Chapter Text
Steve trudged up the stairs and across the porch to his front door, not paying attention to his surroundings, man he was exhausted today. He had finished work at the bookstore a little while earlier and had decided to go and grab dinner so his arms were full of grocery bags.
As he put the key in the door he heard a crunch underneath his right boot.
He stopped and looked down, a now crushed single white rose lay on the floor underfoot. He spun around looking out onto the street but there was no one around, shaking his head he shoved the rose off the porch with a shuffle of his feet and went inside. It wasn't the first flower that had been left on his porch and he was certain it wouldn't be the last.
It had started 8 months ago once a week-though the day varied and there was no pattern that Steve could discern-he would come home after work to a flower on his porch, a single white rose, no note.
Sighing, Steve pushed open the door and went into the kitchen to put the groceries away.
He was curious about the roses but hadn't given it that much thought recently. A flower once a week wasn't exactly threatening was it? The police had said the same thing when he had sought their advice after 3 months of weekly roses.
No Mr Rogers, I don't think it’s too much to worry about, seems like you have yourself an admirer. Count yourself lucky son, some of us don’t get shit from no-one. If you start getting threats to go with the rose then come back to me. Nothing much to be done about a few harmless roses.
Steve went back to unpacking his bags and contemplated running himself a bath.
He was feeling a little jittery and had no idea why. Maybe the rose had creeped him out more so than he realised, it was a little weird right? Who would be leaving flowers for him on his porch? He thought maybe it was a prank, that someone was just fucking with him to try and freak him out. Yes, a bath was a good idea. It had been a long day, he was tired and clearly losing his mind feeling anxious about a damn rose.
Shaking his head and laughing to himself he muttered "Get it together Rogers, it's probably just the neighbourhood kids being assholes."
Not that he really believed that but whatever helped him sleep at night, right?
Putting the last of the perishables in the fridge he slammed the door shut and went to draw himself a bath. He took the stairs up to the bathroom 2 at a time, deciding to grab his copy of La Morte Amoureuse-he was a sucker for vampire fiction- from the bedside table to read while having a nice long soak in the tub. That should help him relax and maybe he could get out of his head for a while.
Yes, that sounded like a good solid plan.
Walking back to the bathroom with his book in hand he glanced back towards the bedroom window, a sudden feeling he couldn't describe coming over him. A shiver ran down his spine, making his skin gooseflesh. "Jesus, I am losing my damn mind today," he chastised himself outloud.
Turning the taps on full and adding a squirt of bubble bath, he started to undress, neatly folding his shirt and jeans, leaving them on top of the hamper.
He closed the bathroom door mainly out of habit, since he lived alone and that weird feeling still lingered, making him a little jumpy. He stepped out of his boxers and swirled the bath water with his free hand.
He turned the taps off, sunk into the scalding water and lay with just his head out of the water. Thinking back on his day, the store had been quiet. He had managed to do a fair bit of ordering, some much needed new books and had inventoried quite a bit of stock. It was always satisfying to see a lack of stock and a profit on the spreadsheets.
Steve lathered up his hands and worked his way up his body washing away the day.
He had been right, the bath was exactly what he needed to try and relax. He wasn't a negative person, not so much, he considered himself fairly optimistic, all things considered. His Ma had passed away a year ago and he had moved back to Brooklyn to keep the family home from being sold off. He had relocated his little book shop too.
The move from DC to Brooklyn had been swift and mostly problem free. The roses had started being delivered soon after the move. Steve had to wonder if maybe he just had an incredibly shy admirer, but then why not leave a note? Or a phone number? At least that way Steve could've found out, contacted the person. Not knowing the intent behind them-if it was malicious or not-left him feeling vulnerable, and for a 6 foot 1-built like a brick shithouse-guy, that wasn't an easy task to accomplish.
He sighed and pulled himself out of the bath.
He felt better but same as always on rose days, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Scoffing, he grabbed a towel and slung it around his waist, wrapping and securing it before padding into the bedroom for a pair of sweatpants. He needed to sort dinner out since it was 8pm already. Where the hell had the evening gone? Had he really spent an hour in the tub contemplating flowers? He hadn't even picked up his book.
Heading downstairs and back into the kitchen he turned the stove on and emptied a can of soup into a pan, since it was far too late to start actually cooking, soup would have to do.
He grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed out onto the deck to sit while his soup heated. The sun was low now and the sky tinged pink as he sipped on his beer, roses all but forgotten. If he had been more aware--he should have been more aware, it really was his own fault in the end. He was right to feel uneasy after all.
In the dimming light Steve didn't notice the shadow in the tree line watching him. Didn't see the wild glint in the eyes that stalked his every move. The long fingers that held a crumpled rose tightly, tiny droplets of blood staining the white petals, slightly manic smile forming on plump pink lips. Steve didn't see any of it.
If he had then things might have been a little different for everyone.