Chapter Text
Apartment hunting fucking sucks. Steve slumps in the door of Sam’s apartment and collapses face down onto the couch — which, as it happens, is the closest thing he has to a bed right now.
“Apartment hunting fucking sucks.” The cushions muffle his voice but he figures that just emphasizes his point.
“I take it that one was a no?” Sam calls out from the kitchen.
“There was a patch of mold on the bathroom wall that was bigger than I am,” he says by way of an answer, wriggling around to lie on his back instead. “I know I’m small, but fuck. Thought it was wallpaper at first.” It had been his twelfth scheduled viewing, the fifth that had actually gotten as far as him getting to view the majority of the apartment without being politely turned away.
“Shit man, I’m sorry. Anything else lined up?”
“Not yet. Gonna take another look online, maybe call that leasing agent again.”
“Well, take a break for a while. You know you’re welcome here for as long as it takes.”
“I know, I know.” Steve sits up with a sigh as Sam comes out holding two bottles of beer. “Thanks, Sam. I just wanna find my own place. I like it here, but your couch isn’t exactly doing wonders for my back, you know?”
Steve has been staying with Sam ever since his last apartment flooded thanks to an upstairs neighbor’s vengeful ex blocking the bathtub drains with their underwear and letting the water run. Steve’s apartment had been completely uninhabitable, but his landlord had just shrugged it off, so Steve had to get out of there. Sam is a lifesaver, and even though his roommates are a little less than happy to have a semi-stranger taking over the living room, Sam has his back.
They sip their drinks in silence until the door clicks open and Steve has to brace himself for an uncomfortable interaction with The Roommate, but he lets out a sigh of relief when he looks up to see it’s just Natasha.
She takes one look at the two of them, grabs another beer and joins them. “Another bad viewing?” Her tone is unusually chipper, and Steve wonders what she’s planning — he knows her well enough to recognise that tone of voice.
“As usual.” He doesn’t ask what she’s up to, knowing she’ll only show her hand when she’s good and ready. “I’m beginning to wonder if I'm just cursed to never find somewhere decent in my price-range.”
“You aren’t cursed, it’s just that nobody wants to live with you,” Natasha retorts. Steve gasps in mock-horror, but she’s not wrong. It’s not his fault, but he does have a way of making a bad first impression on potential roommates. If he makes a self-deprecating joke, they think he’s being snide about them. If he mentions the possibility of bringing his own bookshelf to replace the one half collapsed in the corner, it turns out to be a family heirloom.
He’s good with people in general, and Sam keeps reassuring him that he’s not actually a shit roommate (once you get to know him), but it just keeps happening.
“Natasha,” Sam starts, clearly seeing Steve’s thought process written across his face, “weren’t you saying—”
She shushes him, and Steve narrows his eyes at them both. She glares at Sam then turns to face Steve. Here it is, he thinks.
“Sorry. I was getting to that. I have some connections, I know some people who know some people who work with property. I could ask around?”
Steve frowns. He loves Natasha, and while he is sure that she probably could find him something far better than what he would be capable of finding on his own, he’s hesitant. She is one of his best friends, but outside of himself and Sam, the people she tends to know are, well… not exactly what he’d be looking for in a landlord.
“I don’t know, Nat. It’s tempting, but I have a few more viewings lined up. I have a good feeling about them,” he lies.
Sam and Natasha exchange a look, but thankfully neither of them say anything. Steve appreciates it, though he knows they’re mostly biding their time until he inevitably caves in and accepts their help. It’s practically a tradition amongst the three of them by now.
It doesn’t take long. One week and another dozen shitty apartment viewings later, Steve caves. Just as they had probably expected he would.
“Hey Natasha,” he calls as he’s walking home from the final viewing, where a pair of rats had literally been perched on the kitchen table when he had been shown around. He’d shrieked, recoiled, and then learned they were the beloved pets of the couple who might have been his roommates. He hadn’t made it as far as the bathroom.
“Finally ready to let me help you find a place?” she asks without preamble. Steve sighs.
“Yep. Got any leads?”
Natasha wastes no time, confirming Steve’s suspicion that she has just been waiting for him to change his mind. “Give me twenty minutes.”
Steve stops for a coffee, and by the time he places his order and pays for the drink he has a text from Natasha, asking him to meet her at a given address as soon as he can. It’s only a few streets away, so he redirects himself once he leaves the coffee shop and makes it to the building within ten minutes.
Natasha is already waiting outside.
“Ready?” she asks, holding out a key and gesturing up at the building. Steve frowns at her.
“Seriously? A viewing already?”
“Even better, an apartment — yours if you want it. You get first refusal on the place, it’s not on the market yet.”
“What’s the catch?” Steve is hesitant to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he can’t help but be suspicious.
“None that I can tell, my research all came back clear. Wanna take a look?”
He glances up. It’s an unobtrusive looking pre-war building, and it seems to have been well tended to over the years. He might as well give it a shot.
Natasha leads him up two flights of stairs, not quite enough to raise his heart rate a concerning amount, and into the second door on the right.
Steve’s first thought on walking into apartment 3c is: damn.
It has a large and open living area (for Brooklyn), with natural light pouring in despite the tall buildings surrounding it. There’s a recessed nook right by the window, a quirk of the architecture of the building, which will be absolutely perfect to set up his art supplies.
It’s even furnished — most of the furniture is old-fashioned and well-worn, but it looks sturdy and comfortable. The kitchen is simple but functional, with wooden cabinets and a small dining table — rat-free, already a bonus. Most importantly, aside from needing a thorough dusting and airing out, it’s clean. There’s a chill in the air, but it is still early in the spring, and odds are that the heating had been switched off when the last tenants left. Even if it does turn out to be difficult to heat, he’d be happy to dig out all the hand knitted sweaters and blankets his mom had made him over the years for a place like this.
He can picture himself living there, picture his takeout menus and photographs on the fridge, his bookshelf and TV against the wall adjacent to what he is already referring to as the art nook. He’d have to turn the couch, move it away from the wall to section off the space a little more. Maybe he’d see about finding an armchair to replace the rickety-looking rocking chair currently set by the window, but it really needs very little work.
“Seriously, Nat. There’s got to be a catch here. How expensive is this place?”
She reads out a figure from an email on her phone, and Steve almost chokes.
“What?” he asks. She just smirks.
“Told you I could help you out.”
Steve looks around in astonishment. It’s even cheaper than his last place, and that had been a dump shared with two other people. He braces himself before looking into the bathroom, then the bedroom. They’re both perfectly normal rooms, old fashioned but airy and clean. The bathroom even has an original looking tub, and while he doesn’t look forward to having to clamber in and out to shower, it’s better than a lot of places he’d lived in, even as a child.
“So?” Natasha asks from behind him. He turns to her, wide-eyed.
“You, Natasha Romanov, are the most terrifying person I’ve ever met. How did you—”
“Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies,” she interrupts him with a wink. “So it’s a yes, then?”
“Fuck, yes. It’s a yes. When can I move in?”
The air around him shifts a little as he speaks, and he feels a slight chill. Natasha grins.
“Whenever you want.”