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Tony Stark is a lucky man. Not in the "winning the lottery kind of way", more in the “just my luck” kind of way. He likes to remind himself about how lucky he is. A lot. He'll do it at a board meeting where the oh-so-boring chairmen won’t stop mentioning his father, or at a fundraiser where he smiles for hours; not sure what flashes are of cameras and what is from disgustingly expensive diamond jewelry. He’s lucky, lucky, lucky. So very goddamn lucky.
This particular day he might not be entirely sober and he might not be in the best part of town. If he’s to be honest, he doesn’t know the town very well. Mostly he’ll experience it from the inside of his car. He’s not stumbling, not really; Tony Stark does not stumble, but apparently he attracts attention anyway. The man waiting for him at the end of the alley has to be twice his size.
He’s expecting some cliché phrase, but the man says nothing. Instead he walks up to Tony, silently, smiling, and with a confident spring in his step.
Tony considers turning and running the way he came. He’d feel like a coward, but if he had to choose between his life and his dignity he’d chose life any day. Besides, it’s not like he has much dignity left. As he shifts his weight he realizes how drunk he actually is; the alcohol is making his world spin more than he expected it to. There’s also shuffling behind him, like someone’s watching his every move in case he’d make a run for it.
Well of course there’s more than one. He’d be an idiot not to see this coming.
“Why don’t you leave the gentleman alone?”
Tony’s so relieved he could laugh, and when he actually sees the man challenging the assailants he feels even more like laughing. It must be a joke. The man looks like he hasn’t eaten properly in months, all scrawny and pale. His clothes are worn out and – despite being small in size – hanging haphazardly on his tiny frame like he's borrowed them from an older sibling.
And despite looking so outmatched there’s a fire in the man’s eyes. He’s dead serious about taking these men on. Tony is choking on the laughter that never escaped his lips, and for the first time tonight he’s utterly terrified.
“Sorry kid. We have business with him. Now beat it.” It’s the first thing the assailant says, and his voice isn’t very threatening on its own, but Tony can’t help but to flinch nonetheless.
The tiny man, as expected, doesn’t leave when he’s told to. Instead he takes a few steps forward while keeping his chin up, and more than anything he resembles a fearless soldier. “No, I won’t beat it. In my opinion it seems like the gentleman would be prefer to be left alone, and I won’t leave until you do so.”
“Oh yeah, and if we happen to be bothering him, who’s gonna stop us?”
The assailant is joined by his accomplice, and together they tower over the man. Their focus has shifted from Tony to him, and if there’s any chance for Tony to escape, this would be it.
He’s about to make a run for it when the man says “I am.” It’s simple, short and so sincere it's heartbreaking.
When the fight breaks out Tony is barely aware of it. He’s looking around the alley for anything, planks, crates, dirty syringes; anything he could use as a weapon. He can’t run away, if he does he won’t be able to live with himself.
There’s a pipe a few feet away, and very slowly he starts reaching for it. After a few seconds he realizes that the men aren’t paying attention to him at all, and he stumbles forward to finally grab his weapon. By now he’s afraid it’s too late.
The assailants have their backs to him, beating and kicking the man, and Tony manages to hit one of them in the head. The pipe collides with an almost wet sound and the man collapses instantly. As the remaining one spins around Tony swings the pipe again, hitting the man’s right leg and bringing him to his knees.
He hesitates for a moment, barely able to bring himself to hit the man again, but knowing that he should knock him out in order to have enough time to escape. And so he swings the pipe a final time.
The scrawny man is conscious, but remains on the ground and seems unable to get up. As Tony’s trying to help him stand the dizziness hits again, but the urgency to get away from the alley outweighs the need to throw up.
They walk slowly and in silence, Tony having his arm wrapped around the man’s waist to keep him up. It’s not until they’ve come a few blocks that he’s collected himself enough to speak.
“Where do you live?”
The man gestures groggily with one hand in no particular direction. “I need to… the park.”
“You live in the park? Well, to each his own. And I guess that explains… a lot…” And Tony actually laughs, because about an hour ago he was dancing with the people who rule this town. He was surrounded by bodyguards and drinking booze worth more than the houses surrounding them. It’s like he’s been transported to another world, and it all happened so fast he’s not sure where to go from here.
The man glances at him, and rather than being insulted by Tony’s giggling he seems understanding. Well, obviously pure-hearted angels have to be homeless and live in parks. That’s just how the world works. Tony sighs and tries to calm himself down. Instead of commenting on the park-thing he settles on smalltalk. That’s something he’s good at, but discussing politics and why good men end up on the street? Yeah, not so much.
“You’re my knight in shining armor, and you’re bleeding all over my suit. I think this would be an appropriate time to tell me your name.”
The man laughs at that, but it’s more a cough than anything else. “It’s Steve. Steve Rogers.”
“Roger that.” And he hesitates, because he’s not sure if he wants to introduce himself as Tony Stark, the billionaire genius. Steve doesn’t seem to have recognized him this far, and it’s been a long time since anyone did something nice for Tony without expecting anything in return. “I’m… Tony.”
Steve’s out of breath and seems a little dazed, but he smiles, and despite the bloodstained lips it’s the most dazzling thing Tony’s ever seen. “Nice to meet you, Tony.”
“So, Steve, what brought you to that lovely little alley at this time of day? Or well, night.”
At first Steve simply shrugs, but then he seems to realize that Tony is expecting a more elaborate answer than that. “I was running an errand and happened to spot you guys. You seemed kind of out of it, and I figured you couldn’t take them on your own.”
And it would be so easy to laugh right now. To point out that really, you’re one to talk? But Tony can’t bring himself to, and he vows to never tell Pepper about this. Ever. If she heard about him passing the opportunity to be snarky she’d torment him about it for the rest of his life.
“Don’t think I’m not grateful, I am, but it’s not like I can’t afford losing some money, and maybe that would’ve been a better option than you…” He hesitates because he doesn’t know what to say, and isn’t that a first?
Steve seems to notice Tony staring at his injuries – the bruises starting to appear like dark roses on his pale skin, and the cuts on his face – and smiles yet again, this time patiently. It’s the expression of a teacher explaining something elementary to a class, and them simply not getting it. “Those men wouldn’t have merely taken your money; it’s not what they’re after. And don’t worry, I’m used to this.”
Tony simply stares when Steve uses his sleeve to clean some blood off his face. “Out of all the things you could’ve said that’s probably the most worrying.”
They reach the park a few minutes later, and by now Steve doesn’t lean on Tony as much. He seems grateful for the help, but eager to walk on his own; to prove that he can do perfectly fine by himself.
Tony tries to be discreet about it, but he can’t help scanning their surroundings for some kind shelter. He’s not sure how anyone could live in this kind of place, with trees and muddy lawns and overflowing trashcans everywhere. When Steve sighs happily he’s not sure why, but then he notices a wooden tripod with a backpack beside it. Steve lets go of him and starts going through the bag as if he’s making sure nothing’s missing, and Tony is utterly confused.
“Wait a second; we went here to get that? That’s yours? You don’t…”
Steve turns to him with a quizzical look. “I don’t what?”
What kind of person assumes “I need to go to the park” means “I live in the park”? Tony needs a drink. In fact, some of that paint Steve’s repacking would be just fine. “You don’t, uh, live here?”
He says it silently, looking at anything but Steve. There better be a bar close to here.
And Steve actually laughs. It’s quiet and warm, something inclusive. “No, I don’t live in the park. I’m a painter.”
“So where do you live?” Smalltalk is good. Tony is good at that. Talking. He’s witty and a genius and never makes a fool of himself. He should talk more. Ask questions. And find something to blame for his stupidity. Maybe he could mention the party. “It’s the dancing. It makes me loose brain cells.”
Steve looks at Tony like he's not sure if he should laugh or take him seriously. “The what?”
“I went dancing earlier today with a bunch of horrible people. I’m not much of a dancer. That doesn’t mean I’m bad. I’m brilliant. But I don’t like it, and when I do things I don’t like my brain shuts down. I’m afraid it’s not entirely conscious yet. That’s not to say your company isn’t great. It’s thanks to you I’m functioning at all.” And he’s rambling, rambling the way he’ll do when talking to Pepper; the way he’ll ramble when being comfortable enough with someone to just spew out a never-ending stream of thoughts.
Steve looks like he understood everything perfectly – something Tony doubts – but is too polite to make a comment on it. Instead he closes the backpack and picks up the now folded tripod under one arm. He looks horrible. Tiny and bruised and carrying too much on his own. Tony really should help him out. Instead he keeps talking. “I’m not used to feeling tall.”
Steve’s laugh holds a sad kind of amusement this time. “Neither am I.”
Open mouth, insert foot. “Hey, let me help you carry that. You never said where you live. The least I can do is helping you get home.”
And Steve actually looks terrified. Tony is kind of used to people looking at him that way, but usually he has to insult someone to get that reaction. “No, I live in Brooklyn. You don’t have to.”
“Let me at least help you to your car.” Steve doesn’t answer, but the way he glances at the ground is pretty telling. “So you don’t have a car. That’s even more insane. I mean, it’s a long walk, in the middle of the night, and you look awful. I can’t allow that.”
“You really don’t have to do anything, and I’m us…”
Tony doesn’t particularly like touching people he doesn’t know, but despite that he puts his fingers against Steve’s lips to silence him. “If you’re about to tell me ‘you’re used to it’ I swear I’m going to call a psychiatrist or an ambulance or something. Being used to walking home in the middle of the night after being beaten to a bloody pulp is not normal.”
While he’s not a very good judge when it comes to being normal Tony still has his limits, and looking at Steve makes him want to hug all the pain away. And that’s definitely not normal. He’s too confused by the entire situation to realize that he’s touching the other man’s lips. It’s not until he has figured out a solution and reaches for his wallet that he removes the hand. All the while Steve has patiently stayed silent while observing him; probably assuming that he’s drunk beyond reason.
“Let me pay for a cab at least. I can’t leave you in this state.”
Steve hesitates for such a long time – and seems so hesitant to accept the money – that Tony expects him to turn and run away, never to be seen again. But then he takes the bills, and for crying out loud how is this guy for real, actually bows slightly. “Thank you.”
Yeah, Tony isn’t very good with that whole "doing a favor" thing. He rolls his eyes and waves his hand as if he’s swatting away a fly. “I should be the one thanking you. Just make sure to clean those cuts and we’re even.”
Steve nods, and then holds his hand out. As they shake hands Tony can’t help but notice the smooth skin; the delicate fingers of an artist.
“Good night, Tony.”
It’s too sincere – Steve’s blue eyes are too open – and so Tony only nods in response and mutters, “Rogers.”
It should be the last time he sees Steve. It’s the kind of encounter that happens once in a life-time; the kind of story you don’t tell your friends, but your grandchildren when attempting to show them that there’s some good in the world. However, the following days the office seems extra boring and he has a very frustrating creative block when trying to work on his new project. When he calls Pepper and asks her to entertain him she laughs and sends him a bunch of papers for him to sign. He really needs new friends.
It’s been three days since that night when he decides that he needs to get away for a while. Happy makes a face very unfit for him name when told that Tony won’t need the car today. For some ridiculous reason he’s decided to walk. Since when does Tony Stark go for walks?
It feels odd, walking among all these people hurrying about. The world is full of life; locked up in an office he forgets that from time to time. And people don’t seem to recognize him. Like this, in a constantly moving crowd, people don’t keep an eye out for famous billionaires. They rush by, offering a “sorry” or “fuck off” when they accidentally bump into him.
Tony Stark is a lucky man, sometimes in the “winning the lottery” kind of way. The park is full of people during the day, but despite that it’s easy to spot Steve. He’s in a different spot now, with the tripod set up and a canvas in front of him. He doesn’t notice Tony; in fact, he barely seems to notice any of the people around him. His eyes are fixed on a tree in the distance, it’s covered in blinking Christmas lights and he’s painting it in loving detail.
The closer Tony gets he notices a patch on Steve’s jaw, and another covering his right eyebrow. There’s a pain in his chest that he didn’t expect; usually when he does something stupid he’s the one to get hurt. Seeing his actions affect others in this way is horrifying, really.
He can’t think of a good thing to say, so he settles for audibly clearing his throat. Steve stops in the middle of a stroke and starts talking while starting to clean the brush he’s currently holding.
“I’m sorry sir, I don’t have a permit, and I’m sorry for coming back despite our disagreement, but aren’t parks meant for everyone? Just take a look around you and…”
“Steve.” Tony is about to hide his face in his hands. He never expected that such an overwhelming personality could be contained in such a insipid body.
Steve turns, and his expression is somewhere between confusion and disbelief, like he barely recognizes the voice who just called his name. He stares at Tony in silence for a moment, and then a smile lightens his features as he points to Tony’s face.
“Tony!” He seems to realize how ridiculous he looks instantly, because he lowers his hand and the smiles falters a little. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs in response and glances at the painting. “My work isn’t far from here, so I decided to go for a walk. I wanted to see you in action… and make sure you’re okay.” Well at least he's still pretty good at lying. Work isn't far from here? Pffft, bullshit. It's not like he kept perfect time or anything, but it took 47 minutes and 38 seconds to get here.
“I’m just fine.” Steve points at one of the patches on his face. “The only thing that’ll hurt now is getting these off.”
Tony rolls his eyes, because that’s a lie if he’s ever heard one. “Are you here every day?”
“Pretty much. Have been for the past few months. I’m trying to capture the way the park changes.” Steve nods at the tripod and the picture of the unfinished tree. “Some changes are more obvious than others.”
He’s not sure why, but his first reaction is to tell Steve that it’s a brilliant project and that he absolutely loves it. Tony isn’t accustomed to those kinds of words - at least not when they’re used to describe other people – so he bites his tongue while trying to think of a better way to express himself. He ends up with “Cool beans.”
Tony seriously considers drinking some of that paint (and if it’s not liquid enough maybe he can lick it off the canvas?) until Steve giggles. The man actually giggles, and it’s like watching a machine you’ve worked on for months come alive.
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. I hope to be able to keep it up for a year. I think the result would be really interesting, both from a psychological and an artistic perspective.”
Tony nods, as if he’s actually listening, while in reality he’s actively forcing himself not to blush. He really has to pay the doctor a visit and get his tongue checked. There’s obviously something wrong with it. Please, doctor, I think my tongue is ill; it won’t behave when I’m around this scrawny man. I got to know him a few days ago. Is it some kind of allergy? And the doctor would look him dead in the eye and say: don’t be silly Tony, it’s quite the opposite and this is fucking ridiculous he really should pay attention to the world outside of his head.
“I was about to get lunch. How about you join me and tell me about all this talented artistry?”
Steve only hesitates a second. Then he turns back to the canvas and starts packing his equipment. “I know a place.” His voice is soft but determined, and Tony doesn’t argue. They could go get bagels for all he cares, he’s just happy Steve wants to spend time with him, and that’s something he should probably worry about because that can’t be normal.
The next two weeks they spend most lunch-breaks together, going to small cafés and restaurants Tony’s never heard of. Every time he insists on paying, and every time Steve refuses to accept his money. They talk about art, and Tony could kiss Pepper because it’s only thanks to her he knows of any artists at all. They talk about technology, and Steve doesn’t seem to know much but turns out to be a quick learner. They talk about politics, and while they don’t agree on everything – far from it, actually – they enjoy arguing:
Tony leans across the table, gripping his coffee mug and meeting Steve’s eyes. “No, I know it’s only in theory, but I won’t drop this Steve. It would make sense to control people. Not ordinary citizens of course, but we’re talking about extraordinary ones. It’d make sense to have some kind of registration act. That way it’d be possible to instantly hold them responsible if something goes to shit and… and okay. You obviously disagree.”
Steve is shaking his head even before Tony’s done speaking. “It would limit their freedom. Everyone has the right to be free, no matter who they are or what kind of power they possess.”
Tony takes a sip of his coffee and smiles. “Know what? Sometimes you don’t think things through before you say them, but you’re so damn earnest about it that you'll inspire anyone to be just as senseless as you are. A speech from you and I’d follow you anywhere, I swear to god.”
He only gets laughter in reply. “The way you describe me it sounds like we’d run straight into a wall.”
They talk about family and friends and people in general. They talk about right and wrong. Tony talks about his father, and then instantly informs Steve that they need to find a bar because this is something that shouldn’t be discussed in a sober state.
Steve reaches across the table and touches his hand. He’s quick to move away again, but the warmth of his fingers trailing across Tony’s knuckles lingers. “How about I get you a refill of that coffee and you don’t talk about things that make you feel uncomfortable.”
They’re at a small diner and Steve seems to know the owner because of course he does. When he returns to the table he brings a steaming mug of coffee and a piece of apple pie. He says it’s on the house, and Tony can’t bring himself to question him. It’s likely that Steve bought it himself; in fact, it’s likely that he spent too much money on it. Tony knows this because he’s starting to realize that Steve is too good for this world and has a heart the size of… of something too huge to fit in that tiny frame.
“The thing is that I want to talk about it, and that’s kind of creepy on its own. I never want to talk about the old man, but suddenly you come along – like some kind of persuasive, portable therapist – and it’s like I can’t keep it in.” Tony knows that he’s not making any sense, so he decides to stuff his face with pie before he can say anything else.
And despite the fact that everything Tony says is the ramblings of a madman Steve nods thoughtfully as if he takes every word seriously. “I know a nice bar not far from here. We can go there next time.”
Next time, he says it as if life is simple. As if everything is certain. And with Steve it is. That’s the scary and wonderful and apeshit crazy part.
They get recognized sometimes, or well, Tony does. But when it happens Steve seems utterly oblivious about it. He still doesn’t know Tony’s last name and hasn’t asked for it. Certain nights when Tony feels extra pathetic he worries about it. Does it mean that Steve considers him a brief acquaintance, or does it mean that a surname is the last thing Steve has on his mind because Tony is such a bedazzling person? He prefers to think it’s the second option, but when it comes to Steve, Tony finds himself uncharacteristically anxious.
So uncharacteristically anxious that he feels completely lost the day he goes to the park only to realize that Steve isn’t there. He spends a long time pacing at the park-entrance, trying to figure out if he’s been particularly horrible in the past days, when it hits him. It’ll be Christmas in a few days.
Tony Stark may be many things, but he’s not a Christmas person. In fact, if it wasn’t for all the bright lights surrounding him he wouldn’t have been able to figure out that the holiday is closing in. He hasn’t talked to Steve about these kinds of things yet – Christmas, Easter, Halloween – but if he were to guess he’d say Steve’s a sucker for the holidays.
And so he tries not to feel abandoned. And so he tries not to worry about Steve lying bloody in an alley somewhere, having once again gotten in over his head. And so he accepts an invitation to some huge Christmas party without checking who’s arranging it, because why not?
He recognizes everyone despite not knowing them, and spends most of the time drinking fancy drinks and eating whatever he can find lying around. At times he’ll put something in his mouth, only to realize it isn’t edible until after he’s started chewing. It might be because the food and the company aren’t worth thinking about.
He’s seeing another room, far away. Small – not meant for corporate balls and waltzing, but for family and friends – and it's lit by a fire-place. There might be Christmas music playing, and there might be a wonderful dinner, but he’s not sure. All he knows is that it’s warm and safe and happy, because it’s the only way he can imagine Steve celebrating the holidays. It’s his private sanctuary while walking around the marble halls for hours, and if he accidentally puts a few Christmas decorations in his mouth while doing so… well, he’s goddamn Tony Stark. It’s not like someone’s going to question him.
On Christmas morning there are no presents waiting for him. If he drops by the office there’ll be something small from Pepper on his desk – there always is - and he smiles just thinking about it. But there’s also a familiar pang of guilt, because he hasn’t bought anything particular for her in return. He’ll have to make a comment about how his charm is gift enough. Maybe buy her dinner, the way he always does, and promise to do better next year. Eventually he will.
He’s not expecting to see Steve anytime soon. This time is all about family and loved ones, and Steve is the kind of guy who’d never give that up to spend it in town alone. And despite that Tony decides to go to the park.
The grass is standing like spikes, frostbitten and sparkling. The trees reach for the skies, crownless like fallen kings, but basking in the warm light from the streetlamps.
When he notices the tiny silhouette he assumes it’s a hallucination. He even thinks of it as a hallucination when Steve turns to stare at him. It’s not until Steve, smiling and waving calls his name, that he accept it as reality.
“Tony! I didn’t expect to see you here.” He doesn’t have his tripod or paint, this time he's only using coal and a sketchbook. “Merry Christmas.”
Tony’s so stunned that he’s embarrassingly quiet, not that Steve would be unused to that. There’s something disgustingly stunning about how Steve’s mood never falters; even when he’s mad there’s this weird sense of openness about him. It could shut anyone up. “I didn’t expect to see you either. I thought you’d be with your family.”
Well how about that? Tony deserves some kind of award. And the prize for being able to depress everyone in a matter of seconds goes to the one and only… Tony Stark!
Steve isn’t smiling anymore. His hold on the sketchbook is so hard the paper is getting crumpled. He’s silent for a long time until he finally meets Tony’s gaze again. “They’re not around anymore. At all.”
Okay, so he can’t be blamed for that. Not entirely. It’s not like Steve mentioned his parents being dead. Tony repeats “not my fault” like a mantra in his head, despite the fact that he feels like shit.
“Shit, I’m so sorry. I just assumed… whenever you talk about your mother she seems so present.”
And of course Steve is quick to interrupt and take the blame because he’s some kind of saint. “No, it was my fault. I should’ve told you.”
“Steve, I swear, if you’re seriously taking the blame for not talking about something that clearly pains you I might have to strangle you.” His words only get a small smile in return, but compared to the look of utter despair from a moment ago it’s heaven.
They remain silent for a while, as if they’re suddenly treading on ice that could break at any second. Tony decides that it’s a very bad feeling and that he has to fix it instantly.
“How about you celebrate New Years with me? I probably have one of the best views in this city, and when the fireworks start it’s like looking out on a battlefield.”
Steve’s right eye twitches and Tony’s pretty sure he’s never seen it do that before. He hopes it’s a good sign, doing his best to ignore how twitching usually is a bad thing.
“Are you serious?” There’s a hitch in Steve’s voice, and Tony decides it’s because of the cold. Or maybe the asthma. Or both. Either way there are several explanations for it, because it can’t possibly be because of the invitation. Only greedy people and fanboys would be overwhelmed when being invited to Tony Stark's flat.
He does his best attempt at the famous persuasive smile of the Starks, but it’s been weeks since he tried it on anyone and he might just end up looking like an idiot. “Hey, how could I not invite such a handsome fellow for New Years Eve?”
And Steve looks at him - a slight blush on his face combined with disbelief - like he’s silently trying to tell Tony he just pulled a very tasteless joke. It’s like he can’t imagine anyone ever finding him handsome or attractive. Tony is ashamed to admit that he understands that. He was close to let Steve pass him by simply because of his appearance. And while Steve might have seemed like a joke when he appeared that night in the alley, he’s more of a hero than anyone Tony’s ever met.
“Well, if that’s the case I guess I can’t stand you up.” Steve’s smile is almost pensive, but it only remains for a second. Then his eyes widen and he looks almost embarrassed. “But I don’t even know where you live.”
“I’ll write it down for you.” Steve hands him the sketchbook and pen without being asked for it. Before scribbling down the address Tony looks at him again though. “It’s a huge building and you’re going to the top floor. Just tell the man at the door your name; I’ll make sure he lets you in. Okay?”
It’s not until Steve nods that Tony starts writing. When he’s done he closes the book and hands it to Steve. “I have to go, real important work stuff, but it was nice seeing you again. It’s not like I’ve been worried sick or anything but you should show up because I make good drinks.” Yeah, and this would be a good time to stop talking. So he does just that and hurries away.
He doesn’t want to be around when Steve finds out where he lives; if there’s anything about him that literally screams “rich douchebag” it’s that damn address. Steve isn’t judgmental, not in the slightest, but that won’t stop Tony from being afraid. Afraid that things will change if, or rather when, Steve realizes who he is. So if things change he doesn’t want to be around when it does. It’s not like he’s a coward, but he’ll stay in his apartment the coming days, worried that he’ll somehow bump into Steve if he leaves it, and at the same time he’ll obsessively make sure that everything in his home is in perfect condition. It’s been a long time since he wanted to impress someone, and it’s both thrilling and terrifying.
The day comes, and Tony realizes that he never told Steve when to show up. Just in case he’s ready at six o’clock. He’s wearing a suit – not his finest because that would be awkward and not his worst because that would be rude – and pacing back and forth in the hallway.
By eight he’s sitting in the sofa, sipping a scotch and telling himself what an idiot he is.
By nine he has covered the dinner table with machine parts. He needs something to do while waiting. Something familiar and safe. He’s not particularly inspired, but re-building some basic creations from the past proves more fun than he expected. Before he knows it he stops checking his watch every third second, and at eleven thirty the doorbell chimes.
He rushes to open and only realizes what a mess he is after he’s ripped the door open. Steve seems somewhat surprised, blue eyes wide as he looks Tony from head to toe. He’s probably not impressed by what he’s seeing. Tony’s suit jacket is since long gone, thrown over a chair somewhere in the dining room. His shirt is stained and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He started out with his hair skillfully styled, but considering how many times he’s been running his hands through it, it is most likely a mess by now.
Steve on the other hand is handsome. There’s no other way to describe him. His blonde hair is combed neatly to one side, and he’s wearing a grey suit with a blue shirt. The clothes seem a little too big for him, like they always do, but that doesn’t stop him from wearing them gracefully.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” There’s something breathless in his voice, and Tony can’t blame him; taking the stairs up here is a bitch. He ignores the ping of the elevator in the background. Damn stairs.
“You’re not late at all. I never told you when to show up.” Tony backs away from the door to let Steve in, thankful that they’re not talking about the state of his clothing.
“Yeah, that was a little frustrating. Still, I would’ve been here earlier, but I got distracted.”
While Steve’s taking his shoes off Tony heads into the kitchen. He opens a cabinet to get glasses for both of them, and only realizes how greasy his hands are after placing the pair of glasses on the counter. “Distracted? Were you helping old ladies crossing the street?”
Steve doesn’t answer, and when he enters the kitchen he’s blushing slightly.
“You’re kidding me.” Tony raises an eyebrow, and Steve shrugs in return.
“She asked me for directions, but she had a really long way to go. I decided to tag along; she seemed to need the help.”
“You constantly make me feel like throwing up.” Tony says it while pouring their drinks, and only realizes what he’s said when Steve remains silent.
He looks up to find Steve looking at him with a unreadable expression. Tony takes a few steps toward him, waving his hands to show how he totally didn’t mean that. “I mean throw up in a good way!”
“I make you want to throw up in a good way?” The look of disbelief is back in Steve’s face, accompanied with what could be hurt. Tony’s not sure. He’s never been good at this “human interaction” thing.
“Yeah! In a really good way. Everything you do is so caring and brave and sweet. It’s a disgusting overload of sweet. I don’t understand how you keep it in. Logically it should spew from every opening in your body.” He keeps walking until he’s standing in front of Steve, looking down, directly at him for once. No gazing at their surroundings or hiding behind eye rolling and pointless gestures.
And Steve was always the brave one. He looks terrified as he stands on his toes and reaches for Tony; a soft but determined touch against his neck bringing them together.
It's tentative and searching, the most earnest thing Tony's ever experienced, and if he wasn't so damned happy he'd be crying. He’s spent these weeks barely understanding the way Steve makes him feel, but if nothing else he understands this.
He wants nothing more than to open his eyes, because he knows he'll never see anything as genuine as Steve in this very moment. But he doesn't, because this is more important; holding on and sharing breath and not daring to push it any further, yet needing to be close. Steve’s nose bumps into Tony’s, and he seems far from certain of what to do; it’s not the best kiss Tony’s had.
Yet again; Steve’s lips are soft and his embrace is like coming home. When this ends Tony will tell him “I can’t wait ‘til next time” and he’ll say it with certainty. He’ll also demand that next time is directly after this ends. Because he’s greedy like that.