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The after party, Tony realises now that he's ninety five percent certifiably an adult, is nothing fun.
With the Avengers all sprawled on their beds after a night of partying in the New Year at the Tower, he's left with bottles and scattered chips and a dark red blob on the couch that he can't be sure is spilled soda or blood.
There's also a weight in his pocket that's grown familiar over the night, and he's glad it hasn't been discovered yet, because there's a very specific box with a very specific ring for a very specific person.
Oh, and there's Steve, his very specific boyfriend who stands perfect as ever in the kitchen, making hangover soup.
Steve, who says that hiring a cleaning crew to clean up their party mess was irresponsible.
Steve, who Tony just wants to marry.
"You're up early," Steve grins.
"It's three in the afternoon," Tony bites back his yawn. He had been up at noon, but a raging headache reminded him he wasn't as young as he used to be, trapping him back in bed.
He shouldn't have let Thor tempt him with that mead.
Adding some salt to the soup pot, Steve offers the ladle to Tony for a taste test, blowing on it before he hands it over. "Everyone else is still conked out, so you're early."
"Only because my boyfriend left me cold and alone in bed - oh," the warmth hits Tony's dry throat like a balm, the spices coaxing the clouds fogging his mind away. He sips the entire ladle, ignoring Steve's smug smile.
"What was that about cold and alone?"
"Shut it," Tony prods Steve's apron with the empty ladle. "I was deprived of my human pillow."
Steve leans down to drop a kiss on the crown of Tony's head. "Does that make up for it?"
"No," Tony shakes his head, wincing at how it brought back the hangover headache. "Give me that entire pot of soup and maybe I'll consider it."
"That's enough to feed all the Avengers."
"And I'm the most important Avenger," Tony lets Steve take back the ladle before the soup burns.
Raising one teasing brow, Steve shrugs. "Most important? I'd argue that as the frontline of the future, Peter and the young ones are most important."
"I'm most important to you," Tony huffs, "and on top of that, the smartest, sexiest Avenger, and technically the landlord of this kitchen."
"Nope," Steve pops the 'p' way too cheerfully. Tony has got to get the serum's no-hangover effect distilled. "The lovely Miss Potts is our landlord, and she had some rules about you, the kitchen, and fire extinguishers."
"I burnt an omelette once," he grumbles fondly, pushing himself up against the kitchen counter to perch on it while Steve adds the final touches to the soup.
"That should be your resolution: learn to cook your dearest boyfriend an omelette."
"Dearest, huh?" Tony loved it when Steve was Tony's anything. "And no, I have precisely two resolutions for this year."
"Oh?"
"It's simple, really. One: get a husband. Two: be the best husband."
"What? Tony?" Steve turns off the stove's fire, and for a second Tony stares at the bubbling soup to gain his courage, because this. This was why he wanted to marry Steve.
The man was mule-headedly stubborn and infuriating and had so many goddamn manners but he cared, enough to cook for their little family, enough to learn when Tony needed some light teasing to get his mood up or a sip of soup to help make the bad a little bit better.
And well, Tony had wanted to pop the question last night with all their friends around them to celebrate, but second thoughts made him realise that for this...
For this he doesn't need bright lights or loud cheering.
He only needs Steve's small smile, that smile that stayed with him even through the messiest part of their lives, these imperfect moments stringing together into mosaics that shone like stars guiding Tony home, guiding Tony here.
"I've been - I've been thinking for the longest time, and I'm 97.8% sure you wanna get hitched too," he starts, meeting Steve's wide eyes with a surety that should be terrifying but isn't. There is courage in being beside Steve. "So. I'm hungover and grumpy and I look like shit, but you're smiling at me like I'm the best thing and fuck it. Steve. I love you."
Tony slips off the counter to properly stand, to take Steve's hand and hold it in his forever. "I'm turning fifty one this year and that's way too many years to live without calling you my husband. You're so - you make me look forward to tomorrow, and you make me excited for another year. I wake up in the morning and you're gone for your run but I get so fucking wrapped up in wanting to see you that I - "
"Yes," Steve says.
"What?"
"Yes."
There's no hesitation.
Tony blinks.
"I didn't even ask you yet."
Steve replying smile is so tender it threatens to break Tony because holy shit they were really doing this, he loves Steve so much and Steve loves him enough to promise the rest of his life to Tony, and -
"Tony, will you marry me?" Steve has the audacity to ask, to take a step closer and whisper those words against Tony's skin.
"I'm the one who's supposed to ask," he finds himself biting his lip to stop himself from laughing. This was supposed to be a serious decision. "I have a - a ring, and I - " he gets down on one knee, fumbling to get the ring box out of his pocket. "Steve, will you marry me?"
"Only if you say yes to my proposal."
He laughs, because what reason is there to stop him from laughing? He knows Steve adores his happiness and god, he adores Steve's silliness so, so much. "You're hijacking my proposal."
"Your fault you were taking too long," Steve pretends to pout, "I want to call you my fiance."
"I'll take that as a yes," Tony takes the ring out of the box, and he's proud when his hands don't shake as he slips it on Steve's finger. There were commitments that felt too vast, too impossible to promise.
And then there was this, staring up into Steve's brilliantly blue eyes, the scent of fresh soup calling him home, and the way Steve stared at the ring, mesmerised with awe and the same joy Tony felt exploding in him -
Steve pulls Tony up, warm hands closing around Tony's back, one resting just between his shoulderblades and the other heavy on his hip. Tony tucks his head in the crook of Steve's neck, peppering kisses there even as Steve turns his head to press a long kiss on Tony's cheek, then his temple, litanies of 'I love you' and 'yes, yes you idiot, of course I'd say yes' whispered between them, and Tony pulls back the slightest bit to kiss him quiet because as much as Tony enjoys listening to Steve, he enjoys tasting Steve's happiness even more.
They stand there for a moment, foreheads pressed against each other, until Steve bumps their noses together. "And I'll take that as my yes."
Tony shakes his head fondly. "You know, the soup's going to get cold."
"It's alright," Steve leans up to press another kiss between Tony's brows. "As long as you're not cold."
"It's like that now?" Tony pokes teasingly at Steve's ribs. "Where was this 'alright' when you left me alone in bed?"
"If you're going to be grumpy, I'm not telling you my New Year's resolution."
"And what's that?"
"Make my fiance smile more, and," Steve's smile turns into a smirk, "scream my name more than last year."
Giggling - and seriously, Tony is going to be fifty one, he shouldn't be reduced to a giggling teenager by this supersoldier, but he can't help it - Tony tangles his fingers around Steve's, grinning wider when he feels the gold ring pressing into his skin.
"You're the worst," Tony can't even pretend to pout back. His cheeks hurt from smiling - the best kind of hurt.
Steve kisses him again, swaying their bodies together, a little dance to the music of their mingled breaths. "You love me."
"Of course I do."
Left hand still tangled with Tony's, Steve uses his free hand to reach up to get a bowl, pouring the warm soup into it.
Hoping to make it easier, Tony tries to tug his hand out of Steve's, only to have his boyfr - his fiance squeeze tighter.
"I can do it with one hand," Steve lifts Tony's hand up to his lips.
"If you're sure," Tony grabs two spoons from the drying rack.
Steve puts both spoons into the same bowl.
"Together?" he asks Tony.
Tony leads them both to the table, their hands linked tight.
"Together."