Listening to Steve is calming. It’s in his voice, in the way he carries himself. Standing here in the shadow of a building as people just file passed them is surreal. Tony recognizes the street. He and Nebula had flown over it. The light pole had fallen into the store window across the street and two floors of the building they’re leaning against had been on fire. It’s fine now, a lighter color than before, recently power washed, or repointed, perhaps. His eyes lift towards lower Manhattan where the Stark Tower stands and he can see it, blending almost in with the sky. It’s small. Far away. Destined to crumble, really, unless they change the course of history.

The Tony that belongs here might never sleep with Steve, but he wants them both to know and keep and cultivate a friendship, if only so he doesn’t miss out on tense moments made bearable by little pleasantries said by sweet blonds.

He tilts his head back before his hips hit forward and he snags the ball cap from his back pocket. It’s better to cover his head. JARVIS regularly scans intersections and traffic cameras for facial recognition. Tony would have no reason to be looking for him, but it’s better safe than sorry.

At the question, the older man actually grins. The light changes to green and the walk sign flashes. “Do I look like I’m the camping type? It’s been awhile. Not since I was at school.” He pushes away from the wall to cross the street.

European boarding schools always focus heavily on athletics as well as academics. Tony hated it.

“We are not camping as long as my accounts are good.”