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They didn't have a seating chart in this class, but Tony still sat in the same seat every single day. It was in the back row, three seats from the door, exactly at the perfect angle to see the desk in the second row, two seats from the door. It was close but not too close, and not directly behind, but not at such a sharp angle that the person sitting there would notice him staring. And oh, did he stare.
Steve Rogers also sat in the same seat everyday, second row, two seats from the door. And Tony stared. He had memorized every jacket Steve had, the way different collared shirt sat across his shoulders, the way his hair brushed off the top of his ears between haircuts, the way he tapped his fingers on his thigh when he was thinking. Tony had memorized Steve's profile, his handwriting, his favorite pencil, the way he glanced down at his book bag when he felt his phone vibrate. Tony was quite well-versed in the art of Steve-watching, and Steve would never know. Once in a while, Steve would turn and catch Tony's eyes, but Tony brushed it off and looked away, making it seem like he was looking at the board or the teacher. Each time his eyes skittered back to Steve, the blond was facing the front of the room again.
Today was no different. Tony was in his seat, and Steve came in and sat in his. He pulled out his favorite pencil (seriously, how long was that thing going to last?) and leaned back in his chair. The teacher started talking, and Tony started staring.
Steve was wearing a simple, dark blue t-shirt – one of Tony's favorites – and it was warm enough outside that he hadn't brought a jacket. Tony's eyes followed the slope of his shoulders and ran along the back of his neck, coming up to outline his face and -
- and get caught in a an sky-blue gaze. Steve was looking right at him.
Tony felt his face flush and he looked down, quickly. How long had Steve been watching him? Did he know that Tony had been staring, idly letting his eyes drift over Steve's body?
Tony risked a peek, knowing that Steve was probably turned back around like usual. He wasn't. Steve was staring Tony down, eyes locked on him. He didn't look angry – in, fact, he looked almost intrigued. Tony didn't look away this time.
Steve's mouth tilted into a soft smile, and Tony realized he was grinning back. Slowly and purposefully, Steve turned his body back towards the front, leaving his eyes for last, his gaze holding Tony's for as long as possible. At the very last second, he winked.
Tony knew he was probably still blushing, but he didn't look away for the rest of the period. Every few minutes, Steve would sneak a glance back, as if to make sure Tony was still watching him, and the smile kept returning to his face.
When the bell rang, Tony quickly stuffed his bag, intended to shoot out of the room like he usually did, but he was stopped by a hand on his wrist. Steve's grasp was light, but warm, and his eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled wide at Tony.
“Hey,” he said.
“Uh, hi,” Tony replied. So articulate.
“So I don't know if you were paying attention,” Steve started, raising an eyebrow, making Tony look away in embarrassment, “but we have to have partners for the next project. Interested?”
“Interested? In you? Hell yes. Ah – I mean, yes, partners for the project. Sure. Sounds good.”
Steve looked like he was trying not to laugh. Tony didn't know what else to say, already having made an idiot of himself.
“Okay, cool. I'll come sit back there tomorrow, and we can talk about it.”
“Sure.”
They didn't have a seating chart in this class, but Tony still sat in the same seat every single day. It was in the back row, three seats from the door, but now Steve sat next to him. Back row, two seats from the door, fingers intertwined with Tony's under the desk. Tony still stared. Steve stared back.