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Anthony was leaning back on the bench, head tilted towards the sky, taking advantage of the fact that a cloud had covered the Atlanta sun and for a blessed, blessed few minutes, he could almost feel a breeze.
He was still bone-tired from the morning’s shoot, and knew that he should probably do some stretches before his leg cramped up, but for now, he was just letting himself take thirty to relax, closed his eyes and listened to the crew count down a stunt explosion from a neighboring lot. Based on the cheer that followed, it sounded like they nailed it.
The bench boards creaked as someone sat down beside him. Anthony cracked one eye open to see the kid, slumped forward with his hands on his knees.
When Tom didn’t say anything for a full minute, Anthony rolled his eyes and prompted, “Anything on your mind?”
Tom mumbled into his hands. “I have a problem.”
“Shoot.”
Tom groaned. “I have a Chris Evans problem.”
Anthony shook his head. Goddamn Chris and his goddamn fucking beard would be the death of this production, he swore to god. “One by one, they fall.”
Tom looked up with alarm. “What?”
“Relax,” he said, slapping a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You aren’t the first, and you’re not gonna be the last. You screwing up any takes?”
“No! No. I don’t think so.”
“Good,” Anthony said. “Just don’t mess up any of your lines, and remember deep down he’s just a Boston asshole who loves the Pats.”
“I really don’t know what any of those things are supposed to mean in America.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Anthony said, slipping his shades on as the sky cleared. “You’ll get over it.”
*
Tom did not get over it.
“I mean, it is kinda cute,” Scarlett said a few days later, taking a bite out of her sandwich. Anthony missed being able to eat sandwiches, but so long as there was a chance that Marvel might tell him to take his shirt off in front of the camera, he had a very strict diet of tasteless chicken to adhere to.
They were sitting on some unused props by the table craft services had set up. Across the set, Chris was talking to the Russos, while Tom appeared to be hovering in his general area.
“Did you see the way he’s been pulling out the parkour?” Rudd asked. “Every time Evans is around, kid is suddenly backflipping all over the place.”
Anthony snorted. “Like you were any better, man.”
“Considering my back isn’t broken, I’m pretty sure I never tried impressing Evans with any flips.”
“No, only with your god-awful improv.”
Rudd paled. “Oh god. Don’t remind me.”
Scarlett started to snicker. “I remember that! Your first three days on Civil War you would not shut up.”
“I was nervous!”
“You were crushing,” she sing-songed.
“Crushing my role, maybe,” Rudd muttered. “Anyway, what about you?”
“Pffft,” she said, brushing her wig out of her face. “What am I with this guy, new? I got that out of my system years ago. Although I will grant you, I never had to act opposite him in beard form.”
“Goddamn fucking beard,” Anthony and Rudd said simultaneously.
“It looks so soft,” Rudd said.
“It’s a force of nature,” Anthony said.
“Poor kid,” Scarlett said fondly, watching Chris laugh at something Tom said, and the kid responding with what seemed like an involuntary twirl.
*
The day before their scene together, RDJ invited Anthony for lunch at his trailer village, an experience that always amounted to being a really bizarre...trip. But Anthony would not say no to cute pet cats and private chefs, and it was tradition anyway.
He didn’t have to be back on set till three, so he decided to drop by his trailer, pausing when he overheard voices nearby.
“First of all, you gotta stop watching his movies in your free time,” Sebastian was saying. He and Holland were sitting on the front steps of Seb’s trailer, deep in conversation. Anthony was not going to eavesdrop, he was just… passing by. Very very slowly.
“But—”
“Nuh-uh,” Seb said. “You need to let go. You know what, actually, scratch that, you can watch his first movies, they were pretty crappy, but don’t go any further than that. And no more youtube.”
“I have not been watching videos of him on youtube,” Tom said crossly. “Not more than a, uh, normal amount.”
“Sure,” Seb said, “You wanna let me take a look at your app history?”
Tom reddened. “No.”
“Thought so.” Sebastian smirked. “Also, make a list of like, ten things you hate about him.”
Tom furrowed his brow. “That sounds familiar.”
“Duh, it’s from the—shit, don’t tell me you actually don’t know the movie.”
“Nah, I’m just messing with you.” Tom grinned. “I was three when it came out, though.”
“Jesus, don’t tell me that,” Seb says, pained. “All right, last step for getting over a crush—”
“—a problem.”
“All right, a problem— is just wait for him to fucking shave, man. The thing on his face is due off for next month. You know what a dork he looks like without it. If you’re lucky, he might even throw a mustache in between, just to really seal the deal.”
Sometimes, Anthony reflected, the people he worked with had sweetly good intentions but were very, very dumb.
*
A week later, he and Seb were resting against a truck, watching their stunt doubles carry the load once again, in a desert fight scene against alien tennis balls. Well, their stunt doubles and Tom Holland, who did way more of his own actual stunts than seemed in any way reasonable.
“So I couldn’t help but overhear something the other day,” Anthony said casually, turning to look at Seb. He raised an eyebrow. “‘Wait for the guy to change his facial hair’? Really? You read that online or something?”
Seb looked surprised for a moment, but then cracked a grin. “Hey man, all I know is that I got a lot of hate for certain facial hair decisions I made this year. It might work. Don’t knock it till you try it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Anthony said. “Is that how you got over your Chris Evans problem?”
Seb ran his fingers through his hair, hiding his face with that metallic gleaming bicep, and then lowered it. “Not exactly.”
“You mean it wasn’t a problem?” Anthony wiggled his eyebrows. “Or you never got over it?”
Seb shrugged. “Never really got over it. And,” he said, eyes going a little darker, “it was never Chris Evans.”
Anthony wasn’t stupid. The way Seb was looking at him made it pretty clear who he was talking about. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel like a bombshell, but like a sort of faint potential, comfortably settling into place. “Really,” Anthony said slowly.
“Yeah,” Seb said, not looking away. “My problem’s kinda boring. Hasn’t changed his facial hair in over a decade.”
“Hey,” Anthony said. “I haven’t heard any complaints.”
“Yeah.” Seb sighed softly. “That’s the problem.”
The Winter Soldier and Falcon stunt doubles had just wrapped up their last take. Anthony could see a PA headed their way to call them back to set.
“Well, isn’t this perfect timing.” He pushed back against the truck, tapping Seb’s metal arm once. “Okay, time to go.”
“Wait,” Seb said, grabbing his hand, all of a sudden looking a little less sure of himself. “This conversation—”
“Is not over,” Anthony promised. The relief on Seb’s face was hard to miss. Anthony smirked. This was definitely going to be fun.
“Come on, Sea-bass,” he said, leading him back to the set. “Showtime.”