He stays steady on Steve's approach though feels himself gripping his glass a little tighter. Almost like he's ready for Steve to take it out of his hands. He's not sure where the feeling comes from, and he doesn't really want to think about it regardless. That that's the only reaction he has is a bit of a blessing, a little relaxed otherwise as Steve nears, gives him that little kiss, even when he touches his hip. There's something grounding in all of them. Like they're carrying on and this is just a regular bad night. Like a meeting went wrong or they're having to write up debriefs about a mission gone awry.
This is something spectacularly worse than all that but it's nice to pretend it isn't.
He makes a little quiet noise of acknowledgement about Steve leaving and watches him go the whole way. When the doors close he finds himself raising his glass, almost headed for another immediate downing. Right in the middle of that motion when he realizes what he's doing. Steve's gone. He can down another and then pour another and nobody would be the wiser. His instincts tell him to do it. And it takes everything in him not to. He contemplates it a few moments more. Steve won't be gone forever. He could, he could, he could.
Maybe two or three, even. Just knock them back. Hell, drink out of the bottle. He thinks about it. Really hard. But it ends up with the thought that he'll get more drunk than he means to. He'll be a mess in front of Steve. Steve who's already seen far too much of who he really is these days and if he starts acting like that he might walk. Tony would get it. He really would. He doesn't want to be around himself, either. With a shaking hand he takes another slow, very concentrated sip, and then sets the glass down right at the time Steve reappears.
"Old," Tony teases, like he wasn't just contemplating drinking an entire bottle of whiskey and then possibly taking off. He can keep that to himself like everything else. It might not be healthy or even wise, or even make him look sane (which most would agree he's probably not), to just ignore everything that happened and pretend like everything is alright but with a little looseness filtering it, he's very keen to do so. Damn everything else.
He comes away from the bar, glass in hand again, and takes a seat next to Steve. The smell of food is overwhelming and powerful, not in a good way. "Technically I'm older than you, you know. I have wrinkles and greys. You have baby smooth skin and gorgeous golden hair. Don't talk to me about old. I think people think I'm getting away with something when they look at us." God knows Tony does. Knows that he doesn't deserve Steve but feels grateful and selfish enough to keep him anyway.
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This is something spectacularly worse than all that but it's nice to pretend it isn't.
He makes a little quiet noise of acknowledgement about Steve leaving and watches him go the whole way. When the doors close he finds himself raising his glass, almost headed for another immediate downing. Right in the middle of that motion when he realizes what he's doing. Steve's gone. He can down another and then pour another and nobody would be the wiser. His instincts tell him to do it. And it takes everything in him not to. He contemplates it a few moments more. Steve won't be gone forever. He could, he could, he could.
Maybe two or three, even. Just knock them back. Hell, drink out of the bottle. He thinks about it. Really hard. But it ends up with the thought that he'll get more drunk than he means to. He'll be a mess in front of Steve. Steve who's already seen far too much of who he really is these days and if he starts acting like that he might walk. Tony would get it. He really would. He doesn't want to be around himself, either. With a shaking hand he takes another slow, very concentrated sip, and then sets the glass down right at the time Steve reappears.
"Old," Tony teases, like he wasn't just contemplating drinking an entire bottle of whiskey and then possibly taking off. He can keep that to himself like everything else. It might not be healthy or even wise, or even make him look sane (which most would agree he's probably not), to just ignore everything that happened and pretend like everything is alright but with a little looseness filtering it, he's very keen to do so. Damn everything else.
He comes away from the bar, glass in hand again, and takes a seat next to Steve. The smell of food is overwhelming and powerful, not in a good way. "Technically I'm older than you, you know. I have wrinkles and greys. You have baby smooth skin and gorgeous golden hair. Don't talk to me about old. I think people think I'm getting away with something when they look at us." God knows Tony does. Knows that he doesn't deserve Steve but feels grateful and selfish enough to keep him anyway.