Can I ask for 124, 33 or 129, whichever you haven't done or whichever takes your fancy, please
Steve wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. He hadn't seen Tony since they'd broken up a few months ago. If he was honest with himself, he'd been planning to never see him again. He'd turned down parties if he knew Tony would be there, ducked out of rooms if he saw him unexpectedly, and one time, he'd even climbed out the bathroom window to keep from coming face to face with him. But Pepper and Natasha had finally proposed to each other, and he knew that Tony was going to be heavily involved on Pepper's side, and Natasha expected him to be involved as well, so.
So he wanted to face Tony on his terms, before Pepper and Natasha got deep into wedding planning. That way, they wouldn't have to stress about he and Tony getting along, and neither of them would have to be met with, 'did one of your best men climb out a window and leave?' at their wedding. And if he wanted to do it on his terms, he had to do it now, before they started touring venues and going to tastings, so he finally took a deep breath and knocked.
The door opened a few minutes later, just a crack, and one bleary brown eye blinked up at him. "Steve?"
"Tony," Steve answered, then took a deep breath, ready to launch into the speech he'd prepared on the way over. He stopped, though, when Tony didn't open the door any further, and he took a moment to really take in the whole picture.
Just from the sliver of him visible in the door, Tony looked... tired. Like Steve had just woken him up. He fought the urge to check his watch. It was two in the afternoon. Natasha had said that Pepper had mentioned that Tony had started using his sick days and not shown up at work a few days each week. Steve hadn't thought much of it--he knew Tony had a weak immune system ever since his open heart surgery--but now, looking at him, he remembered how it had been a fight to get Tony to stay in bed and off his tablet when they'd been together.
"...Steve?" Tony asked, and now concern had settled into his voice. He opened the door a little wider, so Steve could see his whole frown, his furrowed brows. "Are you okay?"
Steve blinked. Was he okay? He opened his mouth, almost certainly to tell Tony he was fine, but as he took in more details now that he had more of a view of Tony, all that came out was, "Are you wearing my shirt?"
Tony's eyes went wide, and he made a sort of... noise. Dismay, or alarm, or... Steve couldn't parse it. He was too focused on the dingy ARMY t-shirt Tony was wearing, the one he always complained about because 'first and foremost this is an air force house!' and because it was old and worn and couldn't he at least please buy Steve a new one so it looked clean out of the wash. It hung off one of Tony's shoulders, showing off a bare stretch of skin, a sharp collarbone. He'd lost weight.
"Okay bye," Tony said, voice coming out in a frantic rush, and moved back a step so he could slam the door shut.
Steve caught it just before he could, and there was a dull ache in the back of his hand where it mashed into the door jamb, but he'd worry about it later. "You fucking hate that shirt," he blurted out. He pushed the door open and followed Tony inside, only dimly aware that this was now technically an invasion into Tony's home. "You wanted to throw it away the entire time we were together."
Tony retreated another step, hands fisting in the fabric as if he could use it as a shield. "It doesn't mean anything, Steve. Stop... stop reading into it," he said, but he couldn't keep eye contact, instead turning his gaze to the floor.
"No," Steve answered, gripping his hands into fists. He noticed Tony's eyes darting toward them and very deliberately made them relax again, feeling hollowed out. He knew he wasn't the one who had put that fear into Tony, but it didn't make him feel any better, especially when he realized he'd just busted into Tony's space when Tony had been trying to close him out of it. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Just tell me why you're wearing my shirt."
"I can give it back," Tony started, voice flat.
Steve cut in over him, fighting desperately not to shout as he answered, "I don't fucking want the shirt back Tony. I want to know why you're wearing it when we both know you hate it."
Tony turned, just slightly, as if he hoped not facing him directly would help even a little. "You... left it," he finally answered when Steve didn't budge. His voice halted and paused awkwardly, as if he was also hoping Steve would take pity on him and accept that meager explanation, even though they both knew he wouldn't. "I thought... you were punishing me. Because you knew I hated it. So I put it on to prove I didn't care. And it. Still smelled like you. So. I couldn't stop putting it on."
It broke Steve's heart. He'd kind of known it would, though. "I didn't leave it to punish you, Tony. I left it so you could finally have the satisfaction of throwing it away."
Tony turned to look up at him again, eyes wide and wet. He looked more hurt than when they'd broken up. "Just because I complained about it all the time doesn't mean I would have actually thrown it out, Steve. I wouldn't have thrown away any of your things."
"It didn't feel like it," Steve had to admit. "You... complained about a lot of my things. Clothes especially. To the point that I made it a habit to check the garbage before I threw it down the chute."
Tony's shoulders fell. He looked so lost. "I'm sorry," he finally whispered, looking at the floor again. "I thought it was like when you complained about how much I worked. You knew that wouldn't change and complained, so. I did the same thing. I thought... I thought it was banter, I guess. Teasing."
"Looking back, I'm sure it was," Steve offered, but Tony shook his head, hand coming up to cover his mouth, so he figured it didn't really help. He couldn't help taking a step closer to him. "You liked that it smelled like me?"
Tony sucked in a wet breath. "Well. I missed you."
"I missed you too," Steve admitted, carefully taking another slow step closer.
"You climbed out a window to get away from me," Tony choked out, then sniffed wetly and covered his mouth again.
Steve came closer, almost within arm's reach. "I knew if I saw you, I'd embarrass both of us begging you to take me back."
"You wouldn't have had to beg," Tony started, turning to face him, and jumped a little when he saw how close he was.
Steve reached out to catch his shoulders before he could back away again, pulling him in against his chest, and Tony made a soft, wounded noise as he greedily leaned in, hiding his face in Steve's chest. Probably to hide the fact that a few tears had broken loose, but Steve was kind enough not to mention it; his eyes felt a little hot and damp, too.
"I don't even remember why we broke up," Steve murmured into Tony's hair. "I've missed you every fucking day since I moved out. I just want to see you in my shirts all the time."
"You shouldn't come back," Tony whispered back. "The shirt affect will wear off, and then you'll just be stuck with me."
Steve scowled, but he was glad Tony couldn't see it. "I wouldn't be stuck with anything. I didn't say I missed seeing you in my shirts. I said I missed you. All of you, even the most frustrating parts of you. I'd love you even if you decided you were only going to wear snowsuits from now on."
Tony leaned back, unable to help but sob out, "You still love me?"
"It's impossible not to love you, Tony," Steve promised, lifting his hands to cradle his flushed face and tip him back for a kiss.
