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"Tony, I think I'm dying," Bruce says into the pillow he's attempting to merge with. Pillows live such simple lives. They don't have to worry about human issues like taxes, climate change, and first dates with hot guys named Thor.
Bruce had shown up unannounced to the Stark residence at approximately four o'clock. After greeting Jarvis and raiding the stocked Stark family kitchen for snacks, he invited himself into Tony's room. The butler was usually happy to chat, but the rain cloud above Bruce’s head was palpable. He gave the boy a gloved pat on the shoulder and resumed dusting Howard’s weird vintage technology collection. This pseudo-breaking-and-entering is mutual. Tony can't show up too unannounced because Bruce still has to buzz him in, but he does steal snacks. He steals snacks yet dares to complain about the quality of said snacks. It's always something along the lines of "I can't fuel my body with your vegan, organic, cardboard bullshit!"
"You aren't dying. You're just whipped," Tony says and backspaces whatever he's typing on his suped-up looking laptop. Tony's whole room looks suped-up. Science posters tacked to white walls advertise futuristic gadgets from flying cars to laser blasters—diagrams of supercomputers and graphs ranging from the moon’s gravitational pull to aerodynamics. Three monitors glow on the overcrowded desk. Each one displays a different document with complicated blueprints Bruce barely understands. He's a science guy, not an engineer.
A half-finished motorised skateboard takes up floor space to the left of the desk. Bits and bolts spread over that corner of the room, waiting for Tony and Vision to reassemble it. Possibly with Nebula's help and Mantis's moral support. She wasn't the engineering type either. She’s more of a...snack-getter and tool-holder.
"Nope, pretty sure I'm going into cardiac arrest." He rolls over on the absurdly big mattress. Why does a guy Tony's height need a bed like this?
Rest in peace, Bruce Banner. What a life, dying from a heart attack at the tender age of eighteen. There are worse ways to go, he supposes. Burning alive would be pretty horrific. So would getting attacked by a shark.
"He asked you on a date. In the weirdest way possible, but it's still just a date. Not marriage."
"What if halfway through he realises I'm kinda ugly?"
Tony swivels in his chair with ardour.
"First of all, you're gorgeous. Remember our marriage pact? I intend to make good on that." He winks. It's a strange deal they have. If both parties are single by their fiftieth birthdays, they'll marry each other. Not necessarily for love, but y'know, for the taxes. No one wants to die alone. Why not die with a homie? And Tony insisted Bruce would eventually fall in love with him anyway. He was just too hot to resist.
"And also, if he thought you were ugly, he wouldn't be dragging your ass to Olive Garden or wherever."
The door creaks open, and a familiar blue-eyed face pokes in.
"Oh, hey. I didn't know you were here," Stephen Strange greets.
"Hey. I'm just having a crisis. Why're you here?" Bruce rolls back over to make room for Stephen to sit.
"I play chess with Jarvis. He's busy, though, so I thought I'd hang out here." His ears turn pink. Tony and Stephen weren't dating, and Bruce questioned if they knew that.
"Stop trying to fuck my butler," Tony says and bounces a paperclip off Strange's chest. Yep, definitely not dating or flirting at all.
"He wishes. What's wrong, Bruce?"
"I'm dying. Thor asked me out, and I'm dying," Bruce says to the ceiling. How did an oil stain get up there? An oil stain in the shape of...is that Jesus?
"Oh, rest in peace. Why're you gonna die?" The bed sinks with Stephen's weight. He kicks his sneakers off without unlacing them and sits criss-cross on the red duvet. Bruce notices his socks have "S.V.S" embroidered into them. This poses the question if Stephen embroiders his own hosiery or if they're custom ordered. Are his underwear specially customised as well?
"If he puts an arm around me or tries to hold my hand, I'll die from embarrassment." Stephen hums knowingly, mouth preoccupied with ripping the strap of his grip-aid glove off.
"You're going to rip your teeth out doing that shit, Steph," Tony scolds, "Let me help you."
"Fuck off,” he mutters through his teeth, “Where's he taking you? He seems like the juice bar type." The glove comes undone, and the senior boy's fingers uncurl slowly. Hand now free from its prison, he, too, pats Bruce's shoulder.
Theoretically, the grip glove is made to be taken off with one hand. And, when first prescribed this treatment, Stephen was explicitly warned to not use his teeth. Every doctor and every pamphlet repeated those words. Do not use teeth. This could cause serious dental problems. Do not use teeth. This could cause dental problems. DO NOT USE TEETH. THIS COULD CAUSE DENTAL PROBLEMS.
It took months of practice and a begrudging plea for help, but he can remove it with his other hand. He's just a stubborn dick.
Hundreds of hard-earned Strange family dollars wasted on dental work. Down the drain! Somewhere, a Philadelphia dentist is gripping his heart in agony because Stephen Strange refuses to let Tony loosen the strap for him.
Strange flexes his fingers and wipes sweat off on Tony's pillow.
"He...didn't tell me. I didn't even tell him where I lived. He just said he'd find me."
"Stephen Victor Strange! If you keep pulling the straps with your teeth, I'll kick your ass!" Tony slams his laptop shut. Hopefully his document saves.
The wheels on Tony’s beat-up desk chair squeal when he gets up. Cherrywood floor planks protest the rough treatment. Time and time again, being abused at the hands of Tony Stark. Such a pure red-brown colour, it's a real shame the floor in this room is marred with scrapes, scratches, and various stains from experiments past.
Don't tell Maria, but there's a burn mark by the window covered with a garbage can. Let's just say there used to be curtains on that window.
Jarvis wasn't pleased, but it's not the only secret the two of them share. There's also the real reason that window got smashed last spring. It’s Vision's fault the automatic shoe-tying machine turned into a shoe-throwing machine in the first place!
Tony lays over Stephen and Bruce's laps like a lazy cat. He slips his phone out and takes a selfie with Stephen's disgruntled face in the background. Stephen pulls his hair and threatens to smash Tony’s phone to smithereens if he doesn't delete it.
"This one's going on Twitter. Honestly, Brucie-bear, don't ask either of us for dating advice," he says, "I'm too hot for anyone to love, and Stephen’s a cold, unfeeling bitch.”
"I'm not cold or unfeeling. I've just had fewer relationships than you," Stephen slips out from under Tony, "which isn't hard to do."
"What about that Christine chick? Or Clea? You've got a thing for blonde chicks with C names."
"That's only two! Compared to your, what, fifteen?"As the two continue to bicker, Bruce contemplates his life.
When Thor came out, that alone was shocking. Nevermind him actually asking Bruce out. Ever since that blonde beauty had first introduced himself into their friend group, Bruce had the hots for him. Fragile and questionable heterosexuality was no match for Thor. He smashed Bruce's remaining straight identity into little gay bits.
No one in their tight-knit friendship group cares about sexuality. Just send homework screenshots to the group chat, and it's cool.
The start was just three of them. Tony and Rhodey went as far back as preschool, but Tony's always been Bruce's best friend. At times, his only friend. Tony was the first kid to pay him any mind upon moving to New York. Back home in Ohio, Bruce lived a withdrawn life. He was a soft-spoken nerd with big glasses and shaky hands. He was a weirdo, a geek, and a target for bullies. Well, unless they wanted help with homework. In that situation, he was everyone's best friend. He found companionship within himself instead. And science. Science never called you a nerd and pushed you off the slide at recess.
But after he moved in with his aunt Susan, the two trucked it to peaceful upstate NY. The newfound quiet life was uprooted with the introduction of one Tony Stark. Never before had another kid sought him out for a non-academic purpose.
Dealing with someone as energetic and talkative as Tony was a culture shock to both Banners initially. Even after eleven years of friendship, Tony somehow still hasn't run out of things to talk about. In the same amount of time, Susan still hasn't quite come around to Howard Stark. But that's normal when dealing with Howard.
Rhodey was a much easier friend to have. Still smart enough to challenge Bruce mentally, but without all the added spunk. The three stayed just three until Rhodey introduced Nick Fury into the group not too much later.
Nick brought Coulson, Steve, Pepper, and Natasha. Now friends with girls, the dating questions rained down upon him.
Susan would see Natasha chasing her nephew around with a Nerf gun and ask, "Is she your little girlfriend?" Of course, Natasha stuck her tongue out and gagged. Then shot Bruce in the back of the head. While not great for Bruce's self-esteem, it did get his little child brain thinking. Do I like Natasha? Like how Tony likes Pepper? He pushed it down and ignored it, deciding to just stay friends with everyone. In hindsight, he should've known he wasn't straight sooner.
The following inductees came from both Nick and Coulson (who Bruce never got that close with, still to this day). Clint Barton brought a strange level of understanding with him. He was an orphan, and so was Bruce. Clint didn’t often get deep or personal with Bruce, but they knew they had a deeper connection. Bruce only had his aunt. Clint only had his brother. He used to think it'd be cool to be raised by your brother. But that fantasy didn't include Barney Barton as his older brother. God, what a dick. After only meeting the guy a handful of times, Bruce understands why Clint is the way he is.
Slowly, the group just kept growing. Relationships changed and shifted, and everyone grew up together—some more than others.
Freshman year, Tony and Steve were the first to come out. Tony’s thing ended with Pepper, and he claimed the patriotic older boy for himself, to the dismay of all the girls who wanted Steve.
Of course, Bruce knew gay people existed. Susan raised him to be accepting of things like that. His dad didn’t, but Susan was quick to override most of what his dad taught him. Thankfully.
No one cared. They were bi. No one really thought Tony Stark would turn out straight anyway. But something was stirring in Bruce. He knew he liked girls. Never dated one, but he liked them. Girls just didn't like him. Sometimes though, he'd catch himself thinking too intensely about an attractive guy. Straight guys can have intense crushes on male actors...right? It didn’t matter. He pushed it down and ignored it, deciding to congratulate Tony on coming out.
Steve brought Bucky, Sam, the Maximoffs, and Scott. Tony introduced Peter, T'Challa, Vision, Nebula, Mantis, and Stephen. Everyone got along for the most part. Of course, there was the nasty split between Tony and Steve. The group was divided into tangible sides. Some didn't pick a side, Nick and Coulson, and some switched. Bruce never really got the point. They were both his friends. Don't make him choose who was "right" in a break-up scenario. Frankly, he didn't think the relationship was that stellar to begin with. Steve seemed much happier with Bucky, and Tony would be much more pleased with Stephen if he ever gets around to confessing. Things were never the same, but no one stayed too mad for long. Everything was fine. Bruce was ignoring his sexuality and drowning in Lake Denial, but everything was fine. Until the start of his Sophomore year, that is.
Then comes the source of Bruce's turmoil in a flurry of blonde hair and weirdly perfect facial features. Thor, fresh off the plane and ready for his first American school experience as part of the school's foreign exchange student program. Bruce met Loki before he met Thor. The two of them got into a bit of a tussle during a gym class. Not to brag, but he totally kicked Loki's ass. The memory is pretty faded in his mind, but he does remember that point.
Thor brought every repressed gay urge back to the light. All those years hiding in a tightly locked closet suddenly felt like a waste. Thor was the most attractive boy Bruce had ever seen. God played cruel, cruel tricks on his subjects. Bruce was a stout Atheist and still blamed God for bringing Thor into his life. What kind of God could bust down someone's closet door and force them to acknowledge their sexuality?
"Brucie, you look constipated. What're you thinking about?" Tony snapped him back to the present day. Stephen now sits in the desk chair, scrolling his phone. Swaying side to side in the spinning chair, scrolling through the endless void of Twitter nonsense.
"That our friend group is really gay." Tony nods. He's still lying on his friend's lap.
"Amen! I was the first, though. What're you gonna wear on your date? Assless chaps?"
"No! We're gonna be in public."
"So if you weren't in public, would you?" Stephen pipes up.
On second thought, maybe this wasn't the best place to come for advice.
"How're you going to tell mother and father?"
"Honestly, I haven't thought about it." Thor slid shaky hands up his face and through his hair.
The Odinson boys lay on the living room floor. Thor lies face down parallel to the TV stand, wondering where it all went wrong and if it was too late to go back in the closet. His stomach was flip-flopping, going for Olympic gold.
Loki reclines against the pure white couch. Skatt, his green tree python, inches her way off her owner's shoulder and towards the plush rug beneath them. The snake surmises she's sneaky, but Loki always catches her before she gets her belly on the floor.
"They're going to ask where you're going on Saturday. Are you planning to lie?"
"I know! I haven't thought that far ahead yet. I didn't even plan to ask him out when I did. I just panicked," Thor whines and threads his fingers through his hair. His fingers grip and pull, leaving pinpoints of sharp ache. He can't believe he actually asked Bruce out. Thor has been harbouring this crush for months now. Ever since he realised he likes men.
Bruce was bright, way too brilliant for Thor, probably. He could listen to hours of animated rambling about the stars or physics or some radioactive substance. Absorbing none of the knowledge but admiring his friend's gestures and giddiness.
"Just say 'I'm gay!' and be done with it. Or, don't come out at all as I did," Loki says. Once again, he snatches the serpent from her speedy descent to the floor. The dogs would be traumatised if a four and a half foot snake had free range. Skatt's already been banned from the kitchen and dining room. A law Loki opposes, for the record.
It’s certainly not fair that Thor can bring three mangy mutts and Odin can bring (probably) pest-ridden birds, but Loki can't bring his perfectly clean and friendly snakes.
Okay, Kjære did bite Odin's ankle that one time. Hard. And yeah, maybe Elskede tends to get loose and find her way into Thor's room. But come on! They're precious babies.
"Isn't it gonna get cold?" Thor raises his head. He arched a brow at the slit-pupil pet. Knowing he lived just a wall away from three (four, if you counted Loki) fanged reptiles was hard to come to terms with. And he still hasn't. He doesn't trust any of the three, not one bit. Everyone in the house has been hissed at, and everyone but Frigga's been bitten. Hela moved out before the introduction of the culprit.
Kjære, the corn snake, is a snippety menace who should've stayed at the rescue.
This one, the tree python, Thor didn't mind quite as much. She was big and bright green, hard to miss. She's never snapped or hissed at him or Odin. Loki had this snake long before moving but never got to hold her much outside of her tank. Snakes don't mix well with frigid Norwegian air. Looking back, that makes sense.
After Thor got Terje as a puppy, Loki wanted a pet of his own too. His parents eventually let him get one, but they meant a dog or cat, or even a chubby little hamster. Not a python.
"She's a she, not an it. And no, she'll be fine as long as I don't keep her out too long." Loki lifts her arrow-shaped head and pecks a soft kiss on her scales. Her tongue flicks out in response.
"And don't change the subject." He adds.
"You're gonna get salmonella."
"Good."
"Don't say good! It could kill you!" Probably not true. Thor should fact check things before he says them.
" I'm going to kill you if you keep changing the subject! Just come out and be done with it."
"It's hard! You know dad wants me to be the perfect legacy. Y'know, wife and kids." Odin already struck out twice for a chance at grandkids. Not to say Loki and Hela couldn't still have children, but Loki and Hela shouldn't have children. A child raised by Loki would undoubtedly turn into an arsonist and/or Satanist. Karnilla, his sister's girlfriend, doesn't seem like the maternal type either.
Scratch that. There is a chance for a step-grandkid. Loki's boyfriend has a daughter. Actually, no scratch that again. It would be a disaster if Odin learned his son's dating a teen dad. He barely tolerates the eccentric senior as is.
"Oh please, you and Bruce are so domestic. You'll have kids," Loki rolls his eyes and continues, "Probably a minivan and Live, Laugh, Love sign too."
Thor's next comeback is interrupted by the front door closing.
Thor pushes himself up to a seat. His parents aren't supposed to be home yet, but only one other person has a key to the house. One she obtained without Frigga's knowledge.
"Is this one of those cultural differences where you guys just sit on the floor, or what's up?" Brunhilde pokes her head through the arched doorway. Dogs crowd her path, sniffing and nosing her legs. Inger's excited tail-wagging nearly sweeps her feet. Each excitable pup gets a pat on the head and scratch behind the ear. And a treat the younger teen always has on her when she comes to the Odinson residence. One knows better than to show up without a treat for the dogs.
"He was on the floor when I walked in, so I just joined him. Is this one of those cultural differences where you just walk into people's houses?" Loki huffs.
"If it's gonna be like that, I guess I'll tell Gast to go home," she says and throws a thumb to the door. Instead of joining the floor party, she opts to lounge in the overstuffed recliner next to Loki.
"You brought him?" Loki perks up.
"He brought me. You think I got gas money? Yeah, dumbass lost his phone in the car," she says, "He'll be in soon."
"So, what's up with you, big guy?" She turned her attention to Thor.
"I have to come out," he responds. Terje saunters over to his distraught owner and nudges him with a cold nose. Thor ruffles the old dog's soft fur. The retriever's always been in tune with his human dad's feelings. Many nights Terje has been Thor's shoulder to cry on. Metaphorically. Do dogs even have shoulders?
"Oh, ouch. That shit's scary. Arne, come here, baby! " She excitedly pats her lap. Brunhilde's favourite dog excitedly trots over. Arne, the golden retriever mix. He licks her face all over. She encourages him to hop into her lap. No dogs allowed on the furniture only applied when the parents were home. And "lap dog" definitely included Arne's big self.
“How did you do it?” He looks to Brunhilde with pleading eyes.
“My dad just asked me why I was so passionate about gay shit aaaand yeah. I just said it’s because I’m bi.” She scrunches her fingers in Arne’s long fur. Her nose crinkles with the resurgence of an awkward memory.
Arne hops off Brunhilde’s lap and joins the other dogs crowding Gast when he finally comes inside. Inger yips at the arrival.
“Gast! How did you come out?”
The silver-haired senior swaggers into the den. Immediately his gaze is on Loki's face. Honey eyes soften.
"Um, I just, uh, did it." Cautiously, he sidles up to his boyfriend’s side. There's a goddamn snake wound around his favourite arm-resting spot, the back of Loki's neck. No way in hell he wants to piss it off! Skatt taunts him with a tongue flick. If he wasn't terrified of snakes, he'd fight this bitch. Getting way too close to his sweet pea. His lovebug. His honeybun.
"Lame! Where's the flavour?" Brunhilde says.
"You want me to, uh, set a scene or something?" He moves from the floor to the plush white couch. Bad back, or something like that.
"Yes!" Thor cries.
"It's the end of eighth grade. My mom asks if I like boys. I say yes. End of, um, story, ta-da."
"What about your dad?" Frigga isn't the parent he's worried about. She never threw a fit when her other queer kids came out.
Several times Odin and Loki got into fights about where the line was for Loki's self-expression. Initially, the line was that Loki couldn't paint his nails. They fought, and the line got shoved back. Loki could paint his nails, but he couldn't wear jewellery. One fight and trip to the piercing shop later, the line was moved. Fine, he can wear jewellery but no makeup. Fight. Okay, FINE, he can wear makeup but no facial piercings. And, well, you get the gist.
All that matters is Loki has a septum ring and a history of pissing Odin off with his "blatant gayness" (Odin's words, not his).
"Dads are hard, but, um, I just flat out said I like guys. Not just guys, but um, too. Guys too. As well as girls."
"Don't you think he's already expecting it? I mean, the dude's already got two gay kids." Brunhilde shrugs.
"That's why he wants me to be straight so bad. He's obsessed with legacy," Thor says and pushes himself to stand. Enough floor time for today.
"Who's to say you can't have kids with Bruce? You'd think someone with an adopted kid would be okay with that." She pulls her phone from her back pocket and checks her notifications. Nothing to note besides a Facebook notification that her dad tagged her in something. Probably yet another embarrassing throwback picture from her first day of kindergarten or something. It makes her cringe mentally thinking about it. Those pigtails were...a choice.
"You'd think," Loki mumbles. Gast runs a hand through his silky locks.
It takes everything in Thor not to cancel on Bruce. Every cell in his body screams for Thor to reschedule or just call it off completely. To shove himself back in the closet and lock it.
"That's what you're wearing on a first date?" And Loki certainly is no help. He sits cross-legged on Thor's duvet with Inger's head in his lap. The old dog huffs in agreement. Traitor.
"What's wrong with a t-shirt and jeans?" Thor stares at himself in his mirror. Maybe they weren't his most flattering jeans, but wearing skin-tight pants might send the wrong message.
"At least cuff them or something. You look like a personal trainer."
"We're just going to a diner! What do you wear on dates?"
"I don't go on dates to diners, that's for sure."
Thor tucks his shirt in. He untucks his shirt. He tucks half of it in and then untucks it all.
"Tuck it in and put on an expensive belt. And a jacket," Loki suggests. Loki was the sibling with more refined and designer tastes, but Thor had a few nice pieces. They just rarely see the light of day in favour of sweatshirts and jeans.
"Or, don't wear a jacket and show off your arms to him."
"I'm not going to slut it up on the first date. I'm not you." Thor pulls a letterman off a hanger. He wants to look nice for Bruce, but how does one look nice without doing too much? What if he looks like he's trying too hard? Bruce always looks so put together and nice. How can Thor keep up with that?
"I'm not a slut, slut. What shoes are you wearing?" Loki says.
"Just...boots?" Against his better judgment, Thor decides to stop criticising himself in the mirror. It's as good as it's going to get. Besides, his clothes are only the first hurdle. The next is watching Family Feud downstairs.
"Well, good luck. Maybe they'll already be wine drunk and not notice you left?" Loki suggests, and it's hard to tell if that's helpful or not. Which is standard with Loki's advice.
"Un-fucking-likely. Okay. I'm gonna be okay. Everything's going to be fine ." He chuckles with no humour. Everything is not fine. Everything is horrible.
Thor had planned to sneak by the living room entrance and out the front door. He'd memorised the location of every squeaky board and gave Loki five bucks to distract the dogs with treats. It was practically foolproof. But...it was a foolproof plan devised by a fool.
"Thor? Where are you going?" Frigga calls over the cheering of the live audience. Steve Harvey must have said something funny. Shit shit shit shit shit.
"Uh, I'm, uh," his mind scrambles for a believable excuse that won't warrant further interrogation, "Hanging out with Tony?"
"I thought the Starks were attending a charity event today." Frigga now stands in the arched doorway. Her arms cross over her powder blue blouse—shit shit shit shit shit.
"I meant Steve. I'm going to hang out with Steve."
"So if I text Ms Rogers right now, she'll know you're coming over?" She narrows her eyes. Every curse word, English, Norwegian, and even the few Spanish ones Tony taught him zoom through Thor's head.
"Um...Brunhilde?" Can Frigga see the bead of sweat that just dripped down his temple? Probably not a convincing sign.
"Thor. I know you're sneaking out to go see someone. I’m just wondering who it is that you feel the need to hide it from me."
"Oh, it's no on-"
"Is it Jane?" Odin shambles up behind his wife. Family Feud must be on commercial. He never misses a second of an episode—that and Jeopardy. Loki always bests Odin at Jeopardy, but they still insist on competing. Thor rarely gets any right. If the category is sports, he has a fighting chance. But in something like Shakespeare Romance Plays? Probably not.
"No, Jane and I broke up a while ago…."
"Oh, right. What's the new girl's name?" Odin says.
"Uh, I gotta go! I don't want to be late," Thor says, and his voice raises an octave.
Frigga catches his arm before he can open the front door. For a slim and elegant woman, she certainly has the grip of an Olympic weightlifter.
"You're hiding something from us. Being eighteen doesn't mean you can start lying to us, Thor. You still live in our house," She says good-naturedly. He knows Frigga's right, and usually, he would never lie to his mother. These are extenuating circumstances, though. Life or death. Kinda.
"So if I tell you who I'm going to see, I can leave no questions asked?" Frigga nods and releases his arm.
"I'mgay and I'mgoingonadatewithBruce, okay bye!" Thor says as fast as his tongue will allow. He slams the door behind him and trips over his own feet, running to his car.
Settling down into the seat, his heart beats five hundred miles per hour. Blood rushes in his ears, and the thumping of his heart is deafening. The sound roars louder than the engine of his vehicle.
And yet...he feels free. He's out. Of course, his parents will demand further explanation, but who cares about that right now. He's out. He can go on this date and give Bruce his best self without constantly worrying about telling his parents. He can love Bruce fully.
Thor grips the steering wheel with white knuckles. Wow. He's out.
While waiting for Bruce to buzz him in, Thor checks his phone. Tony had given him Bruce's address and apartment number. Thankfully, Thor didn't have to visit every apartment in town to find Bruce. That was the original plan because he'd gotten too excited and completely forgot to ask Bruce where he lives.
He has three texts:
Mamma💗
Enjoy your date, but we need to have a serious talk when you get home.
Pappa👨🦳
You spend too much time with your brother. Gay? Really?
Loki🤢
Father's pissed. He thinks I made you gay.
And in a moment of deserved selfishness, he doesn't respond to any of them.
The intercom reverberates, and a female voice says, "Come on up!". Or, some mangled syllables that sounded like that. The intercom speaker probably hadn't been changed or upgraded since the 90s, much like most decor in the apartment building lobby. If he had a sledgehammer and some paint swatches, Thor could really do a number on the outdated amenities.
And great, the elevator is out of order. Or maybe it never even worked in the first place.
Thor sighs and eyes the four flight climb ahead of him. While climbing the stupid stairs, his only thought is, " Who the hell has carpet on their staircase?"
That, and about a million anxious thoughts concerning everything that could go wrong today. Most are irrational concerns. Like, a meteor crashing through the roof of the restaurant and Turing the boys into gay little pancakes. Or an alien invasion. Thor's definitely betting on alien invasion.
The door to the Banner residence swings open as he approaches. Bruce steps hurriedly out and clicks it shut behind him.
"You're not allowed to go in there," he says under his breath.
"Why?"
"She'll assault you with questions," Bruce sighs and wipes his forehead theatrically. Thor smiles at how soft he looks in the orange hallway light.
"Oh, it can't be that bad. My dad asked Gast how much money his parents make annually." He resists the urge to reach out and stroke Bruce's mousy curls. It's a formidable temptation, but he clenches his fist to fight it.
"Yikes. That's one hell of a father-in-law. Oh, uh, sorry. That's your dad." Bruce rubs the back of his neck. Thor chuckles. It's not like he hasn't thought the same thing about Odin.
"Don't worry. Shall we?" Thor holds an elbow out. Bruce rolls his eyes fondly at the other boy's corny outdated flirting. He takes the elbow anyway.
"So where are we going?" Bruce says when the boys get in the car. He adjusts the seat closer. Loki must've sat here last with his weirdly long legs. Bruce is used to being shorter than most of his friends, even the younger ones. Hence the friendship with Tony. Good ol' short Tony.
"Oh, just a little diner down the road. My, uh, my mom used to take us there to practice English," Thor pulls out of the apartment parking lot.
"That's cool! Was it hard to learn?" Bruce watches the people go by. Neighbours are putting up last-minute Christmas lights to light the way for Santa. Kids throwing snow at each other in some cruel no holds barred war. The heavy snow hasn't fallen yet, but the lawns are lightly dusted with white crystals. Bruce locks eyes with a kid spraying the snow with a hose, turning the powder to ice. The kid picks up the ice and chucks it into another rascal's nose. Future serial killer right there.
"Oh yeah. English is so crazy. Your rules make no sense, yet you don't care," Thor chuckles, "Loki picked it up quicker than me, watching all his reality shows and whatnot, but after I just accepted nothing will ever make sense, I started getting it."
"It's so stupid, huh?"
"Yeah. You, um, look great, by the way," Thor mumbles, trying to hyperfocus on the road and not Bruce. Not focus on Bruce's cute face and cute hair and cute smile.
Bruce colours rapidly. He avoids Thor's gaze by staring out the frosty window. Those ice-blue puppy dog eyes could see straight through his soul and into his gooey, lovestruck centre.
"You too. You look great too, I mean. You always look great, yet it seems effortless. I've never seen you not look great. I mean, wow, I'm still talking. I'm gonna stop now," Bruce word vomits. He smooths his already smooth slacks frantically.
Thor pulls into a parking lot with only four other cars. Two of the vehicles belong to workers. One is a grey truck that looks to be falling apart at the seams. Paint peeling off in chips. Orange rust crawling onto the fender and...muffler? Bruce doesn’t really know cars. He gets closer, walking towards the quaint restaurant and notices a myriad of bumper stickers. Bumper stickers are always interesting. It’s fun to try and piece together who the driver might be, just from some stickers on their car. And, yeah, it’s a bit mean sometimes, but sometimes people deserve it. Bruce shudders, thinking about the racist bumper stickers he’s seen in front of him on the highway. Why would you put that on your car? At least everyone else knows you’re an asshole, and they should avoid you, but still...just why?! None like that on this truck, though. There’s a “Honk if parts fall off” and a “Cowboy butts drive me nuts!” A blue and yellow equality sticker and rainbow flag sticker. So this truck probably belongs to a...gay hillbilly? That’s Bruce’s best guess.
“Oh, that’s Quill’s dad’s car,” Thor says.
“Ah. I was trying to figure out what kind of person drives a truck with those bumper stickers. My first thought was gay hilbilly,” Bruce replies and grins.
“Well, you’re not wrong! My personal favourite is this one.” He points to the “ Y’all means all” decal with a booted toe.
The atmosphere inside the diner is cosy, with light, jazzy music flowing through space from a radio sitting on the counter. Orangey lights hang over the well-loved leather booths. It’s much warmer inside than the blustery winter air outside, so Bruce shrugs off his jacket. A waitress mulls around with a plate of steaming hot food. She smiles at Thor as she passes. He did mention he’s a regular here, bringing the football team along for after game dinner.
“Thor! Hi Thor! Thooor!” Someone yells from a booth. Bruce looks towards the source of the interruption only to see Peter Quill waving erratically from his seat.
"Hey, man." Thor makes his way over to the younger boy and high fives him. Bruce stands meekly by his side, unsure what to say. He isn't very close to Quill. They've probably never had an actual conversation about anything besides what homework is due.
"Heya Thor. Whatchu doin' here on a Saturday afternoon?" Peter's dad says. Bruce doesn't remember his name. Does it start with a...J? M?
"Oh, I'm on a date, actually." Thor puts his arm on Bruce's shoulder. Both their faces colour instantaneously.
"Well shit, ya don't say."
"Oh, cool. Bruce, right?" Peter turns his excited gaze to the other boy.
"Um, yeah. Bruce."
"Yondu." The older man holds his hand out for Bruce to shake. His grasp is threateningly firm and callused. Grease under his nails makes Bruce wary. He's a bit of a neat freak. Okay, a lot of a neat freak. Just, why can't people clean their hands? Don't they know how many germs live under their nails? He waits until Yondu looks away and wipes his hand on his slacks.
"Kraglin. You two go have fun. We was 'boutta head out," the other man at the table chimes in. He slaps a few bills on the table and flicks Quill's ear as he reaches for the money. Lightly enough, as Quill smirks about it. Or maybe he's been smacked upside the head so many times he's delirious. Either way, it's not Bruce's business.
"Hey, I'll see you later, Thor. Enjoy your date!" Peter almost shouts as he slides out of the booth. He stretches up and wraps the taller boy in a hug.
"He's cute. If this doesn't work out for you, I'm shooting my shot," Quill whispers in Thor's ear.
Great. As if Thor wasn't already having an internal nervous meltdown about how much cooler Bruce is, now Quill wants his date. Perfect.
The boys settle into their booth, tucked far away from the few other patrons. Orange overhead lights counteract the blue light from the snow that's filtering through the dusty windows. It isn't hot in the diner, but the atmosphere provides a cosy feel. Not enough to dissuade from the metaphorical icicles forming on the end of Thor's nose, but it's still lovely. Pleasant, slow music drifts through the boy's ears. No words. Something light and jazzy. Thor relates. He's feeling jazzed.
Thor situates himself across from Bruce instead of next to him. Bruce hides his disappointed sigh in a cough. He rubs his hands together and huffs into them in hopes to thaw them out. He spares a glance towards Thor's own hands. They're probably warm. Is it too early to hold hands? Should he wait until a bit later in the date?
Thor declines a menu when the waitress makes her way over to their booth.
"Oh, I know exactly what I want, ma'am," he says with that thousand-kilowatt smile.
"Of course you do. You're only in here three times a week. I'll give you two a moment." Bruce reads her nametag before she walks away. Sarah.
"You're chummy with the staff too?" Bruce says over the top of his menu. Faded and yellowed pictures of food look anything but appetising, but it must be good if Thor comes here so often. No one eats at places they hate.
"Yep. Surprised you didn't recognise her."
"She looks familiar. What do you recommend?"
"Steve's mom. And might I suggest the breakfast platter. Are you cold?" Thor's brain hops around about thirty different subjects at once. So many things he wants to say all at once, but if he did, it'd just sound like garbled nonsense. To be fair, most of the things he says sounds like that anyway.
"I thought so! Uh, I guess it's a little cold here. Definitely keeping my coat on."
"I can, um, warm your hands up. If you want," Thor says and shrinks into the collar of his shirt. He lays his hand palm up on the table.
"Oh! Okay, yeah, let's do...that," Bruce replies and grabs Thor's hand a bit forcefully. He was right. Thor's hand is comfortably warm.
"Bruce, you're squeezing my hand pretty hard."
"Oh! I'm sorry. God, I'm so nervous," Bruce retracts his grip. He feels like ants are crawling over his back, scrambling all of his thoughts. And making him look like a fool! A dork, a dummy, a dingus, a doofus.
"It's okay, I am too. To be honest, I almost cancelled on you. I was so nervous. Still am."
"How can you be nervous? Dude, you look like a supermodel. I look like a youth pastor who got laid off."
"I look plain. You're beautiful and, like, abnormally smart. I still put my shoes on the wrong feet sometimes." Thor chases Bruce's hand with his own. He locks their fingers together once more, giving the pale digits a loving squeeze.
God, if this is what loving a boy is like, Thor's been missing out. How could anyone be against this? This feeling in his chest, like a hundred bees, are swarming around his heart, buzzing and dancing. Having a bee ball in his arteries and making him choke on pollen. But in the most positive way possible. Like the bees aren't dancing aggressively, they're waltzing cheek to cheek, antennae to antennae. Alone in their bee world with each other.
"What're you thinking about?" Bruce snaps Thor out of his daze.
"Bees waltzing."
"Why?"
"I'll tell you later."