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“Okay,” Tony said, arms crossed as he stared up at the menu board like it had personally insulted him. “Explain this to me again. You willingly eat sugar that looks like insulation and feel good about it?”
Peter stood beside him, already bouncing slightly on his heels. “It’s not insulation, it’s cotton candy. It’s a tradition. It’s like... a rite of passage.”
Tony made a face. “Yeah, and your rite of passage comes with an emergency dentist visit.”
“You said I could pick one thing,” Peter said, pointing a very sticky finger in Tony’s direction. “And I pick this.”
The vendor, a girl with a septum piercing and ‘Don’t talk to me before I’ve had three Pixy Stix’ energy, handed over the largest, fluffiest swirl of pink sugar on a cone.
Peter took it reverently, like it was sacred. “This is art.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “That is diabetes on a stick.”
“Same thing,” Peter said, grinning as he tore a chunk off and shoved it into his mouth. “Want some?”
Tony gave him a long-suffering look. “I don’t eat things that dissolve faster than my will to live.”
Peter laughed, full and bright. He was wearing sunglasses too big for his face and a Midtown Science hoodie rolled up at the sleeves. His hair was a little messy from the breeze, and he had pink sugar on the corner of his mouth.
Tony didn’t say it out loud, but—yeah. The kid looked happy. Really happy. And that made something quiet and warm settle in Tony’s chest.
They started walking again, Peter occasionally tearing off more cotton candy, fingers now completely sticky. Tony handed him a napkin wordlessly.
“You brought napkins?” Peter asked.
Tony gave him a flat look. “You think I’d bring you into a high-risk sugar zone unarmed?”
Peter just grinned, that slightly lopsided one he only got when he was really relaxed. “You’re like, weirdly good at this.”
“At what?”
Peter shrugged, pulling at the cotton candy again. “This whole... dad thing.”
Tony froze mid-step, just for a second. Peter didn’t notice—he’d turned to look at a booth where someone was winning a giant plush shark. Tony recovered fast.
“I’ll have you know I was voted ‘Least Likely to Ever Parent Anything Except an Ego’ in college,” Tony said.
Peter laughed. “Sounds accurate.”
They stopped at a bench under some string lights. Tony let him eat in peace for a while, idly checking his phone but not really doing anything. Just... there.
Eventually Peter leaned back, stretching, cotton candy almost gone. “Thanks for coming with me today.”
Tony looked over. “Please. I only came for the funnel cake and the opportunity to bully you in public.”
Peter smirked. “Uh-huh.”
A comfortable pause. People laughed and shouted around them—fair noises, carousel music, someone screaming on the drop tower ride.
Peter glanced down at the last bite of cotton candy in his hand, then up at Tony. “Seriously. Thanks.”
Tony looked at him for a moment, then reached over and ruffled his hair, smearing the last of the sugar across Peter’s temple.
Peter squawked. “Hey!”
“There. Now you’re complete. Walking pink disaster.”
Peter stuck out his tongue. “Love you too, dad.”
It came out effortlessly, offhand.
But it stopped Tony cold for just half a second.
Peter didn’t seem to notice. He stood up, brushing sugar off his pants. “C’mon, I want to win that shark.”
Tony stood up after him, clearing his throat. “You’re not winning anything. You have terrible aim.”
“Says the guy who owns missile-guided sunglasses.”
Tony rolled his eyes but followed him anyway, smiling faintly. “Alright, sugar monster. Let’s go lose money.”
The cotton candy was long gone, but the sweetness lingered.