Steve is on his second page spread— already two pages filled with meaningless paragraphs and doodles, every small space filled— when he sees Tony.
It's a windy although sun peaked day and that means the coffee shop is slightly busier than usual, not that Steve would know since it's his first time truly here, but something about it makes it seem crowed and stuffier. Customers come in and order their caffeinated drinks like a swarm of honey-soaked bees, buzzing all around each other, some staying to find a place to sit but most leaving through the thin glass door in their own world. It's nice though, as Steve likes to find people to sketch or just simply watch and wonder about their day. He sits in one of the comfier chairs near the front window, a rare chance at snagging the seat that he'll probably never get again, nursing an iced coffee that's mostly black. One leg is crossed on the other one, foot propped up, and he feels slightly awkward only by his social anxieties and lack of confidence for himself, feeling as if everyone is watching him regardless that he logically knows they aren't. Still, it's an odd century, one that is unfamiliar even in the year he's been unfrosted— but he's not here to think about that.
What he is here to think about and what he came here to do is drink coffee and draw, sometimes writing a short sentence about something he sees, like a dog he hasn't properly seen in person before. When he does finish those two pages— mostly of people around him, like a lady with an interesting hat or an elderly gentleman with a very antique looking attire— not that Steve can really recognize it as antique, considering when he grew up— and he flips the page to draw on the next page spread, a man walks in through the back door on the opposite side of the small cafe. Steve only notices because of his heightened senses that easily pick up Tony— who is currently dubbed as "attractive man with interesting hands" in Steve's mind— muttering something about a coffee machine slowly breaking, yet despite his grumbles he perks up when he sees someone waiting at the cash register to order, looking cheerful. Steve is easily awed by it, how everything has changed in even the small ways like putting on a facade for the customers— but that's not what purely keeps him fixated on Tony. It's just how Tony is Tony.
Steve looks at the exchange of him and the customer, watching with a certain interest that he hasn't had since he's been in the Arctic, and feels alienated by it. He's not unused to being attracted to another man, but now that he knows he can act on it publicly makes it seem odd somehow. That's not even taking into account that he was once Captain America, and even though he's not wearing a star or marring the shield, he still is and always will be Captain America no matter the circumstances, and he doesn't want that to be someone else's reality. He doesn't want to be a bigger problem than he already is— his whole existence is just a problem with the serum and his out-of-date lifestyle. He doesn't want to be that for someone, especially someone he can love. But he's only in a coffee shop, looking at someone else conversation in longing.
Steve looks back down at his sketchbook and inked lines, feeling a little worse for wear, and starts drawing once again. It's a conscious decision when he starts drawing Tony no matter how he feels like he's breaching some type of protocol, drawing Tony's eyes and his facial hair with neat hand strokes. Besides being physically attracted to Tony, Steve isn't fully aware why he's sketching him to begin with.
"You're Steve, right?" And suddenly, like something is alining in the universe, Tony is talking to him.
He stands far enough away from Steve that he can easily stand up and run, but still a close distance for Steve to really look at Tony, to really see what's so attractive, and there's a lot to be aware of— like his gentle brown eyes and his equally brown hair that flops over on one side and almost over his right eye, with a golden shine to it from the warm lighting of the shop— with his modern facial hair cleanly cut and sturdy hands that, now that Steve looks, is holding a chocolate muffin and a coffee mug, standing with a purpose.
Steve must look as messy as he feels because Tony's smile becomes soft, and Steve is suddenly bombarded with the thought of:
"How do you know my name?" He asks, his thoughts quickly spiraling and his throat closing up, the question of Does he recognize me as Captain America? but Tony only shrugs halfheartedly without noticing Steve's anxiety, and sits in the seat across him without asking— not that Steve really minds, still caught up in his feelings.
"It says on your cup." Tony replies nonchalantly, and Steve feels silly at that.
"Oh, right." He says, fiddling with his ink pen with flipping it over in his hand repeatedly, adverting his gaze from Tony awkwardly.
"And my employee Harley— the one that rung you up?— told me how there's a "really hot guy named Steve near the window" and I had to check it out. Plus you look sad, so I figured I'd at least know you're name before coming over." Tony speaks messily but not anxiously, more so that he has so many thoughts he can't help but trip over his own words, and talks as if Steve didn't even say anything.
Steve instantly blushes red at the declare of "really hot guy" and how Tony seems to agree wholeheartedly, not sure what to think about it. It's different than the 1940's— of course it is, but especially with sexual orientation and gender identity and the way anyone can freely talk about it, not the hushed tones like it used to be, not slipping in a dark alley to kiss someone else of the same gender. It's different but it's also... nice? Steve's still not sure what to make of it, if he's honest. It's not bad, just a change he needs to get used to, but there's already so many things to get accustomed to and it's draining.
Steve looks toward the cash register of the coffee shop to seek out this Harley that Tony speaks of, and sees a blond headed boy with shaggy hair, giving Steve a thumbs up with a beaming smile. Steve kind of just blinks in a shellshocked manner, not sure what to make of this situation at all.
"Yeah, that's Harley." And Steve's attention is back at the attractive man in front of him, who grins lopsidedly back. It's very clear to Steve how charming Tony is, how easy it must be for him to get laid at night, but Steve quickly stomps that thought to ash because it's frankly not his business, and besides, Tony's charm is definitely working on him so there's no point to argue it. But still, Tony's almost too alluring for Steve, like he's just a hooked fish on a line, but somehow he can't find it in himself to complain about that either.
"So," Tony continues, unraveling his muffin from the paper liner with steady hands. "Are you?"
Steve takes a moment to clear his head but he's still not comprehending anything about this conversation. He feels like a fool asking but— "Pardon?"
"Are you, you know, sad?" Tony says, peaking up from his concentration on the muffin to stare powerfully into Steve's eyes. Steve feels a sudden surge of anger at his bluntness, but it quickly drains away just as fast because, honestly, he's just tired of adjusting to this whole century, from being plucked from the ice and shoved into a new world without mercy. He sighs and he deflates, his shoulders sagging. He picks up his coffee drink to gulp probably more than he should in one sitting, and meets Tony's eyes again.
"Am I that transparent?" He replies, setting his cup down. He sets his yellow sketchbook down as Tony shrugs, leaning back in his chair like a lanky cat in the afternoon sun and becomes more serious, although there's still a hint of casualness about it.
"Well, Harley likes to see things in people they usually don't see for themselves no matter how hidden it may be, so I wouldn't take it too hard." Tony says, tilting his head slightly and seems to look at Steve even more intensely. "But for me? I don't know, I haven't found an artist that's not secretly wanting to die."
Steve almost outwardly laughs at that despite the implications, but only shakes his head with a knowing smile. "Touché."
Tony looks surprised at his response for a small moment, as if not expecting Steve to agree with something so morbid, but he seems to like it as he cracks a more toothy grin. He sits forward and sticks a hand out in a lazy manner, but something about it makes Steve feel honored that he would even consider to shake Steve's hand.
"I'm Tony." He says, Steve finally getting to hear his name. Steve rolls the name around in his mouth silently, deciding it fits, and grasps Tony's hand in a subtly firm handshake.
"I'm—"
"The suicidal artist?" Tony fills in, and this time Steve does laugh, still holding onto Tony's hand.
"Steve, I'm Steve." He says, and it feels natural to say that to Tony, taking back his hand. They both sit back, Tony fitting his leg over the other and looks at Steve again as if he knows everything about him— which honestly, if he's a hardcore Captain America fan, that may well be a reality. But he seems normal enough, picking his muffin back up and stuffing a small bite into his mouth, Steve following the action without really knowing.
"So Steve," Tony says after swallowing. "No obligations to actually tell me but— what's got you blue?"
"Oh, well," Steve stops that sentence, trying to find a normal way to express how he got here and how unfamiliar everything is without sounding like a complete lunatic. He knows he doesn't owe Tony anything and especially not an explanation about how he's depressed, but something about this is comfortable and he doesn't want to break that so soon.
"I was in the service." He settles on. "Just got back about a year ago, still adjusting to everything."
Tony hums in acknowledgment, fingers intertwined after he finishes his muffin in only four bites, eye directed downward as he thinks.
"I can't imagine being in the service, but I do understand trying to find your own place in New York." Tony says, and Steve listens intently. "I grew up here but moved to Italy when I turned twelve. After my mother's passing I came back here, and it did take a few years to figure out what I wanted to do with myself." He explains. "Then I found my type of people, opened this shop and well— everything worked out. You'll get there, I'm sure."
Tony's words are kind and mean a lot more to Steve then either of them think. When he looks back at this encounter he'll always remember those words of wisdom, but right now, his brain is caught up on one thing: Tony owns this establishment, which, as Steve thinks back, was clued in when Tony was behind the counter and when he called Harley his employee. It's a pleasant surprise and Steve tries to mask the shock settling into his face, but even as quickly as he does so Tony still seems to pick up on it anyway, reading Steve so well like they're old school buddies for Steve to feel on the brink of uncomfortable, but again, something about Tony just isn't. Tony has a good presence about him and a good head on his shoulders yet has obviously been through some things to have such wisdom, and it's just the kind of thing to lure Steve in carelessly.
Even though Tony looks like he notices Steve's reaction, he closes his mouth just before spilling something out— to point out how silly Steve looks, Steve's sure— but he doesn't. He's obviously aware of what his word's impact could be right now, so Tony stays silent, waiting for Steve either to point out how Tony is the owner or go past it, and the answer to that is easy for Steve.
"I appreciate that." Steve genuinely replies, skipping right past the whole "I'm the owner and I could kick you out if I so desired" route. He assumes that Tony doesn't tell a lot of people this information, and this is the only real conversation he's had in this era, so Steve wants to look good, okay?
“You— You’re right. I needed that.” He continues, very aware that Tony is still looking at him under a scrutinizing gaze, trying to find a motive to Steve’s words. Clearly he doesn’t find one, because then he smiles, tilting his chin up confidently and looking much so, like he could do anything he wants, and Steve is a bit intimidated by that, if he’s honest. But then Tony becomes gentle again, standing up in a slow motion and looking down at Steve with a softness to his brown eyes.
“Well, Steve, you’re always welcome here if you need any more smacking around.” He says with a glint to his smirk, looking at Steve for a moment, and nods as if finding something good. Before he turns away though, Steve inhales and opens his lips, and Tony hesitates to hear what Steve will say.
“Thank you, Tony.” He declares genuinely, a tiny grin in his face. “Really.”
“Of course.” Tony says easily. He looks down at Steve’s open sketchbook for only a split second, fast enough that Steve can’t close it but also enough for Steve to get flustered about it, mostly because the drawing that’s open to see is that sketch of Tony himself. But Tony’s smile only becomes more cocky and he says with humor, “Nice drawing, by the way” and Steve feels like he’s going to die of embarrassment. As he sits cringing with a dark red blush, he hears Tony’s friendly laugh, and that’s when Steve realizes he wants to see Tony again.