Work Text:
Tony always kept something of the mechanic in him: an urge to tinker, a need to be hands-on. That’s why every now and then, he visited one of his laundromats in the middle of the night, to check how they were doing.
Yet he also enjoyed it. The thrumming of the machines, the blinking neon lights outside, had a dreamlike quality that let him lose himself in anonymity. None of the other clients spoke, focused instead on writing down things in old journals or playing with their phones. Instead of looking at them, his eyes focused in the bright green numbers counting down the minutes. All his worries — the company, the armor, his bad heart, the Avengers, how to tell Captain America he had crush on him — were swept away by the stillness.
At least until a shrill beeping took him out of his reverie — his load was done. He had to change the sound, that was very unpleasant. He stood up and stretched
But when he went to open the machine, he crashed into somebody. ‘Ouch, sorry, I thought it was mine,’ the stranger said. His voice was deep, but warm and full of mirth. The tall, smiling stranger had clear blue eyes and floppy blond hair. He had been the one scribbling down in a journal. Odd habit, in this day and age.
‘No worries.’
He wanted to say something else. Do you come here often? Too clichéd. Maybe a pun about laundry? Some small talk about the weather? Something interesting, funny that wouldn’t be too forward. He was still running through his list of pick-up lines when the stranger chuckled.
‘Steve. Nice to meet you…?’
‘Tony Stark. And nice to meet you too.’