Second Chances

Twenty

“So, what are your big plans?” Steve asked as they walked into the condo, and Steve’s words fell from his mouth as he looked around the luxuriously modern room. 

The room was giant, windows lined by steel making up the front wall. There was a door that opened to a wooden balcony, decorated with white chairs and a hot tub. To the left was a large, brick fireplace that could be accessed on the balcony as well. There was a large white couch, covered in fluffy pillows, and in front of it was a wooden coffee table with a glass top. A white rug sat underneath the couch and stretched to the fireplace, and when Steve looked to his left he saw the conjoined kitchen was filled with the lastest cooking devices sitting on white marble. 

“This place is amazing,” He blurted, and Tony looked up from where he was looking through his suitcase.

“It’s okay,” Tony shrugged, and Steve shook his head.

“No, no, this place is beautiful.” He said, venturing down the hallway and into the guest bedroom. 

It had the same grey, wood-like tile that was throughout the entire house, and underneath the bed was a large white rug, much like the one in the living room. The bed sat low on the ground, covered in silver sheets and crimson pillows. There were frames of art around the room; consisting of Alyssa Monks, Clifford How, and Emma Hopkins. Steve walked over to one of the paintings, hesitating to touch the frame, and he turned around to see Tony watching him from the doorway. 

“I’m obsessed with Alyssa Monks’ work,” Steve blurted before he started babbling about the techniques she used. 

Tony smiled, trying his hardest to follow, and they made they’re way back to the living room.

“Sorry, I’m talking at you,” Steve said, and Tony shook his head. 

“You’re fine, but how about a drink?” Tony asked, popping open a bottle of wine, and Steve turned around, a smile rising to his lips. 

“I would love one.” Steve smiled, letting out a sigh, and he slowly sat on the couch.

He started out at the mountain the condo was built next to, and Steve stared at the beauty of it. The darker greens of the trees mixed with the light green of the grass, and the soft blue turning orange outlining it all. 

The two men continued their conversation of art, it slowly transitioning to Steve’s art teacher in high school then the conversation went to Tony’s fine arts class he was forced to take at boarding school and how Tony once panicked and blew up the art room trying to demonstrate how science and art could go hand in hand, them finishing their bottle of wine by the time the conversation was over. Then their conversation moved to stupid things they did in high school and then to stupid stuff they did in college, more wine being shared between the two men.  They kept talking until talking turned in rambling and the alcohol made rambling turn into excessive giggles. 

Tony jumped as the large grandfather clock he had in the corner of the room stoke twelve, and Steve burst into a fit of giggles, leaning against Tony. Tony looked over at Steve, smiling with wine-stained teeth. Steve slowly looked back, his talk of how he thinks that Natasha might be a Russain spy stopping as he stared back at Tony. They stare at each other, pupils blown out of proportion and eyelids hanging low. Tony opens his mouth several times, trying to remember what he was going to tell Steve but getting distracted because Steve’s lips are so fucking pink and there’s a small dribble on wine on his bottom lip and if Tony just leaned forward another centimetre he could-

“Vos yeux sont,” Steve swallows a hiccup before continuing, “Les yeux sont vraiment jolis.” 

Tony stares at Steve for a few moments, his eye lides closing and opening very slowly, and then one of his eyebrows shoots upward. “Whatever the fuck you just said was hot.”