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Stephen hadn’t been expecting anyone to be waiting. Hell, he’d told them not to wait: time could move differently in other dimensions. But when he dragged himself back into the park from which he’d departed, exhausted and bruised and starving hungry, Tony was waiting for him on a nearby bench.
“Stephen!” Tony jumped up. “Christ, it’s good to see you back safe.” He reached out and pulled Stephen into a hug.
Every thought in Stephen’s head ground to a halt. Tony’s embrace was warm and solid, not so tight that it hurt, but tight enough to hold all the little pieces of Stephen together. When was the last time someone had hugged Stephen?
When was the last time someone had touched him at all, except in passing?
Suddenly, all the little pieces of Stephen came loose, like it was safe now that someone else could hold onto them, and he found himself choking out a harsh sob. He hid his face in the curve of Tony’s neck, heat pricking at his eyes.
Tony didn’t flinch or let go or pull back. Instead, he pulled Stephen closer and rested a hand on the back of his neck. “Hey, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You don’t have to hold on anymore.”
So Stephen finally, finally let go.