Archive of Our Own

It had been about three weeks since one of the most horrific awakenings of Tony’s life—in an equally horrific hospital smelling revoltingly of medicine—and what felt, to Stark, suspiciously like his own death. Over that time, the billionaire had managed to come to terms with the disappointing fact that he’d lost most of his memories. To be precise, everything that had happened to him after Obadiah’s betrayal was total and complete darkness.

So when he woke up to find that instead of his beloved Pepper, a crowd of ridiculously dressed—as it turned out—heroes had barged into his room, gasping and sighing, calling him by his first name as if they were best friends (which, as it turned out, they actually were), showering him with inquiries about his health, threats to finish him off if this ever happened again, suggestions to write out his will while he still could, and wishes for a speedy recovery, Stark began to question the reality of the situation.

He’d barely cracked open his eyes—which felt as though they were filled with lead, by the way—barely started gathering his thoughts, and finally felt that wretched headache accompanied by a slow, steady wave of nausea, only to have a bunch of lunatics let in instead of a pretty nurse? Well, okay, maybe calling his old friends mentally unstable wasn't very polite, but in his entire life—or rather, the part of it he actually remembered—Tony had never been known for having a sense of tact. And if they really were friends, they could suck it up as long as they were sticking around.

The morning after several weeks spent in his gorgeous Tower, rather than the dull gray hospital rooms, was surprisingly bearable. His new-old friends visited him on some schedule they’d made up themselves, attempting to talk to him to trigger his memory. They tried so hard that at one point Tony simultaneously admired their dedication and felt sorry for them, because very little was coming of it. In all that time, Stark had only managed to memorize their names, and even then, strictly after it was made blatantly clear to him that calling them by their superhero aliases was impolite. Apparently, pestering a poor genius and nagging him in every possible way to prove the truth of the "Avengers" story was polite. Who even came up with a name like that? What are they, villains? Who are they even avenging? In any case, whoever had a hand in it, it definitely wasn't him.

Friday—the genius still felt uneasy and uncomfortable realizing that Jarvis was no longer with him—politely informed him of the weather outside, the amount of dust in the air (which you could probably die from if you tried hard enough), and the latest news. Nothing interesting had happened over the past couple of hours, though.

After a disappointing daily forecast and a complete lack of a schedule—Fury, the bastard, had benched him indefinitely because he didn't think a fully functional but forgetful genius could be of any help, ordering him to rest instead of doing actual work—Tony decided to engage in the most noble activity in existence: slacking off.

He couldn't invent, because all the new blueprints relied on a Tony who knew more than the Tony sitting here right now. Simply put, Stark didn't understand a damn thing, and to understand it, he would need to reread every single file Friday had, which would take more than two years. At least, that's what she said.

So the man decided to step outside for some fresh air, even if it was completely saturated with harmful dust. Pepper used to say that air was good. And air shared with friends was even better. But no one was scheduled to visit today, so poor Tony had to entertain himself.

Speaking of Pepper. It turned out they were no longer together, as terrible as that sounded. At least for Tony, it was the equivalent of an atomic blast right in his face. He didn't understand how that was possible or how they’d gotten to that point. In his mind, he and Pepper were just getting started, and their relationship was going really, really well.

In his head, Stark was already planning a wedding to this magnificent woman who kept him from going under no matter what. And now he wakes up to see her noble, gracefully aged, but still gorgeous face looking as tired as ever, only to learn she isn't his anymore. And that he’s lost his memory—but that’s already been established. As for Pepper... That hurt. Badly. But they talked. Thanks, Pep, you're the best. Tony doubted he’d have had the strength to push for that talk himself. Literally, too: his body felt like it had been run over by a semi truck at least ten times.

Pepper explained that they had been married and that for a while, everything was indeed wonderful and sweet. But eventually, the fighting and misunderstandings started, and cracks began to form in their relationship. Pep said they realized too late just how different they were. She also mentioned some guy named Thanos, after whom she finally concluded she couldn't live like that anymore or keep putting herself in danger. She was worrying too much, which had an extremely negative impact on her and their child—God, he had a daughter, and she even had the lovely name Morgan! So they worked out all the details of the divorce and went their separate ways, remaining good friends.

Tony could see his daughter whenever he wanted and be directly involved in raising her, while Pepper remained his right-hand woman in business, even though she got her half. In the event of Stark's death, she and their daughter would inherit the entire company and all the stock. Pepper also stayed at the Tower, though she often drove with Morgan to their simple, as she put it, cabin by the woods. It seemed almost nothing had changed. Except for current-Tony's broken heart. But if Pepper was happy, then so was he. The well-being of this extraordinary woman had always been—and always would be—the man's top priority. And now, their wonderful child's, too. Morgan. What a cool name they gave her. Tony definitely must have come up with it, no doubt about it.

Lost in these thoughts, Stark didn't even notice how he wandered upon a small coffee shop. Small, done in a rustic style, but possessing a certain magnetic charm. And who was Stark to resist such a charming atmosphere and the rich aroma of coffee? That's right—against coffee, Tony stood no chance.

He walked inside and almost immediately locked eyes with the man behind the counter.

A tall brunette with his hair tied in a small ponytail at the back of his neck and a toned body was chatting pleasantly with a waitress. His sly green eyes crinkled whenever a soft, captivating smile appeared on his sharp, pale face. It should be illegal for people this good-looking to work in places like this. How many people were going to come in just to talk and look at him? Other coffee shops were going to go bankrupt.

Stark casually strolled closer. He couldn't just let an opportunity like this slip away without introducing himself.

"Latte, please," the genius said, shamelessly checking the man out.

The moment the brunette raised his eyes to look at the engineer, it was as if he’d dunked his head into a bucket of cold water, instantly wiping that previous expression off his face: his gaze hardened, the corners of his thin lips dropped, leaving nothing of his carefree smile behind except a flat line that barely even resembled one.

A very warm welcome. But that was fine. The harder the challenge, the more interesting it was.

"Stark?" the man spat through his teeth.

"In the flesh. Pleased?"

"Jumping for joy."

The man's voice—cold, hostile, chilling right down to the bone (setting aside the fact that his whole appearance didn't exactly scream friendliness)—clearly conveyed the opposite.

"What are you up to?" he added with emphasis.

"Mmm, ordering coffee? Leaving a nice tip? I can afford it, I'm a billionaire, by the way."

Despite his intuition screaming warnings that were promptly drowned out by his desire to flirt, the genius stood his ground, his lips stretched into one of his most charming little smiles. Usually, after this simple trick, whoever he was talking to would giggle, smile, and exchange a few pleasantries—and some would even play hard to get... for about ten minutes, before giggling, smiling, and so on. But the outcome was always—well, almost always, 99 percent of the time for sure—the same: the conversation flowed a whole lot smoother after that.

However, due to some unfortunate stroke of luck, this barista happened to fall into that exact one percent of people on whom the smile had a completely different effect. The green eyes narrowed dangerously, and his body, previously tense as a bowstring, leaned forward smoothly yet with a sudden sharpness. His palms gripped the edge of the counter, using it as an anchor.

"What are you planning, Stark?" the brunette hissed suspiciously, keeping a slight distance between them. "I'm stronger than you anyway. Stronger than all of you."

"Oh, I believe you. Look, you even cracked the counter," ignoring the first question, the man glanced down at the crooked line, somewhat resembling a lightning bolt, formed from the intense pressure. It started from the edge where the slender fingers rested and ended near the middle of the counter.

Maybe it was just the material? Or did this attractive, angry creature possess an unbelievable amount of strength?

"Anyway, can I get a latte? And your number?"

Intuition, hand in hand with the instinct of self-preservation, had completely withered away.

"Are you mocking me?" After a second's pause, during which genuine surprise flared in those green eyes (Stark hadn't lost his touch after all!), the barista returned to his role of cosplaying a venomous snake.

"No, not at all," the Iron Man waved off innocently, and then, as if someone had flipped a switch, asked in all seriousness: "Hey, where exactly did I cross you?"

"Your little friends are nearby, aren't they?" the brunette pressed on, ignoring the genius's words as if out of spite. "Waiting for them?"

"Little friends?" It took Tony five seconds for the gears in his head to form a guess. "You mean the Avengers?"

"Yes. Buying time?"

"No, I just wanted to order coffee," Stark answered nonchalantly, even throwing in a frown for extra effect. Almost immediately, though, his brows returned to their normal position, and his expression turned as if they were discussing something top secret: "Should I be?"

"Should you be what?" the barista lost his footing.

"Buying time?" the dark-haired man answered a question with a question, feeling his lips spread into a satisfied smile.

The green-eyed menace noticed the change instantly.

"You..."

"Nope, nope, whatever you're about to say," the man threw his hands up in surrender. "We know each other, right? And it seems our relationship isn't exactly friendly. Did I steal your girlfriend? Wife? Boyfriend? Throw your poodle off a balcony?"

"If this is another attempt to distract me, it's..." the barista hissed.

"No, no, no attempts," the engineer assured him quite sincerely. "Except for the one to figure out who you are. And get my coffee."

"You know who I am," the brunette drawled contemptuously, completely ignoring the part about the desired beverage. "And I know you're lying."

"Nope, I really, truly don't remember you," Stark sighed, sticking to his guns, and then, as if suddenly remembering something, decided to clarify: "You didn't try to kill me, did you? Or did you?"

"I'm planning to right now," the man replied, way too calmly for someone who’d been spitting venom a couple of seconds ago.

"Cool. Main thing is you didn't try before."

Drawing such conclusions probably wasn't entirely healthy, but Tony was used to looking on the bright side.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"No, not at all. So, what about that latte?"

"I want to pour it over your head."

Well, look at all that honesty!

"We weren't friends," Tony concluded, stepping closer to the counter and making the dark-haired man lose his composure for a brief second once again. He had clearly assumed the hero wouldn't close the distance between them. Poor judgment on his part. "Enemies? You know, I was told not to mention my memory problems, and up until you, I was doing a fantastic job. But you won't give me my coffee, so I'm forced to spill."

"Enemies?" The nametag-less cafe employee raised his eyebrows in surprise, rounding his vibrant green eyes. So genuinely, in fact, that you wouldn't tell right away that the bastard was mocking him. He even laced his voice with sugar: "No, of course not. We're best friends."

"Really?"

"Naturally."

"That's sarcasm, isn't it?" the genius raised an eyebrow, knowing the answer in advance.

"Naturally."

"So, enemies then?"

"You make marvelous deductions."

The mask of feigned surprise vanished from the man's face the moment he dramatically rolled those green eyes.

"Thanks," Stark snorted. "And why enemies? Did I leave your cafe a one-star review?"

"You poured a smoothie on me," the barista answered casually.

"Oh. Did I do it on purpose?"

"Yes, but only after I dropped three puddings on you."

"Fascinating."

"Hardly," the brunette scoffed. "So, how long until your hero squad comes running?"

"And you're their biggest fan, I take it?"

Stark's lips curled back into a cocky little smile, which was evidently driving the brunette insane.

"Raging," the nameless employee agreed dully, as if losing all his previous spark at once, before adding seriously: "So?"

"I don't know," the genius shrugged carelessly. "As far as I remember, they decided I'm a big boy capable of going places by myself. Cool, right?"

"Unbelievable," the man scoffed again, asking in a sweet-as-sugar voice: "And what are you going to do all by yourself?"

"Try to get my coffee," the genius declared enthusiastically, enjoying the flicker of annoyance on his companion's face. "And maybe win your favor."

"Well, give it your best shot."

The brunette stepped back from the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, his entire posture signaling that Tony had zero chance of achieving either.

"Thanks for the blessing," Stark rolled his eyes, cleared his throat, and asked politely: "May I have a latte, please?"

"No," the man said flatly.

"Why?"

"I don't feel like it."

"Isn't the whole point of being a barista to give people drinks?" the engineer tried again, gesturing slightly for emphasis.

"I'm not a barista," came the calm reply.

"But you make coffee?" the engineer pressed skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

"I do."

"Aaaand?"

"And what?" The brunette scowled again in irritation.

"Okay, let's take it from the top," the genius sighed, taking a couple of seconds to choose his words and tone carefully. "I would be very grateful if you would kindly make me a latte."

"Mmm."

Is he kidding?

"That's it?"

"Yep."

He was definitely kidding.

"Great!" The man clapped his hands loudly, wrapping up the round he’d just lost. "Alright. Fine. I really, really need coffee. I can't function without it, okay? No coffee means no energy, which means no Tony Stark, and ultimately, no genius ideas. How is this world supposed to survive without the genius ideas of the genius Tony Stark?"

"Are you saying it won't?"

Oh, now the bastard was smiling again.

"That's exactly what I'm saying." But Stark wasn't born yesterday either. If he wanted something, he’d get it no matter what, no matter how petty the goal. And this was a matter of principle! "And I want coffee, too."

"You seriously don't remember?"

"Yep. You can climb into my head and check if you don't believe me, but please, give me my coffee."

"If you're trying to fool me, Stark..." the man bristled again, deciding to recite his list of threats one more time.

However, the lack of caffeine in the genius's bloodstream was already taking its toll on his nonexistent patience.

"Nooooo. Feel like I've said this already?"

"Are you playing games with me?"

"No!" the man threw his hands in the air. "I've been trying to prove to you for ten minutes that I don't remember anything, and I'm seeing you for the first time in my life! And I desperately need coffee! So stop picking on me, I feel like I'm being interrogated! I just walked into a coffee shop! And even if I think you're attractive, that doesn't mean you have to act like freaking Fury! Can I please just get an Americano?!"

"What's all the noise?" An elderly woman peered around the wall, deeply concerned by the shouting. "Is something wrong?"

"No, everything's fine, Miss Harris, just a slight misunderstanding."

"A serious one?"

"Just trying to convey to the customer that cinnamon and Americano aren't the best combination."

"Cinnamon and Americano? Who in their right mind would add cinnamon to that?"

"The customer. So I was trying to tell him it's better without it."

"You want to..." Rendered almost speechless by such barbarism, the woman turned to the genius.

"Oh, no-no, your employee explained very eloquently and in great detail that a plain Americano is much better!"

"Problem solved then?" she asked pointedly. "Don't take this the wrong way, Mr. Stark, but I don't need extra noise in my cafe. This is a quiet place where people come to relax."

"Yes, of course, my apologies, it won't happen again, ma'am."

"Ma'am, honestly," the woman chuckled quietly, turning around and disappearing back into the breakroom.

The brunette watched her leave before finally turning back to Tony:

"Fine."

"Fine?" the genius asked suspiciously.

"Translation: I'll make you an Americano," the man drawled condescendingly, actually intending to start on the order.

"That easy?" It was actually one of the hardest ways he’d ever had to obtain a beverage in his life, but he wasn't about to let the jerk gloat. "I was starting to think about getting down on my knees and begging you. You won't make me do that next time, will you?"

"Next time?" The brunette froze mid-action and glared at the billionaire.

"Well, yeah, now I'm going to come here and personally beg for coffee from a barista as stubborn as you," Stark smiled broadly. "It's fun."

"It's stupid."

"Maybe, but I love doing stupid things."

"I noticed. For here or to go?"

"For here."

"To go? Wonderful."

"Hey! If you put it in a paper cup, I'm still staying!"

"Terrifying threats, Mr. Stark. I'm shaking."

"Good, that was the plan."

In the end, the bastard made a latte in a paper cup and kicked the genius out, citing a lack of open seating inside. Tony, naturally, just sat right on the outdoor patio, directly in his line of sight.

"You've been sitting there for two hours," the barista noted, walking out onto the terrace carrying a tray.

"I know," Stark shrugged casually, chugging the rest of his coffee.

"Aren't you leaving?"

"Nope."

"Why?" the brunette hissed, snatching the empty cup.

"I want more coffee," Tony clapped his hands, grinning from ear to ear. Might as well make full use of those pearly whites before they got stained by caffeine!

"That was your fifteenth cup."

"Still want more."

"You're acting like a child."

"Children don't drink coffee."

"Which is why you should leave," the man concluded oddly, frowning.

"Not leaving without coffee," Tony dug his heels in simply because he could. "I'll finish it right here."

"I hate you, Stark."

"You should love me, I left so much in tips," the engineer instructed him. "Maybe you'll get a raise. Or sent on a vacation somewhere."

"Highly doubtful," the brunette scoffed skeptically.

"Anything's possible," he shrugged, blinking innocently.

"Sixteenth cup of latte," the barista suddenly surrendered, hissing menacingly: "And then get lost."

"So sweet, thanks." The man's gaze trailed down the barista's lean frame before coming to a halt on his nametag: "Loki?"

"What?" he asked impatiently.

"Nothing, just... unusual name. Are you from Norway? Loki! What a menace. Definitely from Norway."

After his sixteenth cup of latte, Tony spent more time in the restroom than he ever had in his entire life. On the bright side, he’d discovered a fantastic laxative that tasted pleasantly of coffee.

The next day, Tony returned, driven by an overwhelming urge to push the strange guy's buttons all over again.

"Again?" Loki raised a long eyebrow, though he didn't look particularly surprised. If anything, he looked amused.

"Like Natasha says: not again, but still," Tony smiled, walking deeper into the coffee shop. "And yes, it's 'still' me."

"What for?"

"Coffee," the engineer replied quickly, peeking over the counter. "And maybe those cute round things on that slice of cake over there. Can I get those? With coffee?"

"They come with the cake," the brunette cut him off. "What kind of coffee?"

"Espresso. To go. Everything to go," Stark said sweetly.

"Surprising," the man muttered under his breath from the other side of the counter.

"What is?"

"Nothing," Loki waved it off, reluctantly prepping his order. "One pastry?"

"Yeah, and can you put it in a nice little box?" Stark coaxed, then quickly asked: "When does your shift end?"

"Planning to apologize?" the barista asked with little interest. "And the latter is none of your business."

"I want to get you a gift, Sherlock."

"My theory sounded more plausible."

"Mine sounded nicer."

"There's a clear box and a standard paper cup," the man stated, his back turned to the engineer. "I can tie a ribbon on it if you want it pretty."

"A ribbon would be great, seeing as you have such a vast selection of boxes."

"This is a coffee shop, not a boutique."

"Wouldn't be bad to combine the two," Tony mused. "Especially with a hunk like you behind the register."

"Are you mocking me?" the man snorted, actually tying a ribbon around the cake. Red. How cute.

"You ask that so often I'm starting to think that's what you actually want," Tony frowned, watching how quickly and deftly those hands moved. "And no, I'm not mocking you."

"Then why are you doing all this?" Loki asked without turning around.

"I like your coffee. Good enough?"

"For now," the barista answered unimpressively, placing the boxed cake and coffee in front of him. "Here."

"Very polite, thank you."

"I tried. Now get out," Loki gestured hospitably toward the door.

Customer service was clearly his middle name.

After a couple more days of receiving nothing but rejections, Tony launched a counteroffensive. He ambushed Loki at the staff entrance in the back alley of the coffee shop, then practically dragged him to one of the finest restaurants in town. Not that the brunette put up much of a fight—once he heard Tony was paying for everything, he walked willingly. However, the dream date crashed and burned before it even really started: while Loki was picking out dishes that would cost a chunk of the billionaire's fortune, Stark stepped outside to secretly check on the neat little gift bag he’d prepared specifically for the man. Naturally, by pure accident and Murphy's Law, the second the bag was in his hands, it slipped and dropped straight into an open dumpster. Cursing his own clumsiness, the engineer was already elbow-deep in trash when a familiar, venomous voice spoke above him.

"Stark, what in the name of the Norns are you doing?"

Loki had somehow materialized behind him, arms crossed over his chest. Magically materialized, that is—not the arm-crossing part, though given how terrifying he looked, you could assume that was magic too.

"I... uh... dropped something in the bag, and then it got thrown out, and... it's somewhere in here."

"In the dumpster?"

"Yeah," Stark answered awkwardly, straightening up. "So, could you turn around while I look for it?"

"For it?" the man raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, a gift," Tony turned back to the bin. "I brought it in a box, and it..."

"Fell, yes, I heard," the barista waved him off and roughly shoved the engineer aside. "Move."

"Huh?"

"Move," the brunette repeated irritably. "And don't you dare tell a soul about this! Or I'll shove your gift down your throat."

"How sweet. Really kills the urge to talk altogether."

"Wonderful," Loki scoffed, leaning over to start doing what Tony had been doing a moment ago.

After a couple of minutes, Stark's willpower and patience ran thin.

"Find it?"

"Of course, Stark, I found it ages ago!" came a voice from inside the bin. "I'm just hanging out in the trash, enjoying the view and soaking in the aroma!"

"Okay, okay, I won't distract you then," Tony winced, stepping a bit closer just in case. "I just thought..."

"Stop doing that," Loki cut him off. "Lately, whenever you say that phrase, something like this happens!"

"Right..." the genius shifted awkwardly, adding sheepishly after a brief pause: "So, are you...?"

"Stark, if you ask one more time, I will dump you into this lovely pile of garbage."

"Got it, staying quiet," the engineer raised his hands in defeat.

Feels like an eternity passed before Loki finally climbed out of the dumpster, holding a small green velvet box in his hand. Thank God it was green fabric and not covered in whatever filth was down there!

"Here, take your box," the barista shoved the gift into the engineer's hands, wiping his palms in disgust.

"Oh, yeah, thanks, you really have a gift for..."

Tony genuinely tried to lighten the awkward mood, but couldn't find the right word. And even if he had, it probably would have sounded like an insult.

"Just... you know what, forget it."

"Thanks, Stark," the man drawled, looking himself over. "Best compliment I've ever received."

"Yeah. Anyway, about the gift..." the engineer babbled, trying to hide how fast his heart was beating.

"I feel sorry for the unfortunate woman you decided to give this to."

"It's actually a guy."

"Well, the unfortunate guy then."

"It's you."

"Huh?"

Loki raised a thin eyebrow again, looking at Stark like he was an idiot.

"It's for you," he repeated. "A gift."

"You're giving me a box from a dumpster?" Loki clarified, his voice dripping with so much skepticism you could physically feel it.

"What? No, of course not!" Tony protested, though he knew how bad it looked. "It wasn't in the trash when I bought it! Probably."

"You made me dig through a trash chute so I could retrieve my own present?"

"I didn't make you!" the man defended himself, putting his hands out. "You came over on your own!"

"Of course I came over!" the brunette scoffed, putting his hands on his hips. "You invited me to dinner and then ran off!"

"Oh," Tony blinked in surprise. "You came looking for me?"

"I wanted to break your neck and hide your body in one of these dumpsters," Loki replied smoothly.

"Right. Let's forget that and get back to the gift."

"You pulled it out of the trash."

"Yes! I mean, no! It was supposed to be clean when I gave it to you!"

"Mmm."

"Let's look on the bright side! It was..."

"Yeah, like a ring hidden inside a cake where the girl is supposed to bite into it and find it. But you're a genius, so you decided to put your own spin on the tradition!"

"Noooo, not that bright," Tony winced, picturing the scene and replacing the girl with the dark-haired man.

"Then you either humiliated me by making me crawl through trash, or you decided to give me actual garbage," the brunette summarized, continuing to bore holes into the engineer with his gaze.

"Can we just pretend I never dropped it in the trash?" Stark suggested.

"You can pretend all you want, makes no difference to me," Loki shrugged, deftly swiping the bag containing the small box. "But I'll remember."

With swift movements, he popped the box open and pulled out a silver ring studded with tiny diamonds all around the band. Between each stone, a long white snake slithered across the surface.

"You're giving me a ring?"

After a long minute of silence, during which the man scrutinized the gift, he finally broke his intense gaze away from it and looked up at the genius.

"Yes," Stark answered proudly, though inside he was practically screaming for a simple "I like it." "So that whenever you flip someone off, you look stylish doing it. Feel free to practice on me if you want."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Loki snorted, slipping the ring onto his middle finger. He held out his hand, admiring it for a few seconds. "I'm still planning to throw you in the trash."

"Do you like it?" the engineer blurted out, unable to hold it in any longer.

He certainly liked how it looked on those long fingers, and how the stones caught the light—just as much as he was infuriated by those green eyes shining in the sunlight.

"Stark, did you engrave your initials on the inside?" the barista frowned instead of answering, trying to pull the ring off to confirm his suspicion.

"No!" the man stopped him immediately, grabbing his hand. "Don't look!"

Loki froze for a second, eyes wide, before bursting into a quiet smirk.

"You are an awful, self-centered, arrogant..." he began listing off.

A trace of laughter echoed in his voice, giving the genius hope that he hadn't completely messed up with the gift. He had a lovely voice.

"It's so you'll always remember me, got it?" Tony held his ground, mesmerized by the quiet laugh.

"Or is it so I'll know it's from you, stroked by the ego boost of seeing me wear it?" the brunette smiled slyly.

"Don't overcomplicate it, please."

"Right," the man purred, satisfied with his deduction. Breaking free from Tony's grip, he took another look at his hand. "I like it."

"Seriously?" Tony raised an eyebrow.

"No, I was joking."

"You're terrible," the man groaned, taking the other's hand again. "So, do you like it?"

"Yes, Stark, I like it. Can you stop asking now?" Loki sighed impatiently. Then, completely out of nowhere, he slipped his arm through Tony's and led them back toward the restaurant.

The genius was so caught off guard by this turn of events that he couldn't even open his mouth to make a joke. Usually, he was the one initiating physical contact while Loki avoided it at all costs, and now... Did Stark hit his head while digging in the trash?

After dinner, they walked through a night park toward the Tower, with Loki taking the lead. Tony didn't bother asking if this willful creature wanted to stay over. The creature had decided to grace Tony's humble abode with his presence all on his own. The billionaire didn't argue, simply enjoying the moment. He knew virtually nothing about this man, but he was determined to fix that. At the same time, he had a gut feeling that Loki knew almost everything about him. Maybe it was those sharp, deep eyes that seemed to track everything all at once, from which nothing could be hidden; or maybe it was the sheer confidence with which the brunette handled him; or maybe it was just Tony's own imagination. But there was definitely something otherworldly about this beautiful being walking arm-in-arm with him, eating a mint ice cream cone. Tony had gotten strawberry, but it had mostly melted in his hands because all his attention was consumed by how unusually serene and relaxed the man beside him looked.

"If you keep staring and drooling like that, I'm going to shove your face into that pink puddle in your cone," Loki warned without looking up from his ice cream.

"Can't take my eyes off your beauty, sweetheart," the man grinned, though he finally shifted his gaze down to his hopelessly ruined dessert.

"Want to see a trick?" Loki asked suddenly.

Tony looked over and realized he was talking about the strawberry ice cream.

"Show me, handsome," Tony chuckled, confident he'd be amazed by whatever the man did simply because he was the one doing it.

"Screw off, tin man," the brunette scoffed and snapped his fingers.

Tony didn't notice anything at first—until he realized his hands weren't sticky anymore, and the cone felt significantly heavier. When he looked down, he was stunned to find a brand-new, completely frozen ice cream in his hands. And instead of one scoop, there were two.

"Like it?" Loki mimicked Tony's voice.

"How did you do that?" he asked instead, taking a cautious, experimental lick of the top scoop. "It's real."

"Of course it is," the brunette huffed, as if offended by the doubt. "Haven't you ever seen magic tricks before?"

"What's the secret?" the genius pressed. He knew plenty of sleight-of-hand tricks, but he couldn't find a single logical explanation for this one. It was rapidly becoming a matter of pride.

"Magic," the man shrugged casually, taking a bite out of his cone.

Tony didn't believe in magic.

"Nonsense."

"If you say so."

"Are you gonna tell me the secret?"

"Maybe. Maybe not," the man deflected, finishing off his dessert. "Eat up before it melts again."

That night, Tony never did figure out the secret.

Loki knew that one day this beautiful world he’d stumbled into by complete accident would come to an end. It happened early one morning, which he—following the routine of the past few days—woke up to find himself in Stark's massive bed.

When he opened his eyes, Tony, who usually slept by his side, wasn't there.

The mage found him standing by the panoramic window—a spot tied to a rather memorable event for both of them.

It didn't take long to realize what was going on.

"You remember everything?" the god asked in a steady voice, staying at least ten meters away from the engineer. He already knew the answer, making it terrifyingly unclear how an act of intimacy with what was now a complete stranger would end.

"How could you tell?" the man turned around. He was wearing a fresh suit, and the arc reactor glowed brightly on his chest. Or at least, that's what Stark himself called it.

"You're a terrible liar and you can't hide anything," Loki shrugged, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm feeling a bit of deja vu, Reindeer Games," the engineer snorted, taking a step forward. "So, just to cut through the tension, what are you going to do?"

"Leave or stay," he drawled, watching the heavy rise and fall of Tony's chest. "The choice is yours, Stark."

"What are the terms?" the man raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms defensively.

"If you want me to leave, you can start threatening me," Loki offered after a moment's thought. "And call your team of idiots to back you up."

"And if I want you to stay?" Tony asked out of nowhere, after a short but heavy silence.

"Nothing," the god answered easily, opening his hands to emphasize the point.

"If I want you to stay, but need Earth to be safe," Stark corrected himself, his dark eyes tracking every movement the deity made. "What then?"

"Then we can make a deal."

They made a deal. It took time, but they managed to work it out. They actually did. Though to convince the man of his total indifference toward their planet, the god had to swear on his magic that he would never harm it. Even if Stark didn't believe in magic, it brought him a small measure of peace. In turn, he signed non-disclosure agreements regarding Loki Laufeyson's location and weaknesses. With that, they called it even and hid their private contract away in the genius's secret vault. Afterward, the engineer insisted on a first and last cup of latte prepared by the God of Mischief himself.

Maybe one day Loki will tell Stark about Sylvie, about her stupid bet that he lost, about the timelines, about old-fashioned Mobius and meticulous B-15—but later. Much later. Once Anthony finally comes to terms with the fact that everything that happened before was real, not just a sweet dream.

And with the fact that Loki won't be making him personal coffee anymore, of course.