Chapter Text
Tony Stark had a system.
Every problem in life could be solved with the appropriate movie.
Bad day? *The Breakfast Club.*
Need confidence? *Legally Blonde.*
Existential crisis? *Dead Poets Society.*
Need to understand why your best friend was acting weird? Tony had approximately seventeen movies for that.
Romantic problems?
Tony had an entire filing system.
Not metaphorically.
There were folders.
There were notes.
There was a color-coded spreadsheet.
There was, unfortunately, a whiteboard.
Steve Rogers had always considered this one of Tony's more harmless eccentricities.
Until Monday morning.
---
Steve's alarm went off at 6:15.
He slapped at it without opening his eyes.
It kept ringing.
He groaned into his pillow.
“Steve.”
A knock came from the hallway.
Nothing.
“Steve.”
Still nothing.
The door opened.
Bucky Barnes leaned against the frame, already dressed for school, his backpack hanging from one shoulder.
“You have three minutes.”
Steve pulled the blanket over his head.
“I don't want to go.”
“That's nice.”
“I've decided to drop out.”
“You're seventeen.”
“I'll get my GED.”
“You're taking AP English.”
“Exactly. I've suffered enough.”
Bucky walked over and yanked the blanket away.
Steve squinted at the sudden light.
“Traitor.”
“You're welcome.”
Bucky tossed the blanket onto the floor.
“Your bus comes in twelve minutes.”
Steve sat up, hair sticking in every possible direction.
“Why are you like this?”
“Because if I don't wake you up, Mrs. Rogers will.”
Steve immediately got out of bed.
“Okay.”
Bucky smirked.
“Thought so.”
The Rogers house wasn't particularly large, but it was warm in the way old houses tended to be. Steve and his mother lived upstairs, while Bucky's family had moved three streets over years ago. He'd started spending so much time at the Rogers' place that there was a standing joke about him paying rent.
He didn't.
Instead, he contributed by making sure Steve actually made it to school.
It was a system.
Much like Tony's.
Only significantly less complicated.
By the time Steve made it downstairs, his mother had already left for work. A note sat beside the toaster.
**Breakfast. Don't forget your lunch. Love you.**
Steve smiled.
Bucky grabbed a piece of toast.
“That's mine.”
“You weren't eating it.”
“I was going to.”
“You've been saying that for six years.”
Steve took it back.
“You're annoying.”
“You're welcome.”
They headed outside.
And somewhere across town, Tony Stark was having a completely different morning.
---
Tony lived with his father.
Technically.
Most of the time, it was just Tony and the house staff.
Howard Stark's work had a habit of swallowing entire weeks at a time. Meetings, business trips, conferences, phone calls at ridiculous hours—it meant Tony had grown accustomed to a house that was far too large for one teenager.
He had his own bedroom.
His own bathroom.
A television that took up half a wall.
And a collection of movies that could have qualified as a small independent video store.
He also had Pepper Potts.
Pepper was technically his father's assistant.
Unofficially, she was the person who remembered that Tony needed to eat.
She stood in the kitchen that morning with a mug of coffee, watching him scroll through his phone.
“You're going to be late.”
“No.”
“You're not dressed.”
“I am dressed.”
Tony glanced down at his pajama pants.
“I'm emotionally dressed.”
Pepper sighed.
“Ten minutes.”
“Seven.”
“Eight.”
“Deal.”
Tony disappeared upstairs.
Five minutes later, he returned wearing jeans, a vintage T-shirt, a jacket, and a pair of sneakers.
Pepper raised an eyebrow.
“You're wearing that?”
Tony looked at himself.
“What's wrong with it?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why did you say it like that?”
“I didn't.”
“You absolutely did.”
Pepper smiled.
“Have a good day.”
Tony grabbed his bag.
“Tell Dad I said hi if he remembers he has a son.”
The words came out lightly.
Pepper's expression softened.
Tony noticed.
He hated when people did that.
So he pointed toward the door.
“School.”
“Right.”
---
Tony and Steve had been friends since freshman year.
Nobody was entirely sure how it had happened.
Steve had been quiet.
Tony had not.
Steve liked drawing.
Tony liked talking.
Steve preferred listening to music with headphones on.
Tony had once spent an entire lunch period explaining why a particular soundtrack was objectively superior to another one.
Somehow, it worked.
They'd become inseparable.
Best friends.
The kind who knew each other's schedules.
The kind who saved seats.
The kind who could communicate an entire conversation with one look across a classroom.
The kind of friendship that made other people occasionally ask:
“So… are you two dating?”
To which Tony always replied:
“Absolutely not.”
And Steve would say:
“No.”
Usually at exactly the same time.
Tony had never thought much about it.
Except lately, when Steve smiled at him.
Or leaned closer.
Or said his name.
Or—
No.
Tony had thought about it.
Far too much.
Because Tony Stark had a crush on Steve Rogers.
A massive one.
A hopeless one.
A humiliating one.
And Steve had absolutely no idea.
Which was probably for the best.
---
By second period, Tony had almost forgotten about it.
Almost.
He was at his locker, shoving a textbook inside, when someone bumped his shoulder.
“Hey.”
Tony looked over.
Steve.
“Morning, Rogers.”
“Morning.”
Steve stood there.
Didn't leave.
Tony waited.
Steve looked at him.
Then at the floor.
Then at Tony again.
Tony narrowed his eyes.
“You're doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you're clearly trying to say something and pretending you're not.”
Steve laughed under his breath.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I just…”
Steve hesitated.
Tony's pulse picked up.
“Yeah?”
“I wanted to ask you something.”
Tony shut his locker.
“Shoot.”
Steve looked around the hallway.
There were students everywhere.
Lockers slamming.
Shoes squeaking against the floor.
Someone yelling about a chemistry test.
Steve lowered his voice.
“I need advice.”
Tony blinked.
“About?”
Steve hesitated.
“Dating.”
Tony's brain stopped.
Not figuratively.
It simply ceased functioning.
“Dating.”
“Yeah.”
Tony stared at him.
Steve waited.
Tony's mouth went dry.
“Oh.”
Steve frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Tony forced a grin.
“Sure. Yeah. Dating. Obviously.”
Steve smiled.
“You're good at that stuff.”
Tony stared.
“You think I'm good at dating?”
Steve shrugged.
“You've seen everything.”
Tony recovered enough to look offended.
“Excuse me. I've studied everything.”
“Right.”
“There's a difference.”
“Okay.”
Tony crossed his arms.
“So what's the problem?”
Steve shifted his backpack.
“I like someone.”
Tony's stomach sank.
Of course.
Of course Steve liked someone.
Why wouldn't he?
Steve was kind and funny and ridiculously handsome and had the moral integrity of a golden retriever in human form.
Obviously somebody liked him.
Probably several somebodies.
Tony swallowed.
“Okay.”
“I don't know how to tell her.”
*Her.*
Tony's heart sank another inch.
“Well.”
He leaned against the locker.
“You could tell her.”
Steve gave him a look.
“Very helpful.”
“I try.”
“I mean it.”
Steve rubbed the back of his neck.
“I don't want to mess it up.”
Tony's expression softened.
“Steve.”
“Yeah?”
“You can't mess it up if you're honest.”
Steve looked at him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Tony's heart fluttered.
Then Steve smiled.
“That's why I came to you.”
Tony's brain supplied approximately fifty different responses.
He chose:
“Yeah.”
Steve nodded.
“So you'll help me?”
Tony smiled.
“Of course.”
He would.
He absolutely would.
Even if it hurt.
Even if Steve was talking about someone else.
Even if Tony had to personally orchestrate the greatest romance in the history of mankind and then stand off to the side while Steve fell in love with somebody else.
Because Steve was his best friend.
And Tony wanted him to be happy.
Tony grabbed his notebook.
“Okay.”
Steve laughed.
“You're taking notes?”
“This is serious.”
“You're insane.”
“Probably.”
Tony flipped to a blank page.
At the top, he wrote:
**STEVE'S ROMANTIC EMERGENCY**
Then underneath:
**OBJECTIVE: MAKE HER FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM.**
Tony stared at the words for a second.
His chest felt strangely tight.
He pushed the feeling away.
“So,” he said, “tell me everything.”
Steve leaned against the locker beside him.
“Well…”
He started talking.
Tony listened.
He asked questions.
He made suggestions.
He scribbled down ideas.
And every once in a while, Steve smiled at something Tony said.
Every time, Tony forgot that this was supposed to be about someone else.
---
At lunch, Bucky found them sitting together.
He dropped into the seat across from Steve.
“What's going on?”
Tony looked up from his notebook.
“Romance.”
Bucky froze.
Steve groaned.
“Don't.”
Bucky slowly looked between them.
“Romance?”
Tony nodded.
“I'm helping Steve.”
“With what?”
“His love life.”
Bucky's eyebrows climbed.
Steve kicked him under the table.
Bucky kicked back.
Tony didn't notice.
He was busy writing another note.
**Grand gesture?**
Bucky leaned over.
“What are you doing?”
“Research.”
“For what?”
“Steve's crush.”
Bucky looked at Steve.
Steve looked at Bucky.
Bucky looked back at Tony.
Something about his expression made Tony suspicious.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you're clearly thinking something and pretending you're not.”
Bucky smiled.
“Funny.”
Tony frowned.
Steve buried his face in his hands.
“This is going to be a long year.”
Tony grinned.
“Oh, absolutely.”
He had no idea just how long.
Or how complicated.
Or how badly his perfectly organized little system was about to fall apart.
Because Tony Stark knew every rule of every romantic comedy he'd ever seen.
He knew when the music was supposed to swell.
He knew when somebody was supposed to run through the rain.
He knew about grand gestures and airport reunions and impossible declarations.
What he didn't know—
What he'd never considered—
Was what happened when the person asking for romantic advice was already in love with you.
And Steve Rogers?
Steve was already planning his first movie moment.
With Tony.