A/N: Why do I have an obsession with Thor and pop-tarts? I honestly don't know, I just don't...it's strange, but I do like the way that this chapter turned out, and I hope that you'll all like it too :)
He draws him eating – what else? – pop-tarts.
After a long workout in the Stark Tower gym, Steve is craving anything with calories. He walks into the kitchen with the refrigerator as his goal when he sees what's in front of him. He stops. And stares.
Thor looks up and freezes as well, his eyes widening almost comically. He's crouching over the counter with a half-eaten pop-tart in each hand, crumbs scattered around him like sand on the Saharan and strawberry filling on his beard.
Steve opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. All he can think about is that, oh shit, Natasha's going to kill them both – Thor because she's restricted him from his fixation of the breakfast snack on the basis that even demigods need a somewhat balanced diet and him because no matter how much he swears that he had nothing to do with this, he knows that the Widow's going to blame him for the six empty boxes of pop-tarts littered on the floor like corpses.
So with certain doom and a painful death in his very near future, he does the only thing that he can do in this kind of a situation.
Thor, bless him, doesn't wait a moment before joining in. The demigod roars with laughter and sprays a cloud of crumbs into the air, which makes Steve laugh even harder, which in turn sets Thor off even more, and that's how the rest of the Avengers find them, weak and teary-eyed with hysteria, sprawled on the floor amidst a battleground of shiny silver wrappers, laughter still bursting out of them sporadically.
Steve draws the memory later that night, smiling to himself like an idiot and choking back laughter so that the other's won't hear him.
With deft strokes of an inky pen, he captures Thor's strong outline with a few bold lines, with abandon and without a fear of mistakes. Beneath the sharp nib, the demigod appears, figment by figment, piece by piece.
There comes the broad smile, wide and easy. The deeply carved crow's feet that are carved deeply into the corners of his eyes, not from age but from eons of living with laughter. The many laugh lines around his mouth that easily contain the beaming smile, as if they have long become accustomed to such an action (Steve's sure that they have).
Even though he lives caught between two worlds and has a brother who haunts his dreams, there are no shadows that fall onto the demigod's face. His portrait is strong but simple, his form starkly defined on the white paper with nothing hidden about him. He laughs freely and with joy.
Because Thor is really, the best of them all.