“You’re a hard man to impress,” Tony says, sitting back against the ripped red vinyl seat, half a plastic tumbler filled with soda and a healthy amount of red pepper flakes dusting his slice. “And a hard man to get the attention of.”

Speaking of which... Tony moves forward, his elbow resting in the worn table, gently pushing the paper plate forward as he shifts his weight. Dark eyes peer up from under that ball cap, capturing the lighting in a way it likely isn’t intended for.

“You never drew me. Well you did. Three times. You drew everyone else so much. Vision, Romanoff— You even drew Banner. Little doodles of his Einstein hair and his hands with all that wrist fur— But not me so much. You said you fell for me when we first met. You felt something. But there’s nothing of me in those books.”

Not the ones he’d found and obsessed over at least.

“And yeah. I’m complaining about that.”