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Stephen ran a finger along the thorn of the rose he’d picked from the London Sanctum garden’s rose bush, watching Tony take in Stephen’s confession. The space between them echoed with the words, I love you.
Tony frowned. “Stephen,” he said slowly. “You don’t have to love me. Your friendship is enough.”
Not the reaction Stephen’d been hoping for. How ridiculous was this? He knew his love was requited but was still at risk of rejection.
“I don’t know what you’ve been telling yourself since you overheard Clint,” Tony continued. “But convincing yourself you love me isn’t the answer. I thought I was helping by trying to move on with Lia. If I made it worse—”
“Stop,” Stephen interrupted. “Convincing myself I love you?” Stephen asked. “That’s what you think happened?”
“You weren’t interested before,” Tony argued. “Clint put the thought in your head; you got this idea you’d… I don’t know, lose me, if you didn’t reciprocate; you got scared, convinced yourself you loved me to make sure that didn’t happen.” He shrugged, indicating it was obvious. “You’ve lost too much; you don’t want to lose anything else. It’s natural. You—”
“I’m not afraid of losing you!” Stephen interrupted again, voice louder than intended. It was a lie; he was afraid, but not the way Tony thought. He knew Tony wouldn’t abandon him. “I’m afraid of losing my chance with you.”
”Stephen, you have me—“
“I love you,” Stephen interrupted a third time. “Tony, you’re my friend.” He took a deep breath. “So, trust me when I say this.”
Tony sighed. “Stephen…” His gaze dropped to the rose in Stephen’s hand, as though trying to understand what it meant.
Stephen moved closer. “Tony, I love you,” he repeated.
Tony searched his gaze. Finally, he smiled. “I love you, too.”