, standing near the bar with a knowing look in his eyes, like he could see right through Steve’s act. They were all here, celebrating, toasting to the future.
Near the center of the room, Wanda was deep in conversation with Natasha and the man beside her, smiling as she spoke. Her hands moved animatedly as she talked to Natasha who nodded along, offering small smiles, while the man at her side chuckled at something Wanda said. He looked at Natasha then, admiration in his eyes, and Steve felt something in his stomach twist.
There, Natasha Romanoff stood under the soft shimmer of the lights, dressed in a sleek, dark red gown that clung to her frame with effortless grace.
She looked breathtaking. Always did . But tonight, something about her felt different. Untouchable. Distant.
The man beside her had barely left her side all night. He leaned in, whispering something against her ear, and she laughed. Soft, polite, but not the kind that reached her eyes. Steve knew her well enough to catch the difference. But yeah, maybe that was just his own wishful thinking.
His fingers curled tightly a round the glass in his hand. He had kept his cool in worse situations, but right now, the sight of her with someone else made his grip tremble.
"For someone who has no right to get jealous, you look a little too green."
Steve didn’t turn his head. He knew that voice. Knew the teasing lilt that always came with Sam’s sharp observations.
"Shut up, man."
"What? Did I say something wrong?"
"Just leave me be."
"And let you break that poor glass? Hell nah."
Steve exhaled sharply through his nose, loosening his grip before he actually did something stupid. "I am not gonna break this glass like some fool. I can control myself."
"Your facial expressions say otherwise."
He tore his gaze away from Natasha, forcing himself to look anywhere but at her. The walls were lined with expensive artwork, gilded frames capturing scenes of elegance and power. The room buzzed with conversation and the clinking of glasses. He should’ve been part of it, blending into the crowd like everyone else. Instead, he was already on his third drink, standing off to the side, swirling the amber liquid in his glass like it could drown out the thoughts in his head.
"I’m just not in the mood for this kind of event."
"Yeah, right." Sam snorted. "You know you’re supposed to be mingling, right? Talk to politicians and businessmen about the wonders of America, shit like that. But here you are, sulking and lurking. You look like a creepy stalker, cut it off."
"I’m just looking out for her."
"She’s a big girl. I’m pretty sure she can handle herself."
"I know that. You can’t trust the man, though."
Sam raised a brow, following his gaze. "The ‘man’ is a known businessman and philanthropist. He’s known for his charities as well. And he looks kind. Take that from someone who’s a good judge of character."
Steve clenched his jaw, stealing another glance in her direction. She was smiling, but there was a flicker of something in her expression. Something quick, almost unnoticeable, as her gaze lingered just a second too long. And then, just like that, their eyes met.
His breath caught.
For a moment, the noise of the room dulled, and it was just the two of them, locked in silence from across the crowd. There was no teasing smirk on her lips, no knowing glance. Just quiet contemplation, something searching, something unreadable. But before he could decipher it, before he could even think of moving, she looked away. Back to the man beside her.
A sharp sting lanced through his chest.
"Still," he muttered, forcing his voice to stay even, "appearances can be deceiving."
Sam exhaled in frustration. "You know it’s easier to admit that you’re jealous, right? No need to blame it on the poor man."
"That poor man has been hogging Natasha all night. Have you even talked to her since we arrived?"
Sam shrugged. "Well, yes. I said hello earlier when you were too busy talking to Sharon. We even talked about you for a bit."
Steve’s head snapped toward him. "Wait, you talked about me?"
"Yeah, she mentioned something about doing the right thing. I don’t know what she meant by that exactly, but she was looking intently at you and Sharon, so it might’ve been about you two."
"Shit."
"Shit?"
"I think she got the wrong impression. Nothing’s going on between me and Sharon. Nothing has ever happened between us at all."
"So?" Sam shrugged. "No hard feelings, tho, man. Not that she cares about that anyway."
Steve frowned. "What do you mean?"
Sam gave him a look like he was the dumbest man alive. Then, casually, he lifted his glass in Natasha’s direction.
Steve followed his line of sight and then he saw it.
The man beside her reached for her hand, and she let him. Slipped her fingers into his with a quiet ease.
And there it was.
The ring.
Small, delicate, but unmistakable.
Steve had known, of course. He’d known from the moment he got the invitation, from the second he stepped into this godforsaken event. But somehow, just for a little while, he had let himself forget. Let himself believe that the way she looked at him earlier still meant something. That there was still a chance.
The breath left his lungs in a slow, measured exhale.
"You didn’t have to remind me," he muttered, but his voice was hoarse now, like the words burned on their way out.
"You had the chance, Cap. Matter of fact, you had her all this time but still let her get past you. I think no one’s to blame for that besides you."
Steve shut his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply. He knew that. He knew it too damn well.
"Stop."
"Yeah, no. You’re attending Natasha’s engagement party. The least you could do is smile and look happy for her."
He tried. He really did. But when he looked up again, she was standing so close to that man, their hands intertwined, and Steve? He was stuck, frozen in place like a man watching something priceless slip through his fingers.
"Easy for you to say," he said hoarsely. "You’re not the one who’s in love with a woman who’s about to be with another for the rest of her life."
"And whose fault is that again?"
"Sam…"
"You know we’re friends, right? I care for you deeply, but I care for Natasha too. The woman can sense that you’re not happy for her, at all. She values you as a friend. You matter to her, and so does your opinion, so this jealous shtick you’re pulling is affecting her too. I wish you could just act like her best friend for this time, ’cause that’s what you wanted to be in her life, right?"
Steve swallowed hard. He knew Sam was right. He could see it now, the way Natasha’s shoulders tensed every time she subtly glanced his way, like she was waiting for him to do something, to say something.
"I’m sorry."
"I’m not the right person to hear that apology, Steve. Tell her that."
But what good would an apology do? It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t undo all the times he held himself back, all the words he didn’t say. It wouldn’t stop the way she was looking at another man the way he wished she would look at him.
And yet, as she turned her head ever so slightly, just enough to meet his gaze one last time before her fiancé pulled her into another conversation, he thought maybe, just maybe, she was waiting for him to say something anyway.