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“Stephen?!” bellows Tony’s voice from outside the Sanctum entrance as he bangs insistently on the wooden door. “I know you’re in there, please just let me in. I only need to explain some things, okay?”
Stephen grits his teeth, grinds it, jaw clenching. Tony Stark is a man with a stubborn streak a mile wide, and Stephen does not have the wherewithal to put up with whatever he is planning today. He lumbers his way across the foyer and swings the door open, deciding to go with the direct approach. “Go away,” he says with measured calm.
“Listen to me,” the man says. There is a steady patter of rain outside, and if he takes his time to look, the hem of Tony’s trousers are wet, a thin sheen of rainwater dripping off the hair on his head, on the bright, fierce eyes he used to be so familiarly acquainted with. Even the sight of him rumpled and standing pathetically under the rain like this makes the thing in his chest twinge and ache in age-old fondness, but he doesn’t let that fool him.
“I don’t know what joke you’re playing at, Stark,” he begins, and Tony’s face shatters. Whether due to the deliberate use of his last name or the fact Stephen’s clocked this ridiculous prank for what it is, he doesn’t know. “but I’m not keen on being the butt of it. So I will ask you politely once again: go. Away.”
“You haven’t asked me politely at all,” Tony says instead. Stephen just regards him with a scowl. Tony swipes a hand down his face roughly as though he’s the one frustrated. “Look, I know you won’t believe any of this, I know that. I know what we’ve done. What I’ve done. I know that it’s unforgivable. But please, please—I need you to listen to me.”
The rain intensifies, falling heavy and loud on the concrete sidewalk, and Stephen is acutely aware of his dry clothes, impeccably-put hair, the natural inviting warmth of the Sanctum; a generated heat from the concentrated magic imbued in its walls and floor. “Fine. Get inside. You look pathetic.”
Tony steps inside carefully, dragging rainwater onto his clean floor, face as cautious as Stephen’s feeling. Shutting the door with disproportionate force to the simple task, Stephen turns to glare at Tony. Again his chest seizes at the sight of him, despite all efforts.
“Stephen,” Tony begins.
“You have three minutes to say your part,” Stephen says, “and then I’m portaling you out.”
“Okay, that’s fair,” Tony says. He takes a moment to compose himself. “I just—I meant to apologise.”
“Apologise,” Stephen repeats. “Everyone else has tried and given up. You can drop the act now.”
“Everyone else isn’t as stubborn as I am.”
“Why are you so adamant on ruining my day?” Stephen isn’t sure what his face is doing, but he knows his resolve is crumbling. “Just leave me alone.”
“Stephen,” Tony says again. Such a simple word said in such an intimate way. Some long forgotten part of him remembers that word and that voice from a different life, before things have gotten awry. When did it go so wrong? “The spell is reversed, I need you to believe me when I say none of the shit either of us have said—none of the shit I have said to you, did to you, is anything I meant.”
“How am I meant to believe that?”
“Because this,” Tony holds up his ring finger, the one that’s been bare since the early start of this, but is now not quite. His ring—the ring near-identical to the one Stephen still wears in a pendant around his neck like a fool—glints as it reflects the light. “Because I made a vow to live the rest of my life with you, and I plan on doing it.”
The Cloak tightens around him protectively, equally as distrustful of what it’s being presented with as its owner. He pointedly looks at Tony’s face instead of the glaring steel band adorning his finger, the one that holds evidence of his heart’s imprudence—what this is, Stephen thinks, is just outright cruelty. “You have made it very clear,” Stephen grits out, “that our marriage was for naught, and whatever lingering feelings you think I think you might have has long since gone.”
“And I’m telling you I meant none of that,” Tony ventures on, “I’m telling you now that… that wasn’t me.”
“You have one minute.”
“It’s barely been two.”
“Just cut to the chase. I don’t have time for this.”
“I love you,” Tony says, and damn it all, but his chest decides to collapse then and there. “I have loved you, still love you, won’t stop loving you. I need you to give me a chance. Please, Stephen, none of this is a joke. I need you to believe me. And if there’s—if there is any part of you that remembers what we were, before all of this, then maybe you’d remember how—how beautiful it was. How privileged I was to have you, all for me. How we could still be that if you’re willing to try. But if… if that isn’t the case, then I understand. I know what I’ve done is unforgivable, and that none of this may ever convince you, but I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m asking you to at least believe me.”
“You told me you resented me.”
“I know,” Tony admits sadly.
“You told me—you—” Stephen shuts his eyes. Damn, damn, damn it all. He feels stupefied, wheels spinning as he tries to reconcile this conflicting information, these mutually exclusive truths in clear contradiction that has him doubting his perception of the universe. “How am I meant to believe any of this,” he says.
For a moment, they stew in the silence. The rain rages on outside, a muted cascade of raindrops beating the windows, streets, rooftops.
“In the beginning. When I first realised,” Tony says, “I was terrified of how much I wanted you. Still want you. I was terrified of how much of it was reciprocated, if at all. And then I realised you were terrified, too. We were—” Tony’s face does a funny sort of contortion, some combination of amusement and regret, “We were terrible at it. At this. But in every twist and turn, no matter how far I got into my own head or you into yours, we both knew one thing in certainty, and that is—for me, at least—that you will always be the only one for me. No one in the world could take away the fact that you are what makes my heart. You enter the room and all I see is you. Stephen, nothing changes that.”
Stephen wants to believe it. He really, really does. But the consequences of believing have always been grave, far from worth the temporary joy of it. But the ring burns where it hangs around his neck, and all he can see is honesty and desperation in Tony’s eyes. When he speaks, he does it tentatively.
“If I consider it,” Tony visibly perks up at that, “where will it go from here?”
“Wherever you want,” he says instantly. “Whatever you want, I’ll take it. I just—I need you to believe me, first.”
Stephen searches those eyes, wide and looking terribly sincere. I love you, those lips have shaped around, that voice has formed. The fragmented, forlorn pieces of his heart howls wildly in hope—hope that he’s squashed down time and time again, but still lives on obstinately.
“Leave,” Stephen decides. “I need a moment to myself.”
“But you’ll—you’ll consider it?”
“I’ll tell you when I have,” he says despite better judgement. Startling relief washes over Tony’s face.
“That’s good enough for me,” he breathes out, and Stephen just reaches for his slingie, conjures a portal straight into Tony’s lab.
“Go,” he tells him, nodding at it. Tony hesitates, face almost mournful. Eventually he steps through, turning to Stephen at the last minute.
“Thank you,” Tony murmurs, as the portal fizzles out of existence, and Stephen is left alone in the silence, the comforting weight of the cloak draped on his shoulders, and the silent echo of their words.