“Shit! I mean—I’m sorry!” the frantic voice shouted at him as both men dropped to their knees to pick up all of the items that had fallen from the stranger crashing into the overfilled basket. Tony sighed in relief when he saw that the container of soup that was included in the parcel hadn’t spilled.
“I’m so sorry, I was just in a rush and I should’ve been paying more attention. I swear I’m not usually clum—” the younger man froze when the two of them finally looked at one another. “Mr. Stark,” he breathed out, deflating as if all the air had been wrung out of his lungs.
Tony thanked the universe for giving him the gift of observation so he could fully appreciate the view he was suddenly faced with. His eyes eagerly danced across each line of the boy’s face. A mess of curls sat atop his head that matched the warm tone of his wide, doe-like eyes. The pink parted lips complimented the rosiness of his cheeks that were darkening by the second.
No, he didn’t know that. His face may have been beautiful, but it was unfamiliar and new to him. Plus, Amita had other neighbors. Like…umm…
Derek? He feels like there’s a Derek somewhere.
Regardless, his mind supplied him with the name Peter without a moment’s hesitation, almost as if it had a hand on a buzzer, eager to press the moment the opportunity arose. Memory of his conversation with Amita about Peter Parker had stayed locked behind its designated door since its inception. Now it had broken free and was causing mayhem followed by that same sinking feeling as before.
It made Tony uncomfortable not knowing things. And this was a mystery he had successfully hid until that moment.
Taking the items that Peter picked up from his hands, Tony continued to stare at the boy’s face. “Do I know you?” he asked skeptically.
After all, he did know Tony’s name.
Fuck, what was he thinking? That meant absolutely nothing. The whole world knew the name of Tony Stark. Babies emerged straight from the womb already pre-programmed knowing Tony Stark along with a plethora of future abhorrent Gen-B nomenclature. He was fairly certain he had heard rumblings of a Stark religion picking up traction after his little resurrection deal, as if his ego needed it.
Point was, it would be stranger if the boy hadn’t recognized him. No, the name Mr. Stark had rolled so beautifully off his tongue without a moment hesitation. There was no hemming or hawing trying to play a game of “Name That Celebrity.”
Tony had never really had an authoritarian kink before, but god he could easily see that becoming a thing after hearing his name said like that. He idly thought about how the acoustics in his bedroom would perfectly amplify the sound of his name said in breathless ecstasy.
“I doubt it,” Peter (or whatever his name was) replied, snatching back Tony’s attention. The older man couldn’t help but notice the hint of cynicism in his response, leading him to believe that they may have crossed paths in the past without Tony even realizing it. The number of baristas alone he hadn’t noticed over the years could easily fill a psychologist’s entire day with multiple group therapy sessions.
But had he missed that face? He would never claim that he noticed each and every attractive person in his proximity, but the likelihood is certainly up there.
Maybe it was years ago when “Peter” would have been walking jail bait. He may not have been a saint, but that was certainly a line he was not willing to toe. Despite his baby face, Tony clocked him to currently be in his early to mid-twenties. Unless they had encountered one another in the past 6 months since his return to the land of the living, there would have been 7 years he wasn’t around for, which would mean, prior to his dirt nap, the boy would have been—
Nope, he’s not doing that math.
“Sorry again—Hopefully I didn’t mess anything up with…that whole thing,” the neighbor gestured to the excessive amalgamation of cliché “Get Well Soon” trinkets haphazardly added back to the wicker basket. “Um—it was nice to meet you, sir,” he said bashfully before making a motion to continue down the steps.
“Wait,” Tony heard himself say, having no real plan prepared as to what words would come after. The boy stopped and waited, nervously readjusting the backpack that hung off his shoulder.
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