Steve strains against the phone, gripping it too tightly that plastic starts to crack. He’s listening for anything, to let him know that Tony is on the other line. But it remains silent save for the shallow intake and exhale of breath. Steve knows that Tony is on the other side. He just isn’t saying anything. Features are crest fallen when the line goes dead. Limply, hand drops and phone clatters to the floor. A moment later and the man is carding digits through golden locks and tugging. He had hoped they could finally talk. That Steve could apologize and that they could start over. He isn’t sure if that’s going to happen now.
One day turns into two in to three. Steve thought about calling Tony or sending him another text, but he doesn’t The ball has been placed in Stark’s hands. It was his move. Steve would just have to accept that and wait to see what would come next. Thankfully, answers soon came.
The phone is in his pocket when it buzzes. The conversation he’d been engaged in is dropped as full attention is shifted to the small device. It tell him that there is one new text. Heart beats painfully in his chest as anticipation and anxiety rips through his gut. Flipping it open, Steve reads the message. Tony has asked to meet. And soon, too. Just a few hours away. Hastily, the man types out a reply.
A bundle of nerves. That is what Steve Rogers is as he stands outside the Golden Goose. He’s a few minutes early and has no idea if Tony is already inside. How is he going to react when they finally see each other? Is Steve going to get a punch to the face? Or is he going to get nothing? He can’t say but he goes in, searching for Tony.
The next time he feels the older cellphone buzz in his pocket he checks quickly, reply making his mouth dry and the sort on unsure anxiety settle in his chest. After setting a reminder in his calendar as if he could forgot, he puts the phone down - out of sight out of mind.
It’s a Stark brand to be fashionably late, but not this time. Half an hour before the agreed time, he’s there, eyes scaning the drink menu from behind the sunglasses he hasn’t bothered to take off. For a while, they linger on the whisky and scotch offers, but when the bartender finally asks for his order, “---two glasses of Coke.” is Tony’s answer. It doesn’t take long for the drinks to be prepared, and so he grabs then and scans the place for a more private booth in the corner of the small restaurant.
Every time the door opens, Tony can’t help the way his body tenses a bit, until finally, when he briefly glances over, he catches a glimpse of the familiar silhouette - even after this long, he could probably identify Steve by the rythm of his walk and the heaviness and confidence in his steps. Finally, he slides the sunglasses to the top of his head before gesturing to the blonde to come over.
“So, you’re alive, huh.” Is the only thing that slips past Tony’s lips as Steve slides into the booth seat opposite.
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