“Ugh, you’re not supposed to acknowledge it or my fragile masculinity will crumble,” Steve jokes, blushing a little as she kisses his cheek. He keeps one arm around her and cups her cheek with the other, thumbing under her eye as he studies her face.

“My dad would yell at me when I cried. Sometimes not just yell,” he admits, swallowing hard and looking away from her for a moment. “Men don’t cry, stiff upper lip, all that bullshit. God, he was a such a walking stereotype.”

He huffs out a sigh and looks at her again, leaning in to kiss the bridge of her nose.

“Fuck you, Dad,” he says quietly, smiling ruefully as he rests his forehead against Maeve’s. “Sometimes I’m still afraid of him. Even if he can’t get to me here.”