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Tony came downstairs in sweatpants and one of Steve’s old college hoodies, holding a yellow legal pad against his chest like it was the launch plans for a Stark satellite.
“I’ve decided something,” he announced very seriously.
Steve looked up from making coffee. “Should I be worried?”
“No.” Tony pointed at him. “Today I am going to be normal.”
Steve blinked once. “Normal.”
“Yes.” Tony nodded firmly. “Regular. Average. Everyday citizen Tony Stark-Rogers.”
Steve was already smiling before Tony even reached the kitchen island.
Tony dropped into a stool dramatically. “And before you say anything, this is important to me.”
That softened Steve immediately.
“Hey.” Steve stepped closer, rubbing a hand gently over Tony’s shoulder. “I know it is.”
Tony looked down at the legal pad. “I feel like I miss things sometimes. Little things normal people do every day.” He huffed quietly. “I want to know what that feels like.”
Steve didn’t tease him. Didn’t laugh.
Instead he leaned against the counter beside him and said softly, “Then we’ll do it together.”
Tony looked up at him with that tiny vulnerable expression he only got when he was being sincere underneath all the dramatics.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Tony immediately brightened. “Okay, good, because I made a list.”
“Of course you did.”
Tony flipped the pad around proudly.
TONY’S VERY NORMAL DAY
1. Go grocery shopping myself
2. Stick to a budget
3. Get coffee from a drive-thru
4. Fold laundry
5. Go to Target
6. Cook dinner at home
7. Put gas in the car myself
8. Watch a movie without checking emails
9. Complain about taxes like a regular citizen
10. Maybe buy a plant
Steve lost it at number nine, laughing into his coffee.
Tony frowned. “It’s a real human experience.”
“I’m sure it is, baby.”
“And look.” Tony pointed lower on the page. “I added bonus normal activities.”
Steve leaned closer.
11. Say “we have food at home” in a store
12. Use coupons
13. Parallel park badly
14. Eat at a chain restaurant
15. Go to Bed Bath & Beyond if it still exists
Steve was laughing hard enough now that he had to brace himself on the counter.
Tony looked offended. “You said supportive.”
“I am supportive.” Steve kissed the side of his head. “You’re just incredibly cute.”
Tony’s ears pinked immediately.
“Don’t undermine my normal journey with affection, Rogers.”
“Too late.”
Tony stared at the list again, quieter this time. “I just…” He hesitated. “I want to know what life feels like without ten assistants and twelve meetings and people treating me like… Tony Stark all the time.”
Steve’s expression softened completely.
“You know my favorite version of you?” he asked.
Tony looked suspicious. “This feels dangerous.”
“The one right here.”
Tony went quiet.
Steve took the pad from his hands and added something to the bottom of the list.
16. Relax for once
Tony read it and made a face like he might cry if anyone looked at him too long.
“That’s disgusting,” he muttered emotionally.
Steve grinned. “C’mon, Normal Guy. First stop is groceries.”
Tony stood up with determination. “Okay. But hide my credit cards because apparently normal people can’t impulse-buy a six-thousand-dollar espresso machine at Target.”
Steve immediately held out his hand.
Tony sighed heavily and surrendered his wallet like a man being drafted into war. “This is oppression.”
Steve was already steering Tony toward the front door when Tony suddenly stopped dead in the middle of the foyer.
“Wait.” Tony narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why are you holding my wallet like a hostage negotiator?”
“Because,” Steve said patiently, “we are working on a budget. As you said.”
Tony gasped softly like Steve had personally betrayed democracy.
Steve reached into Tony’s jacket pocket and pulled out the sleek black card case.
“These,” Steve said, holding up the black cards between two fingers, “are staying here.”
Tony looked genuinely distressed. “You can’t just say that so casually.”
“I absolutely can.”
“Steven Grant Rogers.”
Steve was already grinning. “How about we only bring five hundred with us today?”
Tony stared at him.
Then stared harder.
“Wait.” He blinked slowly. “That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Steve.”
“That’s more than enough for groceries and Target.”
Tony looked personally wounded by the concept.
Steve crossed his arms lightly. “That’s what I would spend after bills before a billionaire decided he liked me.”
Tony pointed dramatically at him. “Excuse you. You slept on my couch in my company and stole my food.”
Steve immediately laughed.
“You gave me a job.”
“You were illegally inhabiting Stark Industries.”
“You kissed me first.”
“That is unrelated.”
Steve stepped closer until Tony was trapped gently between him and the front door, warm and smiling and unfairly handsome in a plain gray sweatshirt.
“It’s your fault I’m still here,” Steve said softly.
Then he kissed him.
Not rushed.
Not heated.
Just sweet.
The kind of kiss that still surprised Tony sometimes because nobody had ever kissed him like they were happy to have him instead of lucky to know him.
Tony melted almost instantly, one hand catching in Steve’s hoodie.
When Steve pulled back, Tony looked a little dazed.
“That was dirty,” he informed him quietly.
Steve smiled against his mouth again. “Budget enforcement.”
Tony narrowed his eyes. “You weaponized affection.”
“And it worked.”
Tony sighed dramatically and leaned his forehead against Steve’s shoulder. “Five hundred dollars feels fake.”
“You once spent four thousand dollars on a coffee machine because it looked ‘emotionally supportive.’”
“It had brushed gold accents, Steven.”
“You’re proving my point.”
Tony grumbled under his breath while Steve slid the black cards onto the entryway table.
Then Steve pulled a regular debit card from the wallet and handed it to him carefully.
Tony looked at it like Steve had handed him a library card from 1987.
“This feels humbling.”
“You’ll survive.”
Tony slipped the card into his pocket with immense tragedy. “If I have to compare yogurt prices in public, I want you to know this relationship is entering dangerous territory.”
Steve kissed his temple.
“C’mon, normal guy.”
Tony was still staring mournfully at the lonely debit card in his hand as Steve opened the front door.
“You know,” Tony said slowly, “if I had just been working that day they hauled your ass out of Stark Industries, none of this would’ve happened.”
Steve snorted. “Baby, this is your idea.”
“Yes, but I didn’t realize your version of normal involved financial suffering.”
Steve laughed as they walked toward the garage.
“Tony.”
“Five hundred dollars,” Tony repeated like he was discussing wartime rationing. “Do you know how quickly money disappears now? I accidentally spent eighty dollars on candles last month.”
“You bought candles shaped like moons.”
“They were atmospheric.”
Steve hit the unlock button on the car and looked over at him fondly. “I’ll have the black cards if we need them.”
Tony perked up immediately. “You brought them?”
“They’re in my wallet for emergencies.”
Tony clutched his chest dramatically. “You do love me.”
“But,” Steve continued firmly, pointing at him, “you wanted to be normal.”
Tony groaned loud enough to echo through the garage.
“This is oppression by blond man.”
“You’re being very brave.”
Tony slid into the passenger seat muttering, “I can’t believe I used to think you were sweet.”
Steve started the car. “You still think I’m sweet.”
Tony crossed his arms. “I think you’re financially restrictive.”
Steve leaned over the center console and kissed him quick and soft anyway.
Tony immediately lost all ability to maintain the glare.
“That,” Tony informed him weakly, “was manipulative.”
“You gonna survive Target, honey?”
“No,” Tony said honestly. “But I’ll die normal.”
Tony was still grumbling about “economic oppression” when Steve pulled into the Target parking lot.
He stared at the giant red bullseye sign like it was the gates of hell.
“This place smells like throw pillows and debt.”
Steve parked the car. “That’s because it is.”
Tony sighed heavily and reached for the door handle before pausing dramatically.
“Hey,” he said suddenly.
Steve looked over.
“Can I sleep on my couch in Conference Room E4 tonight?”
Steve gave him the flattest look imaginable. “That’s not funny.”
Tony immediately grinned. “It is a little funny.”
“You are literally making fun of your own boyfriend being homeless.”
Tony waved a hand. “Correction. I’m making fun of the fact you somehow survived inside Stark Industries for three months like a disturbingly attractive raccoon.”
Steve started laughing despite himself.
Tony pointed triumphantly. “See?”
“I’m breaking up with you.”
Tony gasped dramatically before smirking. “Ha. Try it. You like me.”
Steve leaned across the console slowly, eyes warm and soft in that way that always knocked the breath out of Tony no matter how long they’d been together.
“I love you,” Steve corrected quietly.
Tony froze for exactly half a second.
Then immediately pointed at him with victory.
“Ha! See?” he said brightly. “You can’t get rid of me.”
Steve shook his head, smiling helplessly now. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Tony said smugly as he climbed out of the car, “here you are.”
Steve stopped mid-motion.
Tony blinked.
“…Did I just accidentally become romantic?”
“A little.”
“Horrifying.” Tony grabbed the shopping cart dramatically. “Quick, insult me before I develop emotional stability.”
Steve had already started walking toward the entrance when Tony stopped beside the cart return and coughed loudly.
Not a real cough.
A dramatic, attention-seeking little ahem.
Steve kept walking two more steps before slowly looking back over his shoulder.
Tony stood there with one hand on the shopping cart and the other held out expectantly.
“Excuse me,” Tony said with exaggerated offense. “You forgot something.”
Steve immediately rolled his eyes, though the smile was already pulling at his mouth.
“Oh my God.”
Tony wiggled his fingers impatiently. “Public affection is important for my emotional wellbeing.”
“You’ve survived forty-something years without holding hands in a Target parking lot.”
“And those years were terrible.”
Steve laughed softly under his breath and walked back toward him.
The second Steve slipped his hand into Tony’s, Tony’s entire posture relaxed like some invisible wire inside him loosened.
There it is, Steve thought.
That little thing Tony never noticed he did.
Like touching Steve grounded him back into himself.
Tony immediately intertwined their fingers smugly.
“Much better.”
“You’re clingy.”
“I’m in love,” Tony corrected casually.
Steve looked at him for a second after that.
Really looked at him.
Because Tony still said it sometimes like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to.
Like love was still this astonishing thing he’d accidentally wandered into and somehow gotten to keep.
Steve squeezed his hand gently.
“Good,” he said softly. “So am I.”
Tony stared at him for half a heartbeat before immediately ruining the moment.
“Excellent. Now come help me survive the candle aisle.”
Steve groaned. “Absolutely not.”
They barely made it ten feet into Target before Steve noticed Tony slowing down.
Then stopping.
Then turning his head with the intensity of a hunting dog catching a scent.
Steve already knew.
“What do you want over there?” he asked knowingly.
Tony squinted toward the front corner of the store.
“I don’t know…” he said slowly. “What is at Tar…” His eyes widened suddenly. “Oh my God. Starbucks.”
And before Steve could even respond, Tony made a beeline for the little in-store café like he’d spotted salvation itself.
“Tony!”
“I’m supporting local business!” Tony called back dramatically.
“That is literally Starbucks!”
Tony ignored him completely.
By the time Steve caught up, Tony was already leaning against the counter smiling at the poor barista with the dangerous confidence of a man who had never once looked at a price tag in his life.
“Hi!” Tony said brightly. “Can I get a venti iced brown sugar shaken espresso with blonde espresso, sweet cream cold foam, caramel drizzle, cinnamon powder, two extra pumps of brown sugar, light ice, and…”
Steve closed his eyes.
“…actually make it oat milk. No wait.” Tony pointed thoughtfully. “Half oat milk. Half sweet cream.”
The barista stared at him in exhausted silence.
Tony smiled. “Thank you, you’re doing amazing.”
Then he pointed beside himself proudly.
“And my boyfriend will have…”
Steve stepped forward.
“Medium black coffee.”
Tony looked personally offended.
“That’s not even a drink. That’s a survival strategy.”
Steve handed over his card before Tony could start adding “fun little enhancements.”
Tony leaned against him while they waited for the drinks.
“You know,” Tony said thoughtfully, “when we started dating, I genuinely believed I was the complicated one.”
Steve snorted. “You are the complicated one.”
Tony nodded seriously. “True. But your coffee order concerns me emotionally.”
Steve slid an arm around his waist casually. “You put whipped cream on cold brew.”
“It improves morale.”
Steve kissed the top of his head while Tony kept staring longingly at the pastry case like a Victorian orphan.
“You’re thinking about cake pops,” Steve guessed.
Tony gasped softly. “How dare you know me so well.”
The cashier smiled politely as she tapped the screen.
“Okay, that’ll be $15.46.”
Tony immediately reached for his pocket with complete confidence.
And froze.
His hand patted empty air.
Steve watched the exact moment realization hit him.
Tony looked down at himself.
Then at Steve.
Then slowly whispered, horrified, “My black card…”
Steve was already trying not to laugh.
“Remember, baby?” he said gently. “The budget.”
Tony blinked like a man abruptly dropped into the wilderness with no survival training.
“Right,” he said faintly.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the emergency cash Steve had handed him earlier.
A thick stack of twenties.
Tony stared at it with deep suspicion.
“…People carry paper money voluntarily?”
The cashier bit the inside of her cheek hard trying not to smile.
Tony carefully thumbed through the bills like he was handling ancient historical artifacts.
“I don’t understand the system,” he admitted quietly.
Steve finally stepped in before Tony accidentally handed the cashier three hundred dollars for coffee.
With the patience of a kindergarten teacher helping a gifted child survive their first bake sale, Steve gently pulled one twenty from the stack.
“This one,” Steve said softly.
Tony watched closely.
Steve handed it over to the cashier.
Tony leaned toward him immediately. “How do you know which one to use?”
Steve stared at him.
“Tony.”
“No, seriously. What if I picked wrong?”
“They are all twenties.”
Tony looked down at the money again.
“That seems inefficient.”
The cashier fully snorted this time.
Tony looked at her earnestly. “I’m trying to become normal today.”
Steve rubbed a hand over his face, laughing helplessly.
The cashier handed Steve the change.
Tony looked absolutely delighted.
“Oh my God, she gave money back.”
“Because we paid with cash.”
“This is fascinating.”
Steve took their drinks before Tony could start asking the cashier economic questions.
As they walked away, Tony leaned close and whispered very seriously:
“I understand now why people are stressed all the time.”
Tony took a long sip of his absurdly complicated coffee as they stood near the entrance, staring out at the massive Target like explorers preparing to cross dangerous terrain.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Now what?”
Steve adjusted the cart with one hand. “You tell me. This is your Normal Day.”
Tony considered this very seriously.
Then pointed triumphantly.
“Okay. So first we need…” He looked around. “A cart.”
Steve nodded solemnly. “Yes. Excellent start.”
Tony grabbed one with the confidence of a man who’d just mastered survival basics.
“Alright.” He pushed it forward proudly. “You said the other day we needed supplies.”
“We do.”
Tony glanced at him. “Which are?”
Steve answered casually, like this was a perfectly normal conversation to have beside seasonal décor and discount Halloween candy.
“Shampoo, soap, toothpaste…” He paused. “Condoms and lube.”
Tony nearly rammed the cart into a display of throw blankets.
“You buy those here?”
Steve blinked at him. “Yes?”
Tony looked around Target like he was discovering hidden layers of civilization.
“This place has everything.”
“It’s literally Target.”
Tony leaned closer and whispered dramatically, “People are having sex because of Target.”
Steve laughed so hard he had to grab the cart handle.
“Tony.”
“No, I’m serious. You come in for paper towels and leave with emotional support candles and sexual wellness products. That’s insane.”
Steve was still grinning as they walked deeper into the store.
“And,” Steve added casually, “you need to buy them.”
Tony straightened immediately.
“Yeah, okay.” He nodded with determination. “We need all of those.” He pointed at himself confidently. “I got this.”
Steve gave him a look.
“You sure?”
Tony puffed up slightly. “Steven, I run a multi-billion-dollar corporation.”
Five minutes later they were standing in the shampoo aisle while Tony stared at a wall of products in visible distress.
“…Why are there forty-seven shampoos?” he whispered.
Steve leaned against the cart, already amused.
Tony picked up two bottles.
“One says volumizing. One says restorative. What are we restoring? My spirit?”
Tony lasted exactly thirty seconds.
That was how long he stayed focused on “supplies” before his attention shattered like a dropped wine glass.
“Ooo,” he said suddenly, abandoning the shampoo aisle entirely. “Mini waffle makers.”
Steve looked up just in time to see Tony veer hard left toward kitchen appliances.
“Tony.”
“They’re tiny, Steve.” Tony held one up reverently. “Tiny waffles.”
“We do not need a miniature waffle maker.”
“But imagine tiny waffles at two in the morning.”
“You already own three regular waffle makers.”
Tony gasped softly. “You counted them?”
“Yes because one of them sings.”
Tony looked emotional. “He’s observant.”
Steve gently steered him back toward the cart before Tony could adopt another appliance.
Three aisles later Tony got distracted by candles.
Then blankets.
Then a display of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.
Steve watched him pick up the bag with genuine delight.
“They’re dinosaurs.”
“They’re processed poultry.”
“They’re fun processed poultry.”
Into the cart they went.
Steve sighed fondly. “We came for toothpaste.”
“And we’re getting culture.”
Five minutes later Tony stopped dead in the middle of the aisle again.
“Oh my God.”
Steve didn’t even look up this time. “What now?”
“They have tiny shopping carts for children.”
“We are not buying one.”
Tony was already crouching beside it. “Look how little it is.”
“Tony.”
“What if Dum-E had one?”
Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.
A woman passing by laughed quietly into her sleeve as Tony continued examining the miniature cart like he’d discovered advanced technology.
Then Tony spotted seasonal decorations.
And everything fell apart.
“Steven.” He grabbed Steve’s arm urgently. “They have lemon-themed kitchen towels.”
Steve looked at the aggressively yellow display.
“You don’t even cook.”
“That is hurtful and unrelated.”
“You burned bacon.”
“The bacon attacked first.”
Tony tossed the towels into the cart anyway.
By now the cart contained:
* toothpaste
* shampoo
* dinosaur nuggets
* lemon towels
* six candles
* a tiny succulent
* two bags of peanut butter cups
* a shirt Tony claimed made Steve look “offensively handsome”
* and absolutely no condoms or lube
Steve finally stopped the cart and looked at him.
“Baby.”
Tony blinked innocently while holding a decorative pumpkin mug.
“Yes?”
“We are terrible at this.”
Tony smiled slowly.
Then leaned in close enough that only Steve could hear him.
“Maybe,” he admitted softly. “But this is kinda fun.”
And Steve couldn’t even argue with that.
Tony was proudly steering the cart toward checkout like a man returning victorious from battle.
“See?” he said smugly. “I’m basically suburban now.”
Steve glanced into the cart.
Candles.
Pumpkin mug.
Tiny plant.
Dinosaur nuggets.
No condoms.
Steve hummed thoughtfully beside him. “Guess we aren’t having sex.”
Tony stopped walking so abruptly the cart squeaked.
“…What?”
Steve shrugged casually and got into line.
“Nothing,” he said innocently. “Just figured we forgot something.”
Tony followed him slowly, suspicious now.
The cashier started scanning items.
Beep.
Lemon towels.
Beep.
Peanut butter cups.
Beep.
Tiny succulent.
Tony narrowed his eyes.
Then suddenly his entire face changed.
Recognition.
Horror.
“Oh my God,” he whispered.
Steve bit the inside of his cheek hard.
Tony gasped loudly enough that the woman in front of them turned around.
“THE CONDOMS!”
Half the checkout area looked over instantly.
A child dropped a pack of Skittles.
Steve folded into himself laughing.
Tony pointed accusingly at him. “You distracted me with tiny waffles!”
“I distracted you?”
“Yes!”
Without another word Tony abandoned the cart entirely and took off at alarming speed toward the pharmacy section.
“Tony!”
“I KNOW WHERE THEY ARE NOW!”
Steve leaned against the cart laughing helplessly while several nearby shoppers openly stared.
A teenager whispered, “Oh my God, is that Tony Stark?”
Meanwhile Tony was already halfway across the store yelling back:
“DON’T CHECK OUT YET!”
Steve called after him, still grinning, “Baby, everyone’s looking at you!”
Tony pointed dramatically while jogging backward.
“GOOD. LET THEM LEARN ABOUT SAFE SEX!”
Steve was still laughing when the woman behind him whispered cautiously to her husband:
“…Is that Tony Stark?”
Without missing a beat, Steve glanced over calmly and said, “Nope. That’s not Tony Stark.” He pointed toward the pharmacy aisle where Tony was currently speed-walking with the determination of a man on a classified mission. “That’s just a crazy man that happens to look like him.”
The husband snorted into his sleeve.
A minute later Tony returned triumphantly, holding a box of condoms in one hand and lube in the other like he’d personally saved civilization.
“We got the issue you like!” he announced proudly.
Three nearby shoppers immediately looked over.
Steve physically covered his face with one hand.
“Baby,” he said through a laugh, “you cannot say that out loud.”
Tony blinked innocently.
“Why? It’s true.”
“Yes, but normal people whisper things like that.”
Tony looked around the checkout area thoughtfully.
“…That explains why everyone keeps staring at me.”
Steve was laughing so hard now he could barely stand upright.
Tony tossed the items onto the conveyor belt proudly anyway.
The teenage cashier scanned them without even blinking.
Tony leaned toward her conspiratorially.
“See? She’s professional.”
Steve groaned. “Please stop talking.”
Tony grinned and immediately leaned against Steve’s shoulder while the cashier continued scanning items.
Then Tony noticed something.
“Wait.” He frowned at the screen. “How are the tiny waffles maker and condoms somehow the same price?”
Steve kissed the side of his head.
“Welcome to being normal, honey.”
The cashier hit the final button.
“Alright,” she said cheerfully, “your total is $166.24.”
Tony’s head snapped up.
“…Damn.”
Steve immediately started laughing again.
Tony pointed accusingly at the screen. “How did that happen?”
“You bought three candles.”
“They smelled pretty.”
“You bought a seasonal blanket because you said it looked ‘emotionally safe.’”
“It did.”
“And dinosaur nuggets.”
Tony crossed his arms defensively. “Those are essential.”
The cashier turned the payment screen toward them.
Tony stared at it.
Then stared harder.
“…Okay.”
Steve already knew that tone.
Tony leaned closer to the machine suspiciously.
“Where does the money go?”
The cashier blinked.
Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.
Tony crouched slightly to inspect the card reader like he was reverse-engineering alien technology.
“Baby,” Steve said carefully, already grinning, “what are you doing?”
“The machine can’t just take money.” Tony pointed. “There’s nowhere for it to go.”
He lowered himself further until he was practically eye level with the payment terminal.
Then he brightened suddenly.
“Hold on. There’s an opening.”
The cashier made a strangled noise trying not to laugh.
Steve rested both hands on the cart. “You need help?”
Tony waved him off immediately without looking away from the machine.
“No. I got this.” He narrowed his eyes at the card reader with billionaire determination. “I can be normal.”
Steve watched Tony try to very carefully feed a twenty-dollar bill into the receipt slot.
“Tony.”
“It’s rejecting me.”
“That’s because that’s where receipts come out.”
Tony froze.
Slowly looked up.
The cashier had tears in her eyes from holding in laughter.
Steve finally lost it completely, bending over the cart laughing while Tony stood back up with wounded dignity still clutching the wrinkled twenty.
“This store is hostile to newcomers,” Tony muttered.
Steve was laughing too hard to help at this point.
“My love,” he said through a grin, “sweetheart, we have a cashier.”
Tony froze mid-investigation of the card reader.
Then slowly looked toward the girl standing there trying very hard not to crack up.
“…Oh. Right.”
He stood back up immediately and dusted off his hoodie with what dignity he could salvage.
Then, completely serious, he pointed at her.
“That’s your job, isn’t it?”
The cashier burst out laughing.
“It is,” she admitted.
Tony nodded solemnly like this confirmed a major scientific theory.
“Okay. Great. Wonderful system.”
Steve was fully hiding his smile behind his coffee cup now.
Tony looked down at the stack of twenties again with determination.
“I can do this.”
Very carefully, he counted out ten twenties onto the counter one by one like a child buying groceries in a 1950s sitcom.
“…Twenty. Forty. Sixty…”
Steve leaned against the cart just watching him fondly.
“…One hundred eighty…” Tony paused. “…Two hundred.”
The cashier accepted the money with both hands, still smiling.
Then she counted back the change.
Tony watched the process with complete fascination.
“Oh my God,” he whispered to Steve as she handed bills back. “It comes back if you give too much.”
Steve kissed his temple lightly. “That’s how change works, baby.”
Tony looked genuinely impressed.
“That’s incredible.”
The cashier handed him the receipt.
Tony took it carefully and stared down at the long strip of paper.
“…Why is it so long?”
“You bought three candles,” Steve reminded him again.
Tony looked down at the bagged candles defensively.
“They smelled pretty.”
Tony was pushing the cart out toward the parking lot when he suddenly slowed beside the doors.
“Baby,” he announced dramatically, one hand over his chest, “I’m starving.”
Steve took the bags from the cart. “We can eat other things besides BLTs, you know.”
Tony looked genuinely surprised by the suggestion.
“…Can we?”
Steve laughed softly.
Tony bumped his shoulder against Steve’s as they walked outside into the warm afternoon air.
“That was my love language,” Tony admitted. “Back when I was flirting with you and didn’t know it.”
Steve looked over at him, smiling immediately.
“The BLTs?”
Tony nodded seriously. “I fed you sandwiches and emotional support fries.”
Steve’s expression softened a little more at that.
“Even when you were with that asshole Ty.”
Tony made a face instantly. “We do not speak that name in my presence.”
Steve laughed.
“But yes,” Tony admitted after a second. “Even then.”
And Steve knew what he meant.
That even before Tony realized he was in love, he’d already been taking care of Steve in every quiet little way he knew how.
Food.
Bonuses.
Checking in.
Finding excuses to stop by Creative.
Love disguised as logistics.
Steve reached over and took his hand again automatically.
“We can make BLTs later,” he said softly. “Let’s get actual food first. There’s an IHOP over there.”
Tony stopped walking.
Slowly turned.
“There’s an… I-what?”
Steve blinked. “IHOP.”
Tony stared at him like he’d just announced there was a government-funded pancake facility hidden nearby.
“…That’s a real place?”
“You’ve never been to IHOP?”
“No.” Tony looked offended by the implication. “I thought that was one of those fake places from commercials. Like edible arrangements.”
Steve nearly dropped the shopping bags laughing.
Tony pointed toward the sign across the street.
“No, seriously. It’s called International House of Pancakes? That sounds fake.”
Steve was openly grinning now. “C’mon, normal guy. You’re getting pancakes.”
Tony looked at the giant blue sign in awe.
“…This country is incredible.”
The second they walked through the doors of the IHOP, Tony slowed to a complete stop.
The smell hit him first.
Coffee.
Bacon.
Butter.
Syrup.
Then the noise.
Families talking over each other.
Silverware clinking.
A baby crying somewhere near the back.
A tired waitress carrying six plates like a war hero.
Tony immediately moved closer to Steve until he was practically attached to his side.
Not because he was scared exactly.
Just… overwhelmed.
Steve looked down at him with immediate fondness. “You okay?”
Tony stared around the restaurant like he’d accidentally wandered into another dimension.
“There are so many people voluntarily eating pancakes at four in the afternoon.”
“That’s the point of IHOP.”
A waitress walked by carrying a stack of pancakes the size of a small apartment building.
Tony watched her go with visible awe.
“…Steve.”
“Yeah?”
“Those people have enough food to survive winter.”
Steve laughed softly and slid a hand against Tony’s lower back, guiding him toward the host stand.
Tony stayed close the entire time, fingers lightly hooked into Steve’s sleeve now like Steve wasn’t a person but a very handsome emotional support golden retriever.
The hostess smiled brightly. “Two?”
Tony blinked at her.
Then looked at Steve.
Then back at her.
“…Is there a wrong answer?”
Steve physically snorted.
“Two,” Steve confirmed gently.
The hostess grabbed menus. “Right this way.”
Tony followed immediately behind Steve like he might get lost and adopted by the pancake people if separated.
As they passed booths, Tony whispered:
“Why are there so many syrup options?”
“Because freedom.”
Tony nodded slowly like that made perfect sense.
Then they passed a family with a tower of whipped cream-covered waffles and Tony grabbed Steve’s arm.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“They’re living extravagantly.”
Steve was laughing so hard by the time they slid into the booth that he had tears in his eyes.
Meanwhile Tony picked up the laminated menu carefully.
“…This thing is thirteen pages long,” he whispered in alarm.
Tony picked up the menu carefully like he was studying classified Stark Industries documents.
Then his eyes widened.
“Oh hey,” he said brightly. “They have lunch options too.”
Steve smiled immediately.
“I know. That’s why I picked IHOP.” He leaned back against the booth comfortably. “I know you aren’t crazy about breakfast.”
Tony looked up from the menu.
And just… softened.
Because Steve remembered things.
Little things.
Quiet things.
Not the public Tony Stark facts everyone knew.
Not his coffee order or what suit brand he wore.
Just him.
That he hated eggs unless they were hidden in something.
That breakfast food usually felt too heavy in the morning.
That he liked fries more than pancakes.
That he mostly ate breakfast because people expected breakfast foods at breakfast.
Ty never remembered things like that.
Ty always picked whatever he wanted.
Restaurants.
Trips.
Schedules.
And Tony had gone along with it because it was easier than fighting over something as stupid as pancakes.
Tony smiled a little crookedly now, looking down at the menu again.
“But you like breakfast,” he said quietly. “So I wasn’t gonna complain.”
Steve’s expression softened instantly.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “But this place has both.”
Then, right there across the sticky little IHOP table, Steve reached over and took Tony’s hand.
Easy.
Natural.
Like it belonged there.
Tony looked down at their hands for a second before Steve rubbed his thumb gently over Tony’s knuckles.
“We’re allowed to both like things,” Steve said softly.
And there it was again.
That awful warm feeling Steve kept giving him.
The one that settled somewhere under his ribs and made him feel cared for in ways he still wasn’t used to.
Tony squeezed his hand back automatically.
“You know,” he murmured, “you’re annoyingly healthy emotionally.”
Steve grinned. “You love me.”
Tony sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”
The waitress picked that exact moment to appear.
“Ready to order?”
Tony immediately straightened.
“Yes,” he said seriously. “I would like to experience the pancake establishment.”
Tony was still studying the menu with intense concentration.
Then suddenly he lit up.
“Ooooh,” he said excitedly. “They have a BLT.”
Steve looked up from his coffee immediately.
“Baby,” he deadpanned, “you are going to turn into a BLT.”
Tony pointed at him dramatically.
“Correction. A BLT and fries.”
“Very different.”
“Extremely.”
Steve shook his head fondly while Tony kept reading the menu like a man discovering civilization.
“But,” Tony continued seriously, “I’m going to be an adult today.”
Steve stared at him for a long moment.
“An adult,” he repeated carefully, “that just bought dinosaur chicken nuggets.”
Tony nodded once. “Yes. The same one.”
The waitress looked dangerously close to laughing again.
Tony tapped the menu thoughtfully.
“And I’ll get this turkey melt,” he decided proudly. “Because it also has bacon on it.” He leaned back smugly. “So I win.”
Steve snorted into his coffee.
“That’s not how nutrition works.”
Tony gasped softly. “Wow. Way to crush my journey.”
“You added bacon to the healthy option.”
“It’s called balance, Steven.”
The waitress finally gave up and laughed openly.
Steve reached over and stole one of Tony’s fries off the appetizer plate they’d ordered.
Tony looked scandalized immediately.
“You can’t just take fries before the meal arrives.”
“We’re sharing.”
“No,” Tony corrected seriously, “I am sharing. You are stealing.”
Steve kissed the back of Tony’s hand without warning.
Tony instantly lost his train of thought.
“…That was manipulative.”
“It worked though.”
Tony narrowed his eyes.
Then quietly slid another fry toward Steve anyway.
Their food arrived ten minutes later in a glorious avalanche of diner proportions.
The waitress set Steve’s plate down first.
A giant stack of pancakes.
Eggs.
Hash browns.
Bacon.
Tony stared at it in alarm.
“That’s enough food to rebuild a small nation.”
Steve grinned and slid syrup toward himself. “This is normal breakfast.”
“No,” Tony said immediately. “This is frontier survival food.”
Then his own plate landed in front of him.
Turkey melt.
Extra bacon.
Fries piled high beside it.
Tony looked down at it with genuine affection.
“This,” he declared seriously, “is gonna stick to my ribs.”
Steve laughed softly and cut into his pancakes.
Tony immediately stole one fry off Steve’s plate despite already having his own.
“You have fries.”
“I wanted yours.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Love rarely does.”
Steve pointed his fork at him. “You’re impossible in public.”
Tony smirked around a bite of sandwich.
Then Steve’s phone buzzed against the table.
He glanced down at the screen.
“Oh,” he said. “It’s Marissa.”
Tony immediately pointed his fry at him.
“Nope.”
Steve blinked. “Nope?”
“We are not doing work today.” Tony leaned back dramatically. “Sorry. Boss’s orders.”
Steve stared at him flatly.
“Oh, pot…” He took a sip of coffee. “Kettle black.”
Tony gasped softly like he’d been attacked.
“Excuse you. I’m trying to grow as a person.”
“You answered three emails in Target.”
“They were emotionally urgent.”
Steve laughed and picked up the phone again.
Tony reached across the table and lightly put his hand over Steve’s wrist before he could answer.
“Hey,” he said softer now. “Okay, true, I’m a hypocrite.” He smiled a little crookedly. “But we’ve seen those people today.”
Steve snorted immediately.
“The Target people?”
“The pancake people too.” Tony gestured vaguely around the IHOP. “We’re immersed in society now. It’s exhausting.”
Steve was smiling before Tony even finished.
“Call her later,” Tony said quietly. “Just… be here with me right now.”
And Steve’s expression softened instantly.
Because underneath all the dramatics and jokes, that was the real thing Tony was asking for.
Stay.
Steve flipped his phone face down on the table.
“Okay,” he said simply.
Tony relaxed almost immediately.
Then he pointed at Steve’s pancakes.
“I still want one of those though.”
Steve looked down at the phone for one more second.
Then slowly sighed and hit the side button, turning the screen black.
“Damn those brown eyes,” he muttered as he tossed the phone beside the syrup bottles.
Tony looked unbearably pleased with himself immediately.
“My secret weapon.”
“You weaponize sad eyes and expensive hoodies.”
Tony took another bite of his turkey melt proudly. “And yet it keeps working.”
Steve shook his head, smiling helplessly as Tony stole another pancake directly off his plate this time.
“You said you didn’t even want breakfast.”
“I didn’t.” Tony pointed with the stolen pancake. “But now I’m emotionally invested.”
Steve watched him happily demolish diner food for a second before saying quietly:
“You look lighter today.”
Tony paused.
“Like…” Steve shrugged softly. “Relaxed.”
Tony glanced down at the table for a second, suddenly shy in a way he rarely let himself be.
“Well,” he admitted, “I’m at IHOP with the guy I love instead of screaming at shareholders.”
“That’ll do it.”
Tony smiled a little into his coffee cup.
Then immediately ruined the moment.
“But if you tell Pepper I’m experiencing joy, I’ll deny everything.”
Steve laughed so hard he nearly choked on pancake.
Steve stole the yellow legal pad from beside Tony’s plate while Tony was distracted pouring enough syrup onto one pancake to concern several nearby tables.
“Okay,” Steve said, flipping it around. “Let’s see that normal person list.”
Tony perked up immediately.
Steve cleared his throat dramatically.
“Number one. Go grocery shopping myself.”
Tony grabbed the pen and immediately checked it off.
Steve stared at him.
“…Baby.”
“What?”
“We have not grocery shopped yet.”
Tony pointed vaguely toward the Target bags sitting beside the booth.
“We acquired goods.”
“You bought dinosaur nuggets, candles, and a tiny plant.”
Tony gasped softly. “Her name is Penelope.”
“The plant has a name?”
“She’s part of the family now.”
Steve laughed and tugged the list back toward himself.
“Dino chicken nuggets don’t count as grocery shopping.” He pointed at the unchecked line. “We still gotta do that.”
Tony looked genuinely shocked.
“What? Really?”
“Yes really.”
Tony slumped back dramatically against the booth.
“This process is exhausting.”
Steve grinned and kept reading.
“Number two. Stick to a budget.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Honestly? You’re doing okay.”
Tony brightened immediately. “See?”
“You only almost bought three unnecessary appliances.”
“They were emotionally compelling.”
Steve rolled his eyes fondly.
Then he paused and looked over the top of the paper at Tony.
“How does this get done if you’re Tony Stark billionaire?”
Tony blinked.
“What do you mean?”
Steve gestured vaguely. “Like… taxes. Bills. Grocery budgets. Car insurance. All the normal stuff.”
Tony shrugged casually and took a bite of his sandwich.
“It just shows up.”
Steve stared at him.
“…Shows up.”
“Yeah.”
“Tony.”
“What?”
“You don’t know how your bills are paid.”
Tony frowned thoughtfully.
“I mean. I know they are.”
“That is horrifying.”
Tony pointed at him with a fry.
“That’s why I have people.”
Steve laughed helplessly and checked off another item.
“Get coffee from a drive-thru.”
“We technically got coffee.”
“In a Target.”
“It counts emotionally.”
Steve smiled and looked back down at the list while Tony leaned happily across the booth to steal more pancake.
Honestly?
For the first time in a long time, Tony looked exactly like someone who belonged nowhere important except right here.
Steve rested his chin in his hand while Tony aggressively crossed off items with the diner pen like he was winning a competition.
“Okay,” Steve said. “What have we actually accomplished today?”
Tony immediately checked off:
✔ Get coffee from a drive-thru
✔ Go to Target
✔ Maybe buy a plant
Steve glanced down at the list.
“You really checked off the plant.”
Tony looked offended. “Penelope is thriving.”
“She’s been alive for forty-five minutes.”
“She’s doing her best.”
Steve snorted and pointed lower on the page.
“We also kinda stuck to a budget.”
Tony looked proud immediately.
“I suffered bravely.”
“You did complain the whole time.”
“That’s part of the experience.”
Steve laughed and checked it off for him.
✔ Stick to a budget
Tony stared at the paper thoughtfully.
“Can we count complaining about taxes like a regular citizen if I complain about taxes constantly?”
“No because your taxes are terrifying.”
“That feels discriminatory.”
Steve kept reading.
“Still need to do…” He tapped the page with the pen. “Fold laundry.”
Tony made a face like Steve had suggested hard labor.
“We have machines for that.”
“No. You have machines for that.”
Tony leaned back dramatically. “I suddenly understand why civilization is tired all the time.”
Steve ignored him.
“Cook dinner at home.”
Tony brightened. “We can do BLTs.”
“We are not eating BLTs for every meal.”
Tony looked genuinely confused by this.
Steve shook his head smiling.
“Put gas in the car yourself.”
Tony pointed immediately. “I can do that.”
“You’ve never pumped gas.”
“I’ve watched people.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Tony narrowed his eyes.
“How hard can liquid car food really be?”
Steve laughed so hard the waitress looked over again.
“Watch a movie without checking emails,” Steve continued.
Tony groaned dramatically. “That one feels targeted.”
“Because it is.”
Tony took another fry and stared down at the list.
Then quieter, softer:
“…I think I like this.”
Steve looked up immediately.
“The list?”
Tony nodded a little.
“Just…” He shrugged awkwardly. “Doing dumb normal things with you.”
Steve’s entire expression melted.
“You know,” he said softly, “most people just call that dating.”
Tony blinked once.
Then slowly smiled into his coffee cup.
“…Huh.”
Steve reached across the table and squeezed his hand again.
And this time Tony held on first.
The waitress dropped the check onto the table with a smile and disappeared back toward the kitchen.
Tony picked it up automatically.
Then blinked.
“…What?”
Steve looked up from stealing the last fry off Tony’s plate. “What?”
Tony turned the little black folder around slowly like it contained government secrets.
“The total is thirty-five dollars.”
“Yeah?”
Tony looked genuinely stunned.
“No, Steve, listen to me.” He tapped the receipt. “I went out to dinner with Ty one time and it came to a thousand.”
Steve nearly choked on coffee.
“A thousand dollars?”
Tony nodded emphatically.
“There was imported water.”
Steve stared at him.
“…Imported water.”
“In my defense, I didn’t order it. Ty said the regular water tasted ‘aggressively municipal.’”
Steve physically wheezed laughing.
Tony looked down at the IHOP receipt again like it had altered his worldview.
“We got pancakes. Sandwiches. Fries. Unlimited coffee.” He looked up slowly. “And nobody brought me a tiny spoon with decorative foam on it.”
“That’s because this is a diner.”
Tony leaned back in the booth thoughtfully.
“…I think I like diners.”
Steve smiled immediately.
“Yeah?”
Tony nodded once.
“No weird dress code.” He pointed around the restaurant. “Everyone’s just here eating carbs and surviving.”
Steve laughed softly.
Tony lowered his voice conspiratorially.
“And honestly?” He glanced around. “I think the waitress called me ‘hon.’”
“She did.”
Tony looked weirdly emotional about it.
“That’s nice.”
Steve’s face softened instantly because there it was again:
Tony Stark, billionaire genius, discovering ordinary kindness like it was some rare hidden luxury.
Steve reached across the table and nudged Tony’s knee with his own.
“You deserve places where nobody expects anything from you.”
Tony looked at him quietly for a second after that.
Then immediately ruined the sincerity.
“…Can we come back tomorrow?”
Steve burst out laughing.
The late afternoon sun was warm against the parking lot as they walked out of IHOP carrying leftover boxes neither of them technically needed but Tony insisted were “part of the authentic diner experience.”
Steve was still laughing about Tony nearly crying over a thirty-five-dollar dinner when Tony suddenly stopped beside the car.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Steve looked up just in time for Tony to catch the front of his hoodie and pull him in.
The kiss was warm and lingering and tasted faintly like coffee and fries.
Not rushed.
Just full.
When Tony finally pulled back, he stayed close enough their noses brushed.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
Steve’s expression softened instantly. “For what?”
Tony shrugged a little, suddenly shy beneath all the usual dramatics.
“For indulging me today.” He smiled crookedly. “And lightly teasing me instead of making me feel stupid because yeah…” He glanced down for a second before looking back up at him. “I actually really wanted to do this.”
Steve’s face melted completely.
“Baby,” he said quietly, “none of this is stupid.”
Tony huffed a soft laugh. “I literally tried to feed cash into a receipt slot.”
“And it was adorable.”
Tony groaned immediately. “Don’t call me adorable. I’m a feared billionaire.”
“You named a Target succulent Penelope.”
“That’s unrelated.”
Steve laughed and slid his hands around Tony’s waist, pulling him closer between the parked cars while people wandered past with shopping bags and carts and nobody really cared who they were.
And maybe that was part of why Tony looked so peaceful.
No board.
No cameras.
No pretending.
Just Steve.
Just a stupidly nice day.
“You know what I think?” Steve asked softly.
Tony narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “That’s usually dangerous.”
“I think little kid Tony probably wanted this stuff too.”
Tony blinked once.
Then looked away toward the parking lot like the answer was sitting somewhere out there between the Target sign and the sunset.
“…Maybe,” he admitted quietly.
Steve kissed his forehead this time.
And Tony, billionaire genius disaster man, immediately melted again.
Tony was still standing close enough that Steve could feel the warmth of him through the hoodie.
The parking lot around them buzzed softly with carts rattling and cars pulling in and out, but Tony barely seemed to notice any of it now.
He just looked at Steve for a long second after the kiss.
Then smiled slowly.
“Your lips taste like syrup.”
Steve laughed quietly. “That tends to happen after pancakes.”
Tony leaned in again immediately for another quick kiss like he was verifying the data.
“…Yep,” he confirmed very seriously afterward. “Still syrup.”
Steve shook his head, smiling helplessly.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet,” Tony murmured smugly, hands sliding into Steve’s hoodie pockets now because apparently personal space was no longer part of his lifestyle, “you keep kissing me.”
Steve kissed his forehead this time just to hear Tony huff dramatically.
“That one tasted like coffee,” Tony informed him.
“Good.”
Tony looked up at him softer then, evening sunlight catching in his brown eyes.
“You know,” he said quietly, “this might’ve been my favorite day in a while.”
Steve’s expression melted instantly.
“Even with the receipt machine incident?”
Tony groaned into his shoulder.
“We don’t talk about that.”
Steve unlocked the car and tossed the leftover boxes carefully into the backseat.
“Okay,” he said as Tony climbed in beside him, still clutching Penelope the succulent like a tiny hostage. “Now we go to Stop & Shop and get actual groceries.”
Tony buckled his seatbelt slowly.
Then turned toward him with visible disbelief.
“…There’s another store?”
Steve blinked. “Yes?”
Tony pointed dramatically toward Target behind them.
“But that place already had clothes, candles, tiny waffles, medicine, and sex supplies.”
Steve burst out laughing.
“Yeah, but Stop & Shop is better for actual food.”
Tony stared ahead through the windshield like he was reconsidering the structure of society itself.
“They really put all of it in one place?”
“Pretty much.”
“That’s incredible.”
Steve started the car while Tony continued processing this revelation with the seriousness of a man discovering electricity.
“No wonder normal people never leave stores,” Tony muttered. “You could disappear in there for days.”
“You almost did.”
“That candle aisle had a strong emotional hold on me.”
Steve smiled and reached over to squeeze Tony’s thigh gently while they drove across the plaza toward the grocery store.
Tony looked out the window and spotted the giant red Stop & Shop sign.
“…Why does it sound threatening?”
“What?”
“Stop.” Tony pointed. “And shop.”
Steve laughed immediately.
“It’s just a grocery store, baby.”
Tony narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the building.
“That’s exactly what Target wanted me to think too.”
Tony grabbed a cart the second they walked into Stop & Shop.
Not because he needed one immediately.
But because he was committing to the role now.
He pushed it forward proudly. “Okay. We walk in and get the cart first because that’s what you do.”
Steve smiled beside him. “Look at you.”
“I’m learning.”
Steve nudged the cart lightly as they entered produce.
“My ex used to make me get the cart.”
Tony looked over immediately.
“The one that left you with nothing and drained your account?”
Steve nodded once. “Yep.”
Tony’s expression darkened instantly in that protective way he got whenever Steve’s past came up.
“And forced you to become homeless.”
Steve sighed softly. “And eventually forced me to break into Stark Industries.”
Tony pointed at him immediately. “You broke into Stark Industries.”
“I had a badge.”
“A stolen one.”
Steve laughed. “A lost one.” He glanced at Tony. “But anyway, as I was saying…” He pushed the cart forward slowly. “He always expected me to get the cart when we actually went shopping.” He shrugged. “Which was almost never.”
Tony’s face softened.
Because there it was again.
Another tiny thing Steve had normalized.
Not because it was huge.
Not because it was dramatic.
Just because over time someone had quietly taught Steve that consideration only went one way.
Tony slid his hand over Steve’s on the cart handle for a second.
“Well,” he said lightly, “I got the cart this time.”
Steve smiled immediately.
“You did.”
“And I bought us dinosaur nuggets.”
“You did that too.”
Tony nodded proudly. “I’m basically husband material.”
Steve laughed softly under his breath.
“You know what?” he said, leaning closer as they turned into the produce aisle. “You kinda are.”
Tony almost walked the cart directly into a pyramid of apples.
Steve tossed a bag of oranges into the cart while Tony stood in the middle of the aisle looking personally betrayed by the price of blueberries.
“Six dollars?” Tony whispered. “For tiny fruit?”
“You’re a billionaire.”
“That’s not the point.”
Steve laughed and kept walking.
Then after a minute he glanced over casually.
“So serious question.” He grabbed a loaf of bread off the shelf. “How does food appear at your house?”
Tony blinked.
“What?”
“Like groceries.” Steve gestured vaguely. “How do they get there?”
Tony opened his mouth.
Paused.
“…I don’t…” He frowned thoughtfully. “Know.”
Steve immediately started smiling.
Tony leaned against the cart thinking hard now.
“It’s just…” He waved a hand vaguely. “There.”
“Tony.”
“No seriously.” Tony looked genuinely baffled by his own life now. “I come home and food exists.” He blinked slowly. “I’ve never actually seen someone put it there.”
Steve physically laughed out loud.
“Sweetheart,” he said between laughs, “it’s probably interns.”
Tony looked alarmed.
“What?”
Steve nodded knowingly. “Back when I was sneaking around Stark Industries, I used to hear them complaining sometimes.” He grabbed pasta sauce off the shelf. “One girl was losing her mind because you wanted some imported cheese that apparently didn’t exist anymore.”
Tony frowned harder.
“…That sounds vaguely familiar.”
“She said she went to like five specialty stores.”
Tony looked genuinely horrified now.
“Oh no.”
Steve was openly grinning.
“And another time somebody got yelled at because your favorite sparkling water changed cans.”
Tony gasped softly. “They did change the cans. It tasted different.”
“It absolutely did not.”
“It emotionally did.”
Steve laughed harder.
Tony looked down at the cart for a second before shrugging helplessly.
“I think…” He pointed vaguely. “Pepper sends things sometimes?” He frowned again. “And you bring things over now.” Then he looked back at Steve with complete sincerity. “But mostly it just appears.”
Steve stopped walking entirely for a second just to stare at him affectionately.
“You really are the weirdest rich person alive.”
Tony looked proud of that.
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“It felt like one.”
Steve was picking through avocados while Tony stood in front of the egg section looking deeply suspicious.
“Sweetheart,” Steve said, still smiling from the earlier conversation, “did you really think food fairies just put groceries in your house?”
Tony looked over immediately.
“Yes.” He paused. “Well… not literal fairies.” He frowned thoughtfully. “More like rich people magic.”
Steve laughed under his breath.
Tony suddenly pointed toward the refrigerated shelves with alarm.
“But this is more important.”
“What?”
“Why are the eggs different colors?” Tony held up a carton in each hand. “Why is one white and one brown?”
Steve walked over beside him.
“I think it’s different kinds of chickens.”
Tony stared at the cartons with intense concentration.
“So…” He looked up slowly. “Brown chickens make brown eggs?”
“I think so.”
Tony looked genuinely fascinated by this information.
“That feels fake.”
“It’s not fake.”
Tony picked up the brown egg carton carefully like he was handling scientific evidence.
“…Do they taste different?”
Steve shrugged. “Not really.”
“Then why are they different colors?”
“I don’t know, baby. Chicken reasons.”
Tony narrowed his eyes at the eggs.
“This grocery store is teaching me too much too fast.”
Steve laughed and slid the carton gently into the cart.
“Wait until you learn about organic labels.”
Tony gasped softly. “No.”
Steve sighed fondly and held out his hand.
“Give me your phone.”
Tony handed it over immediately while still staring suspiciously at the eggs.
“I still think the chickens are hiding something.”
Steve unlocked the phone easily by now and typed quickly into the search bar.
Then he held the screen up between them.
“Okay. Apparently brown eggs usually come from breeds of chickens with red feathers and white eggs usually come from white-feathered chickens.”
Tony blinked.
“…The chickens color coordinate?”
Steve laughed. “Apparently.”
Tony leaned closer to read the screen with visible fascination.
“It says shell color doesn’t really affect taste or nutrition.”
Tony looked betrayed.
“So it’s cosmetic?”
“Pretty much.”
Tony stared at the cartons another second before pointing dramatically.
“That’s branding.”
Steve nearly dropped the phone laughing.
“The chickens are doing marketing, Steven.”
“I don’t think that’s how farming works.”
Tony ignored him completely and grabbed a carton of brown eggs.
“These ones feel emotionally trustworthy.”
Steve shook his head helplessly and put them in the cart.
Then he noticed Tony still staring at his phone thoughtfully.
“What?”
Tony looked up slowly.
“…It says some chickens lay blue eggs.”
Steve smiled immediately because he knew that look.
“No.”
Tony gasped. “Steve.”
“No.”
“We could get blue eggs.”
“We are not buying specialty designer eggs because you think they’re aesthetically pleasing.”
Tony clutched his chest dramatically.
“You wound me.”
Steve tossed a box of pasta into the cart while Tony continued reading egg facts like he was preparing for a congressional hearing on poultry.
“Baby,” Steve said carefully, “besides… we only have like three hundred left.”
Tony looked up immediately.
“We’re fine.”
Steve pulled out his phone calculator.
“Wait.” He started tapping the screen. “No, more like two seventy.”
Tony gasped softly. “What happened to the rest?”
Steve stared at him.
“Target.”
Tony nodded thoughtfully. “Fair.”
“Starbucks.”
Tony pointed defensively. “You also got coffee.”
“I got black coffee for four dollars.”
“Still coffee.”
Steve kept going.
“IHOP. And the tip.”
Tony immediately brightened. “We tipped good though.”
“Yeah, because you panicked and handed her forty dollars.”
“She called me ‘hon,’ Steven. I blacked out emotionally.”
Steve laughed so hard he had to lean against the cart.
Tony grabbed another item off the shelf absently.
“We’re still thriving financially.”
Steve looked down at the item in Tony’s hand.
“…Baby.”
Tony blinked innocently.
“You’re holding twelve-dollar imported olive oil.”
Tony slowly put it back.
“This store is full of traps.”
Tony carefully placed the normal eggs into the cart with the solemn expression of a man making sacrifices for the economy.
Then he pointed at Steve.
“But when I’m a billionaire again,” he declared dramatically, “we are getting blue eggs.”
Steve blinked at him.
“When you’re a billionaire again?”
Tony nodded once. “Clearly I lost my status today.” He gestured vaguely at the grocery cart. “I now understand coupons.”
Steve laughed under his breath and pushed the cart forward.
“You’re handling middle-class life very bravely.”
“Thank you.”
Tony walked beside him for another second before adding thoughtfully:
“And maybe the chickens that lay blue eggs are happier.”
Steve looked over.
“What?”
“I don’t know.” Tony shrugged. “They seem whimsical.”
Steve physically had to stop the cart because he was laughing too hard again.
Tony looked smug immediately.
“You mock me now.” He pointed dramatically ahead. “But one day we will have whimsical eggs.”
Steve slid an arm around his waist as they kept walking through the aisle.
“Okay, sweetheart.”
“And maybe tiny waffles.”
“No.”
Tony sighed heavily. “You hate my dreams.”
Tony suddenly stopped walking in the middle of the cereal aisle.
“Oh no.”
Steve glanced over immediately. “What?”
“The coupons.” Tony looked horrified. “I forgot them on the counter at your place.”
Steve blinked once.
Then smiled.
“It’s okay. I have the app. I’ll just load them.”
Tony stared at him.
“…They have an app for that?”
“Yeah.”
“For coupons?”
Steve nodded casually while pulling out his phone. “Makes it way easier.”
Tony looked genuinely astonished.
“This country runs on apps.”
“Pretty much.”
Steve started scrolling through the grocery app while Tony just watched him with growing fascination like Steve was performing practical magic.
Then, without warning, Tony walked over and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist right there between cereal and pasta sauce.
Steve looked down immediately, softening at once.
“What’s this for?”
Tony shrugged against his shoulder.
“…Thank you for not making me feel stupid.”
Steve’s face fell a little.
“Baby.”
“No seriously.” Tony looked up at him now, quieter than before. “I know I probably sound ridiculous half the time today.” He huffed a soft laugh. “And honestly I can probably get even stupider with all this because I truly don’t know.”
Steve immediately pulled him closer.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I didn’t know how arc reactors worked.”
Tony blinked.
“What?”
Steve smiled a little. “Or quantum stabilization.” He shrugged. “Or like… ninety percent of what comes out of your mouth in the lab.”
Tony snorted softly.
“You taught me all that stuff,” Steve continued gently. “Because you loved it.” His hand rubbed warmly over Tony’s back. “And I love you.”
Tony went still at that.
“And I know you don’t know this stuff,” Steve said. “But I also know how excited you are over all of it.”
Tony looked down for a second, suddenly emotional in that quiet way he got when something hit too close to his heart.
“I’ve never really gotten to be a real person before,” he admitted softly.
The grocery store buzzed around them.
Carts rolling.
People talking.
A kid begging for cereal nearby.
And Tony stood there in the middle of it all holding onto Steve like he was the safest thing in the world.
“You did this weekly your whole life,” Tony whispered. “While I…” He laughed weakly. “I haven’t.”
Steve tilted Tony’s chin up gently until their eyes met.
“You are a real person,” he said firmly.
Tony’s expression cracked a little around the edges at that.
Steve smiled softly.
“You’re just a really weird one.”
Tony stayed tucked against Steve’s chest for another second before finally looking up at him again.
Eyes still a little soft.
Still a little vulnerable.
Then that familiar Tony Stark grin returned.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You fell in love with this weird one.”
Steve smiled immediately.
“The weirdest one.”
Tony looked proud of that title honestly.
“I ask grocery stores questions about egg politics and receipt machines.”
“You do.”
“I named a succulent.”
“You did.”
“I yelled ‘THE CONDOMS’ across Target.”
A woman nearby pushing a cart snorted into laughter as she passed them.
Steve was fully grinning now. “Yeah. That definitely happened.”
Tony shrugged helplessly.
“And yet,” he said softly, “you still kept me.”
Steve’s expression melted at that.
He reached up and brushed his fingers through Tony’s messy hair before kissing his forehead gently right there between aisle signs and cereal boxes.
“Baby,” he murmured, “I didn’t keep you.”
Tony blinked up at him.
Steve smiled softly.
“I chose you.”
And for once Tony didn’t joke immediately after.
He just looked at Steve like the words physically hit him somewhere deep.
Then after a second he muttered quietly:
“…Okay rude.”
Tony looked at him for another long second in the middle of the aisle.
Then he stepped closer again and kissed Steve softly.
No teasing this time.
No dramatic commentary.
Just warm and slow and full of quiet affection that Steve could feel all the way down to his ribs.
When Tony pulled back, he rested their foreheads together briefly.
“Alright,” he murmured. “Let’s continue shopping.”
Steve smiled immediately. “Yeah?”
Tony nodded once.
“We still need actual food apparently.” He sighed dramatically. “Because society refuses to recognize dinosaur nuggets as a complete nutritional category.”
Steve laughed under his breath and took hold of the cart again while Tony stayed close beside him, one hand casually hooked through Steve’s arm now.
As they walked deeper into the store, Tony glanced around thoughtfully.
“You know,” he admitted quietly, “I kinda get why people do this together.”
“Grocery shopping?”
“Yeah.” Tony shrugged a little. “It’s boring but…” He looked over at Steve with a soft smile. “Not with you.”
Steve’s entire expression warmed.
“Careful,” he teased lightly. “You’re starting to sound domestic.”
Tony gasped softly.
“Steven.” He pointed at him. “I literally bought eggs today. I’m basically a suburban husband already.”
Steve laughed loud enough that a woman near the yogurt section smiled at them knowingly as they passed.
And Tony?
Tony looked happier than he ever had leaving a gala.
They wandered deeper into the store together after that, moving slower now.
More comfortable.
Tony pushed the cart while Steve tossed actual groceries into it to balance out the chaos purchases.
Bread.
Pasta.
Chicken.
Fruit.
Tony still managed to sneak in a box of rainbow popsicles when Steve wasn’t looking.
“I saw that,” Steve said without turning around.
“They’re colorful.”
“That’s not a nutritional defense.”
Tony shrugged unapologetically.
Steve grabbed a package of ground beef off the shelf. “How about tacos for dinner tomorrow?”
Tony blinked. “We can order out.”
Steve gave him a look over the cart.
“We might not need to after we buy groceries.” He pointed gently at the increasingly full cart. “Remember the budget?”
Tony gasped softly like Steve had personally wounded him.
“You mean I have to use the groceries?”
“That is generally the point of groceries, yes.”
Tony looked down at the cart thoughtfully.
“So this is long-term food.”
Steve physically laughed.
“Yes, sweetheart. That’s how kitchens work.”
Tony shook his head in disbelief.
“This is all very advanced.”
Steve slipped another item into the cart while smiling fondly.
“You know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“You’re adapting weirdly fast.”
Tony puffed up immediately. “I’m adaptable.”
“You tried to pay Starbucks with vibes earlier.”
“That cashier understood my spirit.”
Steve laughed again and nudged the cart forward toward dairy.
Tony glanced around the busy grocery store for a second before saying quieter:
“This is kinda nice though.”
Steve looked over immediately.
“Yeah?”
Tony nodded once.
“Just…” He gestured vaguely around them. “Picking dinner together. Thinking about tomorrow.” He smiled a little shyly. “I’ve never really done that before.”
And Steve felt his chest ache a little at how casually Tony said things that should’ve broken someone.
Never planned meals.
Never grocery shopped.
Never thought past the next meeting, launch, disaster.
Steve reached over and squeezed the back of Tony’s neck gently.
“Well,” he said softly, “now you do.”
Tony leaned into the touch without even thinking about it.
Steve was reaching for shredded cheese when he realized the cart had suddenly stopped moving.
He turned around.
Tony was gone.
“…Tony?”
Then he spotted him halfway down the aisle already speed-walking toward the bakery section with the focus of a man responding to destiny itself.
“Absolutely not,” Steve called after him, already laughing.
Tony ignored him completely.
By the time Steve caught up, Tony was standing in front of the dessert display with the exact same expression he’d had looking at the tiny waffle maker earlier.
Pure awe.
“Steven,” he whispered. “Look at this.”
Steve looked.
Cheesecake slices.
Chocolate cake.
Cookies.
Tiny parfait cups.
Tony pointed dramatically at a tuxedo cake.
“That cake has layers.”
“That is generally how cake works.”
“No.” Tony shook his head seriously. “Emotionally layered.”
Steve snorted.
Tony crouched slightly to stare through the glass case like a Victorian child outside a toy store.
“They have miniature cheesecakes.”
“You already had pancakes.”
“And now I require balance.”
Steve crossed his arms. “The budget.”
Tony froze.
Slowly looked back at him.
Then at the desserts.
Then back at Steve with betrayal in his eyes.
“You would deny me joy?”
“You bought six candles.”
“They smelled pretty.”
Steve laughed helplessly while Tony continued staring mournfully at the desserts.
Then Tony suddenly brightened.
“What if…” He pointed carefully. “We split one.”
Steve narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “One.”
“One,” Tony repeated solemnly.
Five minutes later there were somehow three dessert containers in the cart.
Steve looked down at them.
“Baby.”
Tony held up a finger immediately. “In my defense, one was on sale.”
“That is not a defense.”
“It felt financially responsible.”
Steve was comparing pasta brands with the seriousness of a man trying to survive economic collapse when he noticed Tony had gone suspiciously quiet.
Which was never good.
He glanced over slowly.
Tony immediately smiled too fast.
Steve narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“That was the most guilty ‘nothing’ I’ve ever heard.”
Tony looked away casually and started pushing the cart again.
Steve followed beside him for three full seconds before spotting the bright blue cookie package half-hidden beneath the bread.
“…Tony.”
Tony gasped softly like he’d been falsely accused.
“What?”
Steve reached into the cart and pulled out the cookies.
“You snuck cookies into the cart.”
Tony immediately pointed at him defensively.
“I did not sneak. I strategically acquired.”
“You hid them under the bread.”
“That’s just efficient cart management.”
Steve laughed helplessly while Tony tried very hard to look innocent and failed completely.
Then Tony sighed dramatically.
“Okay fine.” He crossed his arms. “But before you judge me, consider this.” He pointed at the package. “Chocolate chip.”
Steve looked down at the cookies.
Then back at Tony’s hopeful face.
Then sighed.
“You’re impossible.”
Tony brightened instantly. “Does that mean yes?”
“It means one package.”
Tony grinned so hard it was practically sunshine.
“You are the wind beneath my financially responsible wings.”
Steve physically groaned while pushing the cart again.
And thirty seconds later Tony quietly slipped another package of cookies into the cart while Steve wasn’t looking.
Steve caught the second package of cookies this time before Tony could bury them beneath the produce.
“You are like a child,” he informed him while holding up the cookies accusingly.
Tony looked completely unashamed.
“Yes,” he agreed immediately. “I am.”
Steve laughed under his breath and tossed the cookies back into the cart anyway because they both knew he was going to lose this battle.
Tony beamed at his victory.
“Now,” he said proudly, pushing the cart forward again, “what else do we need, my love?”
Steve pointed at him immediately.
“Don’t ‘my love’ me.”
Tony blinked innocently. “What?”
“You only say that when you’re trying to distract me.”
Tony gasped softly. “That is a terrible accusation.”
“You literally did it five minutes ago with the cheesecake.”
“That cheesecake and I had a spiritual connection.”
Steve shook his head smiling while Tony happily hooked himself around Steve’s arm again.
“So…” Tony leaned against him dramatically as they walked. “What does the household require?”
Steve thought for a second.
“Milk.”
Tony nodded seriously.
“Bread.”
“Got it.”
“Vegetables.”
Tony immediately grimaced.
Steve laughed. “You can’t survive entirely on bacon and sugar.”
Tony looked genuinely skeptical of that claim.
“Science remains divided.”
Steve reached over and squeezed the back of Tony’s neck affectionately.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Tony brightened instantly. “See? The ‘my love’ worked.”
Steve groaned.
And Tony grinned like a man who’d just successfully hacked the universe.
Steve grabbed milk from the cooler while Tony stared suspiciously at the wall of yogurt beside him.
“There are too many choices,” Tony muttered. “Why does yogurt need personalities?”
Steve glanced over. “What?”
Tony held up two containers.
“One says ‘light and fit.’” He grabbed another. “This one says ‘indulgent bliss.’” He frowned. “That’s emotional manipulation.”
Steve laughed quietly and tossed the milk into the cart.
“Welcome to grocery stores.”
Tony shook his head slowly. “Normal people are fighting psychological warfare every week.”
Steve started pushing the cart toward frozen foods again while Tony stayed glued to his side.
Then Tony suddenly stopped.
“Oh my God.”
Steve didn’t even turn around this time.
“What now?”
“They have tiny pizzas.”
Steve closed his eyes briefly. “Baby.”
“They’re personal pizzas.” Tony held the box up reverently. “That means they’re emotionally for me.”
“You are not buying emergency tiny pizzas.”
Tony gasped softly. “Emergency tiny pizzas is a valid category.”
Steve physically laughed and kept walking while Tony dramatically chased after him with the box still in hand.
“Steven!”
“No.”
“You deny me every joy.”
“I bought you cookies.”
“You bought me silence.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
Tony slid the pizza back into the freezer with immense tragedy.
As they turned down another aisle, Steve reached for laundry detergent.
Tony immediately pointed.
“Oh! That’s on the list.”
Steve blinked. “Laundry?”
Tony nodded proudly and pulled the crumpled yellow legal pad from his hoodie pocket.
“Fold laundry.” He pointed at it triumphantly. “We can do that later.”
Steve smiled immediately because Tony looked genuinely excited about checking off laundry like it was some grand adventure.
“You know,” Steve said softly while tossing detergent into the cart, “most people hate doing laundry.”
Tony looked horrified.
“…Why?”
Steve stared at him.
“It’s laundry.”
“Yes but then things become warm.” Tony gestured vaguely. “And clean.” He smiled a little. “That sounds nice.”
And there it was again.
Another tiny ordinary thing Tony had somehow missed out on his entire life.
Steve’s chest ached a little.
So instead of teasing him this time, Steve just reached over and kissed his temple gently.
Tony looked up immediately.
“What was that for?”
Steve smiled softly.
“Nothing.” He nudged the cart forward. “C’mon, my love. We still need vegetables.”
Tony groaned like he’d been sentenced to hard labor.
By the time they finally reached checkout, the cart was full enough that Tony looked mildly offended by it.
“How did this happen?” he asked while unloading bags of groceries onto the conveyor belt. “We came here for eggs.”
Steve snorted. “And then you discovered dessert.”
Tony pointed at him. “The cookies were medically necessary.”
The cashier started scanning items one after another.
Milk.
Bread.
Chicken.
Pasta.
Vegetables Tony still looked suspicious of.
Cookies.
Tiny plant food because apparently Penelope had needs now.
Tony watched the screen carefully this time like a man preparing for battle.
Then the total appeared.
$194.87
Tony blinked.
“…Whoa.”
Steve looked over. “Yeah.”
Tony stared at the number.
“I feel like we barely bought anything.”
Steve laughed softly while pulling out the app for the coupons.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Food’s expensive.”
Tony looked around the grocery store suddenly different after that.
At the tired mom unloading groceries beside them.
At the older man counting coupons carefully.
At the cashier standing for hours under fluorescent lights.
And Steve watched the exact moment Tony’s brain connected something.
Tony frowned slightly and pulled out his phone.
“What are you doing?” Steve asked.
Tony was already opening notes.
“Remind me,” he said seriously, “to go raise the hourly people’s rates when I get back.”
Steve blinked.
“Tony…”
“No seriously.” Tony looked down at the receipt again. “How are people supposed to do this every week?” He shook his head softly. “They need more money for this stuff.”
The cashier paused mid-scan and looked up at him for a second.
Not because he was Tony Stark.
But because he sounded genuinely upset about it.
Steve’s whole expression softened.
Because this was the thing people never understood about Tony.
Underneath the ego and the billion-dollar chaos and the dramatics…
He cared.
Too much sometimes.
Tony glanced at Steve again.
“What?”
Steve smiled softly.
“Nothing.” He leaned over and kissed his cheek quickly. “Just fell in love with you a little harder.”
Tony blinked once.
Then immediately recovered.
“Obviously,” he said with great dignity. “I’m excellent under fluorescent lighting.”
They finally pushed the overloaded cart out into the parking lot while the sun started dipping lower behind the plaza.
Tony was unusually quiet now.
Not upset.
Just thinking.
Steve loaded bags into the trunk while Tony stood there holding the receipt again like it personally offended him.
“I didn’t know food was this much,” he admitted quietly.
Steve looked over immediately.
Tony shook his head slowly.
“Like…” He frowned. “Laura.”
Steve paused.
Their housekeeper.
The woman who always made sure Tony had coffee in the mornings and quietly replaced food in the kitchen before he even noticed it missing.
Tony looked genuinely troubled now.
“She’s probably struggling like that?”
Steve leaned against the trunk softly. “A lot of people are right now, baby.”
Tony looked back down at the receipt.
Almost two hundred dollars.
And that was with coupons.
And one grocery trip.
He let out a quiet breath.
“Nope,” he muttered firmly. “She’s getting a raise.”
Steve smiled a little.
Tony kept going now, already spiraling into plans.
“Actually all of them are.” He pointed vaguely like Stark Industries employees existed in the clouds around them. “Housekeeping, cafeteria staff, assistants, maintenance…” He looked up at Steve with determination. “All of them.”
Steve’s expression softened completely.
“Tony…”
“No seriously.” Tony shoved the receipt into his pocket. “I’m sitting there yelling about blue eggs while people are probably trying to figure out how to buy groceries.” He frowned harder. “That’s insane.”
Steve stepped closer and rested a hand gently on the back of Tony’s neck.
And there it was again.
The thing Steve loved most about him.
Tony could be dramatic.
Ridiculous.
Entirely incapable of understanding receipt machines.
But the second he realized somebody might be hurting?
He cared immediately.
Deeply.
“You know,” Steve said softly, “most people don’t go grocery shopping once and decide to raise salaries.”
Tony looked genuinely confused.
“Why wouldn’t they?”
Steve just smiled helplessly.
Because that was Tony.
Sometimes oblivious.
Sometimes absurd.
But never cruel.
Tony sighed and leaned into Steve’s touch for a second before muttering:
“…I still think blueberries are overpriced though.”
By the time they pulled into Steve’s driveway, the sky had turned soft blue-gray with streaks of sunset still hanging at the edges.
Tony sat in the passenger seat staring at the grocery bags in the backseat like they were evidence of personal growth.
“We bought vegetables,” he said quietly.
Steve parked the car. “We did.”
“And eggs.”
“Mmhm.”
“And laundry detergent.”
Steve glanced over, already smiling.
Tony looked deeply emotional about this for some reason.
“I’m basically evolving.”
Steve laughed and climbed out of the car.
The second Tony stepped onto the driveway, he immediately stretched dramatically and announced:
“I think I deserve praise for surviving society today.”
“You survived Target, Starbucks, IHOP, and a grocery store.” Steve grabbed three bags in one trip because apparently he was trying to prove a point. “Very brave.”
Tony narrowed his eyes.
“You’re mocking me.”
“A little.”
Steve headed toward the front door before looking back over his shoulder.
“C’mon, hotshot.” He nodded toward the trunk. “These aren’t gonna unload themselves.”
Tony gasped softly like he’d just been informed of a labor violation.
“We have to carry them inside too?”
“Yes, sweetheart. That’s generally how groceries work.”
Tony stared at the bags in visible betrayal.
“This process has too many steps.”
Steve laughed outright this time while unlocking the door.
Tony finally grabbed a couple bags dramatically.
“If my back gives out, tell the board I died doing something noble.”
“You’re carrying bread.”
“And emotional burdens.”
Steve shook his head smiling as Tony followed him inside.
Then Tony stopped dead in the kitchen.
The counters.
The lights.
The quiet comfort of Steve’s place.
And suddenly all the grocery bags in his hands felt strangely domestic.
Warm.
Real.
Steve walked past him toward the kitchen island and glanced back.
“You okay?”
Tony looked around slowly before smiling a little to himself.
“…Yeah,” he admitted softly. “I just think this might be the most normal day I’ve ever had.”