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Tony hardly sees where he's running, blinded by tears as he is. Everything is blurry through the window of his stinging eyes, hot salt drops and simmering desperation. He's hit shoulders against some pedestrians, and doesn't stop to apologize or suffer the irritation on their faces. That he's gotten more than enough from almost everyone in his life.
Turning a corner, he collides hard against someone's chest. It feels worse than hitting a wall of bricks, and he flails for a moment or two before strong arms wrap around him, presumably to prevent him from falling back onto the hard pavement. The forces of physics dictate that he falls against the guy instead, and a heady mix of cologne and something else - alpha, Tony's mind quietly supplies - invades his mind, somehow already making things less intense.
He leans back, certainly does not sniffle wetly, and mumbles out a 'sorry'. Ready to turn and move on when the reality that he doesn't even have a destination in mind stops him in his tracks. Not that the arms still holding onto him have lessened their grip to let him go. Though after a moment they slowly unfolds, sure that he’s found his footing.
Green eyes widen a little as the guy looks at him, likely only now noticing his tear stricken face and shaking limbs. Tony feels the need to weep anew bubbling in his chest because, a stranger witnessing his shame is just the icing on the cake isn't it? At what looks like the beginning of another series of sobs about to erupt from him, the tall black-haired alpha looks panicky like he's been paralyzed and thrown in front of an approaching semi.
Doubtlessly the omega-in-distress pheromones floating around is getting to the guy, and being an alpha he’s biologically and psychologically wired to help however he can. Tony’s been on the receiving end of that more than he can count, and usually he hates it because he’s not weak – he doesn’t need comfort from any alpha, but right now he’s not exactly in the right kind of mind to analyse that much.
Arms settle around him once again, after a series of weird slashing and jerking motions around the outline his frame, unsure where to touch. One hand on his back, the other somewhere between his shoulder and neck, but before the guy can make the decision to draw him in, Tony's instincts have gone hyperaware with alpha and safe and comfort and quite literally betray him by leaning in and pressing as much of his body against the warmth being offered as possible. Were he more conscious, he would've flushed at the attention they're drawing from passer-bys, but frankly at the moment his mind is elsewhere. He closes his hot and sore eyes, doesn't even realize it when his trembling eases back and the tears stop.
The addicting scent he’s caught of whiff of earlier becomes more soothing by the minute. Unconsciously, Tony buries his face further into the alpha’s shirt, prompting a sharp intake of breath from the man.
It may have been some minutes or even some hours of just standing there, Tony doesn't know. His senses rouse back to reality with the low voice murmuring softly into his hair, as though not wanting to startle.
'Huh?' He replies intelligently. His hands have somehow wound up clutching the guy's leather jacket. Tony doesn't let go.
'I asked if you're feeling better.' Interestingly, tall dark and handsome doesn't pull back either.
The question, though, reminds Tony of why he was bawling his eyes out in public in the first place, but his mind has settled somewhat and so he opts for a shrug. Mumbles out an 'I'm fine.' It sounds fake even in his own ears.
The green-eyed man must have thought so too, for the touch of concern in his eyes intensifies. Thankfully he doesn't push for reasons. Instead, he uses the back of his fingers to wipe away the wet tear tracks on Tony's face gently. For his part, Tony just stands there and looks at him. The omega inside him purrs in satisfaction at the attention and for once, he doesn't want to shut it down.
'Is there anything I can do to help?'
Handsome and kind. Tony wants to ask him – unsarcastically – if his name is Mr.Perfect. Or if he stepped out of a romance novel.
Anyway, his mind decides at that moment to revert to its default way of dealing with unfamiliar or tense territories, which is issuing out vast amount of uncensored inappropriateness via babbling.
'Uh, would 'continue to hold me' sound bad? Because you're better than hours of therapy and binge drinking combined, I'd know, I've tried both - oh, sorry, I didn't even get your name - oh, shit, and I've latched onto you and cried all over you - sorry again, I didn't - ' And he stops himself at that because it's downhill to humiliation town if he continues.
Mr. Perfect seems to be amused, of all things. Even the small quirk of his lips has a calming effect, how unreal is that.
'It doesn't sound bad to me. I'm glad for that, and I've tried both too. My name is Loki. Also, you needn't apologize. The, ah, 'latching' is half my fault anyway.' Tony still doesn't release the guy's jacket, doesn't want to anyway, because what the hell, he has been sure of very few things in his life, but he's sure this is one of those things: he's keeping this one, no matter what.
His brain decides to be inappropriate again, because he blurts out without thinking, 'Can I keep you?'
The sound of that startled laugh is the best thing he's heard all day, and he ends up laughing too.