Chapter Text
He hadn't even been trying, was the thing.
It had been the first day of freshman year and he'd been shaking his inhaler, setting it up to his mouth when he recognised the sharp uptick of Johann's cackle. He'd tucked his inhaler back into his pocket, then skirted around the corner, thinking: he's already bullying some poor schmuck on the first day of school? Seriously?
So yeah, Steve had gotten involved and while he didn't quite beat Johann, he got in a few solid punches. At one point, Steve had been backed into the dumpsters, and he'd shared brief eye contact with the guy Johann had been going after, the boy splayed on the ground, his whole body the pictorial definition of shock; moon-wide eyes, high shoulders, open mouth. Then, Johann was shaking his fist loose, swearing like some action movie bad guy, and Steve had unthinkingly grabbed onto a trash can lid, got it in front of him just in time for Johann's fist to clang noisily against it. And that had really just made things worse, in the end.
When it all came to an end, Johann sauntering off very pleased with himself while Steve was decidedly less so, he'd finally gotten a proper look at the asshole's victim. Brown hair, dark eyes, a backpack with a luxury brand logo that Steve was pretty sure he knew but couldn't quite recognise.
"You alright?" He'd asked, and the boy had looked over at him and said, in an awestruck tone: "you're my hero."
Steve had been flustered and that made him fidgety and he'd taken two puffs from his inhaler while the boy introduced himself as Tony Stark ("yes, that Tony Stark"; "I don't know what that means."). Tony'd had a scrape on his chin and Steve's nose was bleeding so he'd awkwardly held the last tissue in his packet of five to his nose while the guy rambled about how Steve had looked so especially heroic getting punched in the face.
"I can't tell if you're making fun of me," Steve had said, eyes narrowed.
"I've been homeschooled pretty much my entire life," Tony had said matter-of-factly, as if that sufficed as explanation. "I have heard I'm great at parties though."
"Well, that's great." Steve had replied, thinking: that explains why he keeps calling me a hero. Scrawny as hell kid with respiratory issues a hero. Yeah, right. "Listen, Johann's a jerk but he usually avoids getting into fights in front of the teaching staff. If you yell out that you see a teacher, he falls for it. Or yell a teacher's name and he panics."
"Could I call you?"
"Um." Steve had been confused. "Are you being serious right now?"
"No," Tony had blinked rapidly. "Why, is that weird?"
"Um." Steve had clung to that vocal filler like it would save him from the prospect of replying.
"That's weird," Tony had nodded. "Gotcha."
He'd put it out of mind and went about his day, got his locker set up, figured out how unluckily far all his classrooms were spread out, and settled on a tentative lunch spot with Bucky and Arnie. It took him a few days to realise that apparently Tony Stark was a name he should've known, and that almost everyone else in their school did, including Arnie who, upon finding out how Steve had met the guy, went bug-eyed.
To his credit, Tony shook off the new guy title impressively quickly. It wasn't long before he slotted into the popular crowd; a smarmy lot of beautiful teenagers who had the kind of convoluted drama that could account for a 7-season CW show.
On his end, Steve didn't think much of that first interaction or of Tony's increasing prominence in the school, the boy's background making him something between a figurehead and a celebrity; someone to be observed and paid attention to. It wasn't Steve's game, really. That whole--shebang. And he had to get serious about school, anyway, seeing as he'd started the year with a bloody nose.
It's the second week of school. Steve's looking at the bulletin board, itching his elbow distractedly as he tries to remember if he has anything going on the next weekend. The sign-ups for the community service activity are pretty low; he could join it. Worse things to do than pick up trash around the--
"Steve, hi."
Steve looks over. "Oh, hey Tony."
"How's it going?" Tony asks. He has sunglasses on indoors, which he sets over his head and that's--no, Steve isn't going to laugh. "Save anybody else recently?"
"I--uh. What?" Steve's confused for a moment. "Oh. You mean. Uh. Yeah, no, I didn't save you."
"Everyone says you like to pick fights," Tony informs him. "And that this one time, you fell down the stairs in the 4th grade and broke both of your legs."
Steve just looks at him.
"I heard you also have asthma? And double-curve scoliosis? And that you were always the first kid to catch the flu growing up." Tony continues, all that information relayed in an explanatory tone. "Your favourite subject is art but you have a soft spot for history. You like football but you prefer baseball."
How incredibly creepy, Steve thinks to himself. Out loud, he says, "are you looking for me to confirm this info or...?"
"No, I just." Tony's mouth purses tight. "I'm good at hooking up with people."
We're 14, Steve thinks. How is that something you can say? Disproving the "likes to pick fights" characterisation, he offers a diplomatic, "okay?"
"This is harder," Tony extends a hand, gesturing to the space between them. "You know? Like. I really want it to be serious? But I've never done serious before." Tony nods quickly, like he's trying to reassure him. "I'm a quick learner, though." After that befuddling add-on, Tony seems to have arrived at the end of his spiel. He looks straight at him, eyes big and expectant.
"...I'm sorry. I'm pretty lost."
"Oh," Tony has the gall to look surprised. "I'm asking you out."
Steve's not sure what his face does at that but it must not be good because Tony's eyes widen. Before he can continue, Steve asks, voice tight and rushed: "is this a joke?"
"No? Why would that be a..." Tony pales. "Daniel said you were bi!"
"Not that part--" Steve exhales shortly. "Why are you asking me out?"
"Because I like you?"
"You?"
"Yeah?"
"You like me?"
"Yes!"
"We don't know anything about each other!"
"Like. I mean, we can find a closet, I guess?" Tony asks, casting a look about.
"What does that--" Steve gets it as he says it. "Oh, jeez. Uh. No. Thanks, but no."
"No?" Tony seems confused, but that expression slowly fragments into an earnest crestfallen look that's just. A lot. "Is this one of those it's not you, it's me things? Is it because of the, uh. Scoliosis?" Tony's head tilts generously. "Because I really don't mind."
"It's you," Steve says flatly.
"Oh."
"No offense, I'm not really. Looking." Steve says. "And, uh. You're not really my type."
"I'm not?" Tony asks. There's a shift in tone there; more intent, more edge. "What is your type?"
"Uh." Truth be told, Steve doesn't know. He just knows it can't possibly be this guy. "It's not gonna happen, Tony." He gives him a short, conciliatory smile. "I appreciate it though."
"That's not an answer."
"The answer is no." Steve says. He takes out a pen, focuses his attention on the board.
"...What are you--you're going to spend your weekend picking up trash?" Tony asks, voice high with astonishment.
Why is he still here? "Sign-ups are low," Steve says.
Tony's returning sigh is so melodramatic, Steve's eyes dart over unwittingly. "God, you're perfect."
Steve is officially weirded out. There's no way this guy is real? There's no way everyone else thinks this guy is normal? "Excuse me?" He offers.
"Yet." Tony nods again. "I'm not your type yet." He extends a hand. "Can I borrow your pen?"
Steve hands it over mutely, and then watches as Tony slots his name in under his on the sign-up sheet, his handwriting blocky and tight.
"What, uh. You don't have to."
"Didn't you say sign-ups are low?" Tony asks primly, handing the pen back. He pushes his sunglasses down back over his face and grins. "I'll be seeing you next weekend."
What the hell?? "We're in the same school? You'll see me in the hallways." Steve says.
"Yeah, but you ignore me in the hallways."
Steve frowns, genuinely perturbed. "I do not."
"You never return my winks. Or my waves." Tony points out.
"You've been winking at me when you pass by in the hallway?"
"Or waving." Tony returns. "Last Friday, I even did finger guns. No dice though, you had this severe, just like, stern frown on your face. Bad day?"
"I've never noticed any of that." Steve says.
"Well," Tony shrugs. "Look up every once in a while."
"I said I'm not looking," Steve replies. In more ways than one.
Tony's smile is quicksilver. "Yet, yeah."
"Oh, god. Brownie incoming," Bucky mutters to him, and Steve has just enough time to tear his gaze away from the desktop monitor and process what Bucky's said before Tony's plopping down on the seat across from him.
Wearing that overly done-up smirk he's been trying out for the last few days, Tony drawls, "hey, Steve." With obvious demarcation of tone, less enamoured, he greets, "Bucky."
"Tony, hi." Steve looks back at the desktop. He has to get this assignment done before class, goddammit. He can't affect polite disinterest right now. "How's it going?" He asks, scrolling back to the top of the document. The library computer is so finicky, he wishes he'd written this essay down on paper instead; he'd even had the option to, ugh.
"Oh, you know. Not bad." Tony simpers. "I may have revolutionised the world of underwater robotics last night."
"Well, that's..." Steve needs to fix this sentence. It's pretty much saying the same thing as the line before and he needs a better segue into the next paragraph. "That's great for the--" what had Tony said? "--the world of underwater robotics."
"Yeah." Two brightly coloured slips of paper slide over Steve's screen, and he squints in irritation at them before realising what they are all too abruptly.
"What?"
"Yes, it's two tickets to The Howling Commandos. How did I score them?" Tony rubs his fingers together in a money talks gesture. Steve holds his face carefully blank so he doesn't cringe. "And look at the seats. You'll be close enough to see their pores."
Oh, jeez. Steve does love this band and tickets are notoriously hard to get but he's very aware suddenly of what Tony's getting to here and it's just.
"That sounds fun!" He chirps. "Hope you have a good time."
Tony droops ever so slightly, a flash of confusion passing over his face. "I thought," and okay, so he didn't get the hint, "we could go together?"
"Gosh, sorry, Tony," Steve says. "That's really, really generous of you but I'm not free on that date."
"You're--" Tony frowns. "But this is your favourite band? What do you have going on that trumps going to the one concert they're having here?"
"I--" Steve searches for something, anything. He looks at Bucky who offers no reprieve at all, staring back at him with a constipated expression. "Debate club," he decides on testily.
"Debate club," Tony repeats questioningly.
"Ye-es."
"You'd rather do debate club than go to a Commandos concert?"
"I made a commitment."
"Oh." Tony says, and he seems to be catching on now. "Your loss then." He starts to get up, and Steve lets out an internal sigh of relief. He returns his focus to the screen, ready to rewrite the line when Tony's voice interjects, "seriously--debate club over a concert?" As if the thought's just occurred to him, Tony adds, "I'm covering the tickets' costs, of course."
Tolerance is a virtue. So is kindness. Both are quickly abandoning him. "I'm not available on that date." He says, a touch snippy. "Have fun though."
"But you love this band and I know you've been vying for the tickets and I got them." Tony shakes the tickets around. "I got them!"
"I never asked you to?"
"You didn't have to," Tony says, and then he puts on that smirk again. "That's just the kinda guy I am."
Bucky outright sniggers at that, and Tony's smirk drops to direct an aggrieved look at him. "Really," Bucky says through his laughter.
"I'll have you know--"
"I've really got to get back to this assignment," Steve cuts in. "I--listen, Tony, I appreciate the thought but I'm not going to go with you." Feeling a little bad, Steve tries to gentle his tone. "I really do appreciate the offer."
"Right," Tony says. "Uh. Okay. Sure. That's fine. Here." He puts the tickets down, starts walking away while still talking. "You can have them. Resell them or whatever."
"What--no. Tony," Steve gets up, quickly catching up with Tony. "I can't accept this, hey." He stops Tony with a hand to his shoulder. "Here, take these." He hands the tickets back. "Seriously, don't just. That's childish, storming off like that."
"Do you know how hard these tickets are to get?" Tony asks. "And I don't even mean the prices." In a lower tone, Tony clarifies, "there may have been some bribing involved."
"Tony!"
"I'm kidding." Tony says unconvincingly.
"I didn't ask for this. I've told you no, like fifteen times." Steve says. "It's bordering harassment."
"...Huh?"
"You've gotta stop." Steve says. "The big--gestures. They're just. It's too much."
"I thought you liked the stuffed bunny!"
"It didn't fit through my apartment door," Steve says. "I'm serious, Tony. This has to stop."
"Oh-kay. I understand, I understand." Tony says. "You want space."
"A lot of space, yes." Steve says. "Now when you say you understand, do you actually mean that? Because remember when you threw that confetti over me and I said, you need to stop, Tony, and you said, I understand, and then I said--"
"--Yes, okay, no big gestures." Tony says. "Would you prefer a medium-sized gesture?"
"Tony, seriously." Steve snorts despite himself. "That's not funny."
Tony pouts. "I was being serious."
"Listen, I heard that." Steve pauses. This is weird for him to do, maybe. But also. This can't possibly go on. "I heard Sunset likes you. Maybe you should pursue that."
"Sunset?" Tony scowls. "Sunset Bain?"
"Yes. She's good at--" Steve stops. "She's pretty?"
Tony's gaze narrows. "You think she's pretty?"
Why does Steve get himself into situations like this? Is he a masochist? "Sure," he says evenly.
"Well then you should date her. Because I don't want to date her," Tony says. "I want to date you."
Jesus, who just says that? "You don't even know me!"
Tony offers him an unimpressed look. "That's not fair. I've done my homework."
"I--"
"Your favourite ice cream flavour is butter pecan, your favourite book genre is sci-fi," Tony lists off.
"Gosh--you need to stop doing that too. Listing things you know about me out loud in public." Steve interjects. "It's really embarrassing."
"Alright, my bad." Tony says. Steve almost thinks they've made progress when Tony gets a contemplative expression on his face. "Would it help if you knew more about me?"
"What?"
"It's just that you never ask me any questions." Tony says. "It might help if you knew more about me. Maybe you'd see what I see. You know." Tony's foot juts out, kicks against the floor. Steve's reasonably sure he didn't mean to do it. "Against all odds, we're actually quite compatible."
"I know about you, Tony." Steve says. "Everyone in the school knows about you."
Tony dims a little. "I mean. That's just stuff. That's not me."
"I don't know what that means," Steve says. "But. Tony, a lot of people like you. A lot of people want to be with you. I really--I think you're wasting your time, trying with me, when I've rejected you so many times." Is that too mean? "Anyone would be lucky to have you."
"So now you're against being lucky?"
"Tony."
"Ugh." Tony's head tilts up in petulance. "Fine."
"Thank you," Steve says. "Hey, you should go to the concert, since you went through all that trouble. Maybe with a friend?"
"....Huh?" Tony's nose scrunches up. "Oh, nah. I listened to their whole catalogue and no offence, but so not my type. I was only gonna go so that I could be with you."
There's a whole lot to unpack there. "You listened to their whole catalogue?"
"They only have 3 albums, you said they were your favourite band." Tony says it all like it's obvious. "I take my research very seriously."
"Tony." Steve says, a little helplessly.
"Yeah?"
"Ask Sunset out. Research her. Go be happy." Steve thinks he's being very clear but Tony just gives him a disappointed look. "I'm serious."
"Yeah, I don't doubt that." Tony sighs. "God, these tickets are gonna be a nightmare to resell."
In hindsight, and given Tony's propensity for orchestrating 'chance' encounters, it's a miracle that across four years of high school, they only share two classes.
The first is math, in their sophomore year, for three months, before Tony gets bumped up out of their class. Affronted at a move literally anyone else would be buzzed about, Tony proceeds to perform horribly on his next few assessments, becomes the sort of class distraction that has Ms. Mendoza, along with several students from his new class, throwing their hands up and saying, send him back.
Tony saunters back into their classroom with a self-satisfied braggadocio, and then proceeds to spend the rest of the year oscillating between pestering Steve and showcasing an abundance of boredom at the math they're doing. Steve thinks someone else would be impressed--if not for the commitment then for Tony's math skills--but mostly he's quietly, fumingly mortified. Everyone knows why it is Tony's done this, and behind their snickers is an all-too-obvious cadence of "for Steve Rogers? for him??"
It doesn't sit well with him, and he's justifiably snappish with Tony for most of the term, up until Christmas break. When they come back into the new year, it eases somewhat. Maybe it's just that Steve feels contrite, or that Tony's more subdued, or even that the rumour mill is preoccupied by a potential split between a couple a year ahead of them and has eased up on the old story that is the unfathomable volume of Tony Stark's infatuation for Steve Rogers.
Whatever it is, when Tony pokes Steve's back, four classes in, Steve doesn't ignore it this time. Turns his head, raises an eyebrow. It's obvious that Tony's surprised at being answered right away. Steve's taken to ignoring him unless it gets up to a third poke. Tony wants his attention a lot; there has to be a filter system in place. At his attention, Tony stammers a little, flushes and finally settles on: "good Christmas?"
Their teacher is literally right there. Tony wants to make small talk right now?
He turns back to face the front. Like. Seriously.
He feels warm breath against his neck. "Okay, okay, but seriously," Tony whispers. "I got you a present? So if. I mean. I could leave it in your locker?"
"You don't know my locker password," Steve whispers back.
The present honestly doesn't surprise him. Tony's definitely reduced the rate of presents by a lot since the early days but he's still pretty relentless during holidays.
Steve's already dreading his birthday. Last year, he'd thought he'd be safe because his birthday falls in the summer and Tony was headed off to Malibu, but on the morning of the 4th, his mom had woken him up and, wearing an expression of polite befuddlement, directed him to the front door, where a mariachi band was all set to play for him at 10:30am. It had been pretty funny, once Steve got some coffee in him, and the band players had been very cool, but it was also objectively a lot.
In the aftermath, his mom had helped him compose a long email to Tony about boundaries and the boy had replied a minute later with a "<3". That had also been funny. To his mom anyway.
"Um."
Steve turns back. Frowning, he insists, "you don't know my locker password. Right?"
"Well--"
"Steve, Tony, please." Mr. Allen is generally quite genial and his warning now isn't too harsh. "Can we pay attention?"
"Sorry, Mr. Allen," Steve hurries to say, a less zealous echo from behind him. A minute or so passes, where Steve resolutely looks forward and tries to catch up with the problem on the whiteboard. Then, a low hum of vibration under his desk. Steve closes his eyes briefly before sliding his phone out discreetly. Tony's texting him.
Tony: I.D.K. if it's like th eright type
Tony: *the right
Tony: but when i saw them they reminded me of u
Tony: so i think it's good
Tony: uh
Tony: anyway i stuck to the $50 limit
Tony: except u never said which currency hahaha
Tony: i'm joking
Tony: or am i
Steve: Do you want me to block you again
Tony: no no no
Tony: sorry ok fine i'll stop
Tony: btw this is bananas easy math
Tony: if you want a tutor.... ;)
Steve: I've already said no to this
Steve: Stop texting me during class please
Tony: ok i'll stopppp <3
The other class they share is in senior year; an English literature class that Steve's taken because he needs an easy A and that Tony's taking because he's got too much S.T.E.M. on his schedule for their school's "balanced learning" philosophy. Over the whole class, they get one--just one--group project and Steve's unlucky enough that he gets Tony assigned in his group.
"So this is sort of like. Our first date." Tony says, arms folded on the table.
Steve feels his face twist into a well-used expression practically reserved for Tony; Bucky says it sits somewhere between disgruntlement and long-suffering weariness. In succinct refutation of Tony's statement, he indicates to their two group mates seated alongside them, who both seem all too happy to skim through the diner menus. Tony's offer to treat everyone to an afterschool meal before they got started with the schoolwork now feels a bit. Hm. Malicious.
Steve had been hopeful that whatever Thing had happened between Tony and Jane over spring would snuff out Tony's infatuation, but whatever did happen was apparently short-lived enough for Tony to come back from break BAU.
Tony's seemingly undeterred by the presence of two other people at the table. "You should order the Cajun fries with the fried fish. You'll like it."
Steve's eye twitches. "You don't know that," he dismisses.
"I... do?" Tony blinks. "It has all your favourite flavours."
"My favourite flavours?" Steve repeats incredulously before raising a hand when Tony gears up in a manner that tells Steve he's gonna begin spouting off a laundry list of ingredients Steve likes or something equally disturbed. "Nope, nope. Not this again."
"You really will like them," Tony says, a hint of petulance in his voice.
From next to him--Gene, the guy with a theater kid's name, a football player's build and a gamer's interests--asks: "what would I like, Tony?"
"Umm," Tony waffles. "I dunno, do you eat meat?"
"Yeah."
"Get like a cheeseburger then."
Catching on, Annie, a sweet girl who Steve's known since elementary school, pipes up: "and me, Tony?"
Tony shrugs. "Do you eat meat?"
"No, I'm pescatarian."
"Get the impossible cheeseburger."
"Make that two," Steve adds, and Tony visibly deflates but doesn't protest when the waiter comes to take their order.
The burger's stiff, has that mushroom-y undertone that haunts every impossible burger, and across from him, Tony cuts neat bites of the fish he'd ordered for himself.
"You wanna try?" he offers Gene, who shrugs and takes some. Then: Annie, who accepts it with a curious look at Steve. Finally, an offering is presented to Steve; all sincere.
Okay, genius, Steve thinks. He forks the bite, eats it. Spends the rest of dinner stewing in the knowledge that it's exactly what he'd have ordered, yeah.
When the bill comes, Steve takes his wallet out.
"No, no, come on." Tony says. "I invited everyone out. This one's on me."
"I'm not--" Steve bats Tony's hand away. "Okay, jeez." He really doesn't want to cause a scene. Gene's still munching on Tony's Cajun fries but Annie keeps shooting them brief looks like she's embarrassed by what's going on. "Let me leave the tip," Steve cajoles. Tries to make his tone nicer. "Just a little contribution."
Tony frowns but after a bit more back-and-forth, eventually concedes. Steve leaves a handsome tip even though it's most of his pocket money for the week and, when Tony continues to pout and frown and make all these little affectations of despair, he takes mercy on him and steals a fry from Tony's plate.
"This is good," he tells him, because it is. "Thanks for the meal, Tony."
"Okay, yeah, whatever," Tony says, affecting casual while the tips of his ears go ketchup red.
Graduation involves a lot more waiting around than he anticipated. He's very firmly swept up by Mrs. Barnes' fussing and their family's nature of being generally loud and insistent and busy. It's a nice distraction, and he feels like maybe they're putting a bit of it on for his benefit, but it's also helping. So.
He shifts the tassel out of his face for the hundredth time, trying to get his cheeks to cooperate as Bucky's little sister takes a portrait of him with Bucky and Arnie. The ceremony had been fine; he'd been so fixating on presenting as normal and steady that he didn't really feel the moment out for what it had actually been. His graduation. Just a shake of hands, passing of paper, and done. Four years and a lifetime of work.
He's loitering near the water fountain when Tony approaches. His graduation cap's crooked, he's got an enormous bouquet of flowers and in tow, a man who looks gently stern in an overly formal grey suit.
"Steve!" is Tony's burst of greeting, like he's come upon him by accident. Or like his presence affords such gusto.
Steve's smile feels plasticky--not because he doesn't mean it exactly, but because today's been a lot of smiling.
"Congratulations on graduating," Tony continues in a rush. He presents the bouquet, and the light, sweet scent of roses wafts easy and fresh.
"Uh," Steve's eyes shift, over Tony and to the man behind him. Tony doesn't seem fazed by Steve's uncertainty, waits him out until Steve gets to oh what the hell, it's graduation, and accepts it from him. What does one even do with a bouquet, Steve thinks, and then thinks of all the flowers dying in his apartment right now, which just. Steve inhales. Tells himself he's fine and that all evidence to the contrary is an anomaly.
"Thanks," he says to Tony, belated enough that it's clumsy. "Congrats to you, too. M.I.T., right?"
Tony grins brightly. "Well, duh," he says, in that tone that's somehow both arrogant and not. Just. He wields confidence so easily, it's sometimes enviable. "Oh, by the way, this is Jarvis." He drags the other man forward. "I've mentioned him before, I don't know if you remember?"
"Ye-es. I do." Steve accepts the handshake Jarvis offers him. "Good to meet you, sir."
"And you, Steve." Jarvis has a posh British accent, which Tony hadn't previously mentioned but which makes the butler thing all the more cliche. "Tony's told me a lot about you."
"Oh, really," Steve says awkwardly. God, he hopes it's not like. His dietary restrictions or his favourite paintings or something inane. "I hope all good stuff?"
Jarvis chuckles shortly. Sets a quiet, fond look on Tony before telling Steve, "the way he goes on, I don't think there is such a thing as bad stuff when it comes to you."
That's super. Uh. Confronting. He's never actually had to discuss Tony's Thing for him with an adult that's not just his-- "Um. That's..." voice petering to a mutter, "nice of you, Tony."
It's the strangest thing but in a moment where Tony could absolutely capitalise on knowing that Steve won't be overtly stingy in front of his butler, he instead tangents, goes, "I was hoping we could take a photo together? And then I'll be out of your hair."
"Oh. Yeah. 'Course." Steve stands dutifully while Jarvis takes out an actual Canon camera, setting its lens on them. The bouquet feels gargantuan in his hands and he tries to maneuver it so that it's in front of both of them. He half-expects Tony to get chummy, toss an arm around him or something, but he's smiling with his arms tucked behind him, apparently content with a chaste junior prom photo.
Well, Steve shrugs mentally. Suits him just fine.
Later that same day, Steve's at his locker when he catches Tony slipping out of the auditorium, heading into the bathroom. He doesn't see Steve standing there, which is good because Steve just about jolts, ducking inwards. The swinging of the bathroom doors is marked in the silence, and he rests his forehead against his locker's shelf, staving off the worst of it with measured breaths that feel too loud to be truly steady.
When the bathroom doors swing again, Steve's back to normal. A bit more melancholic, still steeped in it maybe, which is what he blames for the realisation that strikes, sudden and surprisingly laden, that this is the last time he'll see Tony. He doesn't know what to make of the emotions he's feeling; doesn't know what's really about Tony and what's the general softening of graduation and what's the grief. Either way, he calls out: "Tony."
Tony startles, wheeling about. "Oh, hey!" He walks towards him, chattering all the way. "There's a betting pool on how many times Jameson is going to--" a stutter of a pause as Tony notices something about him, maybe the redness of his eyes, "--uh, going to say the phrase, "uniquely you". I've put 50 down on 9 times. I'm feeling good about the number and--oh, fuck it. Are you alright?"
"Yeah," Steve says firmly. "I am."
"Okay," Tony's nodding like a bobble head that's been flicked. Steve's eyes squint at him. "Because like. It would be insanely understandable if you weren't."
"Insanely understandable?"
"So understandable it's insane," Tony says in an explanatory tone, as if the re-phrasing clarifies anything.
Steve's laugh has no humour to it. "You say such weird things."
Tony's face twists. "Yeah." Shifting from foot to foot, so obviously figuring out what to say, he eventually finds a near-meek, "I'm really sorry, Steve."
"Yeah." Steve says. Easier to get it done quick. "Uh. For the record, she liked the teddy bear."
"Yeah?" Tony perks up. "I didn't know if it was--too late." He winces at himself, visibly embarrassed at his choice of words.
"No, it was good." Steve says. He doesn't really have any more words to say without it getting too close to all of it. Without risking more tears.
"I know I didn't really know her that well, but she was--" Tony stops at whatever expression Steve makes, swallowing and nodding rapidly in understanding. "Never mind."
"It's just. I don't want to--" Steve tries. "I want things to go normally today."
"Yeah, that makes sense," Tony replies, far too much emotion imbued in it. Far too eager to please.
And that same thought hits him again; that this will be the last time he'll see Tony Stark. There've been plenty of times he's looked forward to it, even tacitly encouraged Tony to go for opportunities that took him out of town. Always enjoyed the bubble of the 1-2 weeks he'd be away; the familiarity of being invisible again like an old coat.
And after today, Tony will be properly gone. He'll move on and do all the crazy things he's talked about, that other people have envisioned and championed for him. Change the world in ways Steve will barely grasp, and a few years down the line, he'll see him on television and think: that was the annoying kid who wouldn't leave me alone. It feels like an impossibility and inevitability both as Steve looks at Tony's earnest, eager face--only so sweet with him, only so open to hurt with him, through some stupid, random duckling imprint moment that Steve knows he doesn't really deserve.
And even though Tony's right in front of him, Steve has the unbidden thought: I miss him. It's contrarian and childish and selfish and absolutely not romantic but he can't take the distilled conception of it back. I'm gonna miss him. I already do.
Steve exhales noisily. "Right," he says to himself. Without fanfare, he steps forward and puts his arms around Tony, squeezes him in a matter-of-fact hug. Tony's still and quiet for a few beats before he returns the hug, tucking his chin into Steve's shoulder in a touch that's instantly too intimate for Steve's comfort but which he allows because, hell. It's the last time. When he pulls away, Tony's got a dopey look on his face. He who proudly proclaimed himself a hook up aficionado. Beaming like a kid over a hug. Steve presses his lips together to stop himself from grinning.
"I love you," Tony confesses effusively.
"Jeez, Tony." Steve says without heat. "Don't ruin the moment."
"But I really do," Tony insists.
Steve's got a litany of rebuttals, a lot of which he's put forward before. He really is tired though, and he doesn't know what he's gonna do when it properly hits him that he's a high school graduate and his mom died two weeks ago.
"I know," he allows. Figures, that in Tony's own wacky, impossible mind, it's probably true. Real enough for him that the constant rejection must weigh on him. Steve explains, "I know, but for your sake, I hope that you find someone better."
Tony's face scrunches up. "Not sure that's possible."
"Jeez," Steve barks, the repeated word only half of what he wants to say. Sometimes, he really wants to shake Tony. He can't escape the thought that Tony's making fun of him, somehow, even though he knows on a rational level that Tony isn't. Not after all this time. Running a hand through his hair--the cap had messed it up completely--he amends: "someone who returns your feelings then."
Voice lowered, Tony replies with a very simple, "yep."
"I'm not going to say I'm sorry," Steve says. "For not returning your feelings."
Tony's eyes jolt to his, honest surprise overtaking his face. "Fuck no. I wouldn't want you to."
"Good," Steve says, when he means to say thanks. He shouldn't need to thank Tony for basic courtesy. He'd made it clear from the very beginning that he didn't have any feelings for Tony. This shouldn't be. He shouldn't feel so. Badly.
When Tony speaks up again, it's in a careful voice, "so it's true that you're not--" he presses his lips tight for a brief moment. "You're picking the military over art school?"
Steve doesn't know how he knows about that, but that's pretty much par for the course. "I'm not 100% yet. But yeah, probably."
"Why?" Tony asks. With a surprisingly fervent tone, he says, "you're a great artist."
"School costs money."
"Well, I could always--"
"God, no," Steve protests, genuinely irritated.
"You don't know what I was going to say."
"I do." Steve says. "No more, okay? The money thing, it's never been." He shakes his head desperately. "I don't want you to bring it up. I don't want you to help. It makes me feel bad when you offer. Alright? So. At least today. Just don't."
"...Okay."
That's suspiciously easy. Steve blinks. "Okay?"
"Okay," Tony looks cowed. "If it's what you want. Okay."
"I'm gonna be fine, Tony." Steve says.
Tony's smile is small, like he knows Steve's mostly just trying to convince himself. God, Steve hopes he doesn't know it. He hopes Tony can't read him that well. Non-sequitur, Tony says, "I'm gonna have an afters at my place. My parents are out of town. I didn't know if you'd be here today so I didn't...I mean. If you want a distraction." Tony shrugs. "You know you have an open invite to any of my parties. It'd be a good send-off?"
Steve frowns. "...Your parents aren't in town for your graduation?"
Tony shrugs again, like he truly doesn't care.
"I don't think I'll come to the party," Steve says. It's honest instead of deflecting. Tony deserves that.
"Right. Okay." Tony says. He's visibly sadder now, and his tone gets cheerier to compensate. "You're gonna be with someone, though?"
"Huh?"
"I mean." Tony's strangely intent. "You won't be alone, right?" Pressing the point, he says, "you shouldn't be alone."
"I'm not alone," Steve says. "I've--Bucky. I'm at his place almost every night. His family's sort of," he sighs. "They've helped a lot."
"Okay," Tony nods at him. "Good."
"There's too many flowers." Steve says, out of nowhere. "Everybody keeps sending flowers to my place."
"Oh," Tony says.
"Not that--" Steve winces. "I appreciate the roses."
"It's okay," Tony says.
"I know," Steve bites out. "I know it is."
Tony's got this expression on his face that Steve doesn't like. Too mature. Too understanding. "It's okay, Steve," he says again.
Hotly, Steve snaps, "Jesus, Tony, shut the fuck up."
Tony smiles, and this time, it's wholly bright. Like someone's turned the lightbulbs inside him on, all at once. "Cool."
Steve's properly flabbergasted. "What?"
Tony keeps on grinning. "It's real good to see you, Steve. I didn't think you'd show up today."
Steve keeps looking at him. He's got this itch in him, and he can't decide if he wants to walk away or hit Tony.
"I would have understood it if you didn't," Tony continues. "But I think it's real brave that you did. I think you're really brave." Tony licks his lips, the gesture swift. "I know you don't like to hear it that much, but I'm really glad it was you that I loved first. Even if you don't return my feelings, I'm really proud it was you. I'm really proud of you."
"This isn't helping," Steve says uncertainly.
Tony falters for a moment before rallying, a firmness settling about him. "I figured it should be said anyway. Because this is it, really. Last day of school." A tad wistfully, he adds, "probably the last time I'll see you?"
"Yeah. I guess so." Steve resists the urge to say sorry. He doesn't want to take anything back. Not sincerely. And besides. He doesn't know how to end something that never even began. A bit awkwardly but not dishonestly, he says, "you're gonna be fine, Tony. You're gonna be great."
Tony's eyes are full, bright. Huge. "...You really mean that?"
"Yeah." And he does mean it. It's so easy to see it's true.
Tony nods. "You already are."
"What's that?"
"Already great." Tony smiles. "Just gonna get greater."
Yeah, right, Steve thinks. Out loud, he says, "maybe, yeah."
"You'll see," Tony's smile is so assured. Enviable confidence that Steve will never have. Never understand from the inside. "You will."