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Steve bent over to pick up the folded note that fell out of his locker. It was graph paper, with an unfamiliar, block-printed ‘Steve’ written on the front. He was on his way to the cafeteria , so tucked it in his pocket to read later.
Steve pulled the note back out after unpacking his home-packed lunch. “Whatcha got there?” Bucky went to playfully snatch the note away, but for once, Steve was quicker than his athletic friend, yanking it out of his reach.
“Lemme be, ya jerk.” Smoothing out the paper, he started reading.
Steve -
Contrary to popular belief, I’m not good with words. At least words that deal with feelings and emotions and all that junk. But my best friend (who is about to be demoted to ‘vague acquaintance’ for making me do this) insists I have to, and I quote ‘tell him how you feel, man’. He’s not actually reading over my shoulder as I write this, but he is staring intently at me across the lab bench, so here goes.
I like you. I really do. Probably even more than ‘like’.
I’m afraid if I told you in person, to your face, that you wouldn’t believe me. After all, I flirt with anything that moves, right? No one takes me seriously. And who can blame them, since I barely take myself seriously most of the time. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel things. And I feel something about you that I haven’t felt about anyone before.
So yeah, now that I’ve stuck my pen in my heart and spilled it all over the stage, there’s no way I can sign my name to this. But you probably already know who I am. You’re smart; I bet you’ve figured me out. And you’re brave; you wouldn’t resort to sticking a note in someone’s locker. Did I mention you’re cute and you’re funny and you’re talented, too?
And best of all, you’re kind. Kind enough I think to not make a big deal over this stupid note. Thanks for putting up with me.
Steve’s heart was thudding in his chest and he could barely catch his breath. He knew who he wanted to have written this -- the little clues all fit. But there was no way Tony Stark could feel that way about scrawny art kid Steve Rogers. Tony was the smart one, a genius, even. Rich and quick-witted and absolutely gorgeous -- he was way out of Steve’s league... right?
“You okay?” Bucky started to rummage in Steve’s messenger bag for his inhaler. “Whose butt do I need to kick?”
“No one,” Steve murmured in reply. “I think this is from Tony -- saying he likes me? But I can’t be sure.”
“One way to find out. ” Still in a bit of shock, Steve didn’t resist when Bucky took the note from his hands, scanned it quickly, then got up to cross the cafeteria. Unsure what his friend had in mind, Steve jumped up to follow him.
“Hey, Stark.” Bucky slid into the empty seat at Tony’s table and slapped the note down on the table. “Did you write this?”
Tony’s eyes flicked down to the paper, and his cheeks darkened slightly. But he squared his jaw and answered belligerently, “And what if I did?” Tony’s friend Rhodey sat up a little straighter, as if readying himself for a confrontation.
“I’d say you better mean it, ‘cause this little punk,” Bucky tilted his head toward Steve, “has been sweet on you for I dunno how long. You should see all the sketches of ya in his notebooks.”
“Buck!” Steve slapped him on the shoulder for just putting it all out there, but then stole a look at Tony, whose beautiful brown eyes were wide with hopeful surprise.
“Toldja, Tones.” Rhodey nudged his friend, a satisfied smirk curling wide across his face.
Steve mustered up the courage to reach out and take his crush’s hand; if Tony believed he was brave, then he’d better prove it. “Bucky’s right, Tony. Want to go to the movies with me this weekend?”
The smile that bloomed across Tony’s face lit up the entire cafeteria. “That sounds great, Steve. My Saturday is clear, so whatever time works for you. I’ll spring for the popcorn.”