Chapter Text
Steve barely registered when the elevator door chimed open, cheerfully announcing Tony and Bucky’s return from their date. He stayed in his spot on the armchair, studiously ignoring the world. It had been a bad day, and a bad week, and, really, a bad year, and seeing the fella he loved coming home with his best friend was just icing on the cake.
He’d never begrudge either of them their happiness, but it still hurt, sometimes, to see them together. They deserved each other, deserved the small pocket of peace they had found in each other’s arms, and Steve would never do anything to ruin that.
No matter how much it felt like his own heart was being ripped out of his chest when Tony smiled at Bucky like he hung the moon and the stars all at once, and Bucky’s answering grin was just as sappy.
He heard a whispered conversation between the pair, but he didn’t focus enough to pick out the words. In front of Steve was a sketchbook; he had spent the last hour trying to draw something- anything- other than Tony. The pages were still blank.
Steve closed his eyes as the glow from the elevator faded. The doors had closed; Tony and Bucky had probably decided to go upstairs to Tony’s penthouse.
Soft footsteps startled his eyes open. They weren’t Bucky’s, who walked surprisingly heavily for an assassin. No, Tony stood in front of his chair, a sad smile on his lips.
“Hey, Steve,” he said kindly. “You okay?”
“Always,” Steve parroted one of Tony’s favorite phrases, but it fell flat, if Tony’s expression was anything to go by. “I’m fine, really.”
“You’re not fine,” Tony said, still quiet, like he was talking to a scared animal. “Talk to me, Winghead.”
“I just…” Steve shook his head. “Can we not? Can you… can you hold me right now? That’s what I need. No questions. No talking. Just… don’t leave me alone?”
Tony’s hands twitched. “Steve, I’m-”
“I know,” Steve cut him off gently. “I know you’re his, and he’s yours, and all that. But please, Tony, just tonight?”
Something like agony flashed in Tony’s eyes. “Of course, Steve,” he whispered, pulling Steve into a hug. He sat down on the armchair, not built for two people, so his whole body was a line of warmth pressed against Steve’s. “You’re still my friend. I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”
“No matter what,” Steve echoed dully, the years of mistakes and the mile-long list of hurts between them running through his mind. Every single missed opportunity, every almost, every maybe, burned like a brand as it replayed. Everything he should have said, every time he should have thrown caution to the wind and followed his heart, it hurt. Being with Tony, but not being with Tony, hurt. But being apart hurt worse. So Steve would take what he could get, because he was too stupid to the first time around. “Friends.”