Encounters
As the day waned, Steve strolled through the city streets, the rhythmic pulse of life around him. The buildings loomed like ancient sages, silently gossiping about the comings and goings of the countless souls that passed beneath their watchful eyes. Each step was a dance of observation; he noticed the way the lamplights painted shadows on the pavement, casting a golden glow against the dusk.
His gaze swept from corner to corner, soaking in the motion - a blur of hurried footsteps, the ebb and flow of traffic, and the soft hum of conversations, punctuated by the occasional operatic honk.
This ritual had become his post-work pas de deux. There were still a few days left before the semester started and he had felt lonelier than usual.
He had come to the realization that despite having already lived there for a few months, he didn't really know much about the city. Each street was a stanza, each building a verse, but the whole poem eluded him.
Leaning casually against a lamppost, he exhaled a cloud of fragrant smoke, the crisp air performing a playful tango on his skin. The distant traffic's hum faded, leaving only the muffled rhythm of his own breath.
He carefully extinguished the remnants of the assembled blunt against the ground, his focus momentarily diverted. When he lifted his head once more, the world appeared to have taken on a slightly brighter hue.
Then, like a scene from a coming-of-age flick, he spotted him - a striking figure with dark, windswept hair. In his arms, a gargantuan flower pot bursting with blooms.
Steve moved forward, offering help without a second thought. Without missing a beat, he hoisted the floral titan onto his hip, displaying an unsuspected strength. The man's grateful smile was like a well-timed punchline, revealing a charm that went far beyond his dashing exterior. Though no distinct fragrance lingered, Steve guessed it might have been overwhelmed by the flowers' natural bouquet. The man had the air of an omega, a particularly appealing one, though he did a splendid job of disguising it. Not that Steve was particularly attuned to such details.
"I've been wandering in circles," the man confessed, a note of frustration in his voice. "All I can remember is the name of the street."
"I'm still getting the hang of this place, but I know that street, I can take you." Steve declared, determination lighting his eyes. Fate had just handed him a hot neighbor on a silver platter.
The city seemed to weave them together, its bustling energy a silent witness. The brunette stole a glance at Steve.
"So, you live around here?"
Steve nodded, a grin playing on his lips. "Yeah, I just moved in not too long ago. Still trying to get the lay of the land."
"Same here, new beginnings, you know?"
Steve's eyes sparkled with understanding. "Yeah, something like that."
And then, there it stood - an aging sentinel with eight floors of windows reflecting the day's final brushstrokes on the canvas of the sky - soft purples blending into pinks. The exterior bore the dignified scars of time, its bricks weathered yet upholding their stately form.
Steve had chosen this place for its unassuming elegance. It wasn't ostentatious or overly luxurious, and the proximity to college was a bonus, a relatively short walk away, making it a haven for students navigating the tumultuous waters of academia. With an added bonus, the brunette's face lit up in a smile as he spotted it, guiding his steps directly towards the object of interest.
They reached the entrance, and Steve held the door open for him. He couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps he was bordering on being overly assertive with his gestures. After all, it wasn't exactly typical for a total stranger to practically snatch something from you on the street and then proceed to take you home. It was all a tad impulsive, even by alpha standards. Clearly, he needed to refine his approach. But still, the brunette offered a shy smile that sent some electricity through Steve’s body.
"Well, thanks! I guess I'll see you around," the brunette declared, a grin spreading across his face.
Steve's eyes widened in pleasant surprise. "Actually, this is my building too."
"Oh, nice."
In the elevator, there was a brief exchange.
"Which floor?" Steve asked.
"Seven," Tony replied.
As the elevator ascended, they stood side by side, a quiet tension in the air. It was a coincidence too perfect to ignore - they were both headed for the same floor.
When the elevator dinged, signaling their arrival on the seventh floor, they stepped out in unison.
Steve remembered the flurry of activity earlier in the week - a big team of people moving furniture and boxes into the apartment next door. It made sense now; that was his incredibly hot neighbor settling into his new home.
They made their way down the hallway in the same direction until they reached the first door. The mysterious man fumbled for his keys, his movements a touch awkward in the confines of the narrow hallway.
With a click, the door swung open, revealing a glimpse of the space beyond, it was full with a sense of stark minimalism. The space felt like a blank canvas, waiting for inspiration to give it life. There were no bold strokes of art adorning the walls, just clean, unadorned surfaces. Scattered boxes hinted at the recent move and an ongoing attempt at organization, but even they seemed to blend seamlessly into the understated surroundings. It was a place of potential, a quiet emptiness that seemed to echo the enigmatic persona. He turned to Steve, a grateful smile on his lips. "Thanks for the assist."
Steve offered a casual shrug. "No problem. Glad I could help."
"I'm Steve Rogers by the way," Steve said, returning the flower pot to its rightful owner.
"Tony Stark," he replied, his tone easy-going.
And with that, they parted ways. Steve continued just a step down the hallway to his own door and got in feeling a little buzz in his ears.
☆☆☆
The late afternoon sun stretched its golden fingers across the college campus, painting the surroundings with a warm, inviting glow. The sky, a vast expanse of blue interrupted by fluffy, cotton-like clouds, was practically begging to be admired. Trees formed a verdant canopy, their leaves performing a graceful ballet in the gentle breeze. It was as if the campus itself had donned its finest attire in celebration of the first day.
Time-worn brick buildings, adorned with ivy and the weight of history, stood side by side with sleek, modern structures of glass and steel. It was like an architectural mismatched buddy comedy.
Steve and Natasha perched beneath a tree, its branches playing the role of a natural curtain, keeping them cool in the dappled shade. The grass beneath their fingers provided a soft, tickling caress, and the distant hum of students in transit added a soothing soundtrack. Natasha, with her sleek, confident aura, and her red wine scent, exuded an air of understated elegance, her red hair perfectly complementing the picturesque scene.
Partners-in-crime since the first semester, reuniting with Natasha after the summer break was akin to finding an oasis in the desert of social interactions. Steve's enthusiasm for sharing the minutiae of his life never seemed to tire her. Despite her stoic exterior, Natasha had an uncanny knack for sniffing out the juiciest gossip.
Her voice, smooth as silk, floated through the air, while Steve, with his ever-present grin, added his own harmonious notes to their symphony of conversation.
"So, your master plan to aimlessly wander the city until some unsuspecting soul took pity on you actually worked?" Natasha teased, her eyes sweeping across the campus. Steve playfully rolled his eyes.
"It wasn't quite like that. He needed help, and he's a really nice guy," Steve defended, his tone earnest.
Natasha raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her eyes dancing with playful skepticism. "Mmm-hmm. So, you spotted a guy on the street, snagged his flower pot, and then tailed him home. And this is your idea of a meet-cute?" She delivered her words with a touch of theatrical incredulity.
"You're being overly cynical, Nat. It was genuinely cute," Steve countered, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"Just saying, from a certain angle, it could sound like the start of a kidnap," Natasha remarked, her words laced with wry humor. It was as though she'd seen enough of the world to consider all the possible storylines.
"You watch too much true crime. He's my neighbor, Nat. How could he kidnap me?" Steve replied with the confidence of someone who had probably binge-watched every detective show.
"Maybe that's exactly what he wants you to think," Natasha mused, a smirk playing on her lips.
"You're being paranoid, Nat. Tony's a nice guy," Steve assured her, eyes twinkling.
"I met a Tony today, and he's already got quite the reputation," Natasha observed.
"Tony who?"
"Stark."
"Yup, that 's him."
"Oh, he's hot," Natasha admitted with a knowing smile, her voice carrying a flirtatious lilt.
"I know, right?" Steve agreed, acknowledging the magnetic aura that seemed to surround Tony.
"Steve, are you sure about this? He seems... a bit too lively for you," Natasha chimed in, her voice holding a teasing note of concern.
"Oh, please. You've known him for a day. I literally live next door to him, and this morning we practically skipped here together," Steve replied, exuding a quiet confidence in their connection.
"If you say so..." Natasha responded with a thoughtful nod. Steve had learned to recognize that expression during their months of friendship and knew that it usually ended with ‘I told you.’ after a while, but he wanted to believe that her instincts were failing.
Just then, Tony made his entrance, his voice carrying across the campus. "Steve!" The urgency in his tone was impossible to ignore. Natasha couldn't help but arch an eyebrow in Steve's direction, silently asking, "Is this for real?" Unfazed, Steve waved Natasha off and hastened after Tony. Natasha offered Tony a nod of greeting, and the two men set off, beginning their journey homeward together.
☆☆☆
Steve wasn't quite ready to wave the white flag to Natasha's instincts, but it turned out that having a scorching hot neighbor was a bit more... lively than he'd anticipated.
The elevator doors slid open. At that moment, he could hear the sound of one of the apartment doors opening and footsteps, for a moment he wanted to act like he didn’t notice and stop holding the elevator open rather than have to face Tony, but his mother would not be proud if she knew that he did something like that.
In stepped Tony, decked out as always, emanating a particular beta fragrance that Steve was growing to detest. He could empathize with the desire to mask one's scent, but he couldn't quite fathom Tony's choice of perfume. There wasn't much to hide about Tony, who seemed determined to flaunt every aspect of his omega charm. That much was evident to Steve, and seemingly to a growing faction of the university who had taken to admiring the brunette.
"Long night?" Steve ventured, trying to make conversation.
Tony let out a tired chuckle. "You could say that. Just trying to get this project off the ground."
As Tony launched into an explanation of his latest endeavor, Steve's frustration simmered beneath the surface. The noise, the constant clatter of tools and materials had become a constant source of irritation. Still, he tried to be understanding. After all, Tony was simply adapting, and he did look rather spectacular while wreaking havoc on anything.
And the blonde especially liked when he started talking about his projects, plans, and subjects, he could still feel some attraction. Beyond appearances, the brunette was undoubtedly brilliant, maybe even bordering on the genius spectrum.
However, he was also indisputably noisy and a tad clumsy. His leisurely pace sometimes slowed him down in the mornings. And despite weeks of attending classes together, Tony still occasionally got lost on his way home.
He snapped back from his trip on the train of thought when he heard Tony say a certain combination of words. Something about the smell of weed in the hallways.
The accusation hung in the air.
It was then that Steve connected the dots.
About two weeks ago, a sternly worded note had arrived from the administration, detailing a certain "herbal" situation in the communal areas and urging respect for the neighbors.
Caught between his coursework, job, and his valiant efforts to break free from the shackles of being the mysteriously attractive lone wolf at the architecture school, Steve barely had time for his cherished moments of relaxation, often shared with a loyal blunt.
His annoyance flared, a spark transforming into a blaze.
"I've also noticed the smell, do you know if I can file a complaint or something?" He inquired, a hint of determined resolve in his voice.
"Sure, I can show you how, although I already sent one so I don't think it's necessary." Tony responded.
"I understand. That's good to know," Steve conceded, the wheels in his mind already turning.
He remained cordial during the rest of their short trip downstairs, even the next few days while he was thinking about what to do, until he finally made up his mind.
In the dim light of his desk, Steve hunched over a piece of paper, pen scratching out a formal complaint. In the distance, Tony's music thrummed like a constant companion, a reminder of the ongoing serenade that had become Steve's life. Determination gleamed in Steve's eyes as he meticulously chose each word. It felt like a solitary act of rebellion, a tiny step towards reclaiming the peace he so dearly craved. The rhythmic dance of the pen on paper was a metronome of justice, punctuating the room like a manifesto of retribution.
In the same way it felt like signing a declaration of war.
Steve was willing to let some things slide for a pretty face, but even that had its limits.