just
The growth of entropy is nothing other than the ubiquitous and familiar natural increase of disorder.
-- Carlo Rovelli, The Order of Time, page 30
2,083 days
The kids were playfully arguing with each other and packing up - distracted. Peter joined in, leaving Stephen alone with Tony Stark. He swallowed, rubbing at his sore hands before clearing his throat. Tony looked at him and smiled.
“Want to meet for coffee? Say about 6:30?” Stephen stared blankly for a minute before nodding quickly. Butterflies started swarming and he swallowed again, nervous. It’s not a date. Just two adults getting coffee to talk about the kids they mentor. Calm down.
“There’s a coffee shop a few blocks from here. I’ll catch you there when you guys are done? I’ve got to take a call for work in about fifteen minutes.”
“Sure,” Stephen replied, hoping he sounded cool. Confident. Not like an anxiety-ridden teenager about to go on his first date.
“Great!” Tony said and stood up, waving at Peter before heading towards the door. He caught Stephen’s eye and winked, causing Stephen to flush again. Damnit.
If we think about it carefully, every configuration is particular, every configuration is singular, if we look at all of its details, since every configuration always has something about it that characterizes it in a unique way.
-- Carlo Rovelli, The Order of Time, page 31-32
Stephen ducked into the doorway of the coffee shop, getting out of the drizzle and trying to keep from moaning at the warmth that met him. Tony was at a booth in the corner and waved once he spotted him. Stephen made his way across the bustling shop to him, shrugging out of his wet jacket.
“Aw man, did you walk? If I had known I would have picked you up,” Tony said, frowning.
“It’s fine,” Stephen responded, shrugging. He slid onto the bench across, rubbing at his arms to get warmth back into them. “I walk almost everywhere. Forgot my umbrella today, though.”
“Well shit. Let me buy you a drink to warm you up.” Stephen smiled and met Tony’s gaze, feeling himself metaphorically fall into the warm brown depths, stomach fluttering.
“Coffee please. Black.”
“Gotcha - be right back,” Tony said, bouncing out of the booth and hurrying away to the counter.
Stephen breathed out, closing his eyes. This is a meeting of two adults, likely to discuss their students. Calm down. He focussed on the ambient noise of the coffee shop, listening to the hissing and clanging of the machines behind the counter, the conversations.
Nobody noticed the internal panic he was having. The world was indifferent to him, time continued. He needed a pause to breathe and calm himself down, but time stops for nobody.
Man up, he thought to himself.
A half-filled mug was placed in front of him and he looked up, surprised. Tony had noticed his hands trembling during meetings, noticed that he never filled glasses all the way. He was touched, his throat tight.
Calm down.
He brought trembling hands to the hot mug and did his best to keep from shivering. Whether he was shivering from the heat on his sore, aching hands, or from his damp clothing, it was impossible to tell. A lock of damp wet hair hung in his face and he brought the mug to his lips.
The booth made a wooshing noise as Tony sat across from him, his own coffee in hand. The other man ran a hand through his hair and leaned back, draping an arm across the back of the booth. Stephen glanced over at him, eyes running over his jawline, admiring the dark, greying curls. The butterflies started up again and he returned his eyes to his coffee, biting the inside of his cheek. You are forty-four years old, Stephen. Grow up.
“I’ll admit,” Tony started, pausing. “I’ll admit that now that we’re here I’ve lost track of what I wanted to talk to you about. But since we’re here, we might as well talk about something. PhD or MD, Doc?”
“MD,” Stephen replied, looking up with a twist of his lips. Not quite a grin, not quite a grimace. While he was glad he was mostly anonymous now, six years later, it was an odd feeling. Someone who might have known him from galas and the like had no idea who he was.
“You decided to become a teacher at an under-funded high school instead of, y’know, doctor-ing?”
“You have two PhDs in physics and mechanical engineering. I could question your profession as well - of all things, you decided to start designing phones and stove-tops?” That earned a surprised laugh from the man across from him. Stephen grinned wryly and looked up, feeling his face warm up a bit at the way Tony’s eyes wrinkled at the edges when smiling widely. “I was a neurosurgeon.”
Tony ran a finger around the lip of his mug and nodded. “That’s an awful big jump in professions.”
“Teenagers are more tolerable than undergrads.” He put his mug down, left palm twitching in a painful cramp. He breathed in through his nose. “Plus, I can’t teach labs anymore. It requires a bit more dexterity than I currently have.” He held the hand that wasn’t spasming up, shrugging. Tony reached a hand out slowly and gently took his left hand. His fingers were cold in comparison to the coffee cup.
“Trust me,” he said lowly and Stephen watched him as he started to gently massage at the scarred digits, smoothing over the twitching abductor muscle. After a minute, the cramp started easing somewhat and Stephen breathed out shakily. “Better?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Tony didn’t let his hand go and Stephen tried to damp down the little burn of excitement at the innocent touch. You are too old for this grade-school bullshit, Steph. Stop. “You married, Stephen?”
“I was for a while. It’s just me and my dog now.” Tony nodded, running a thumb over Stephen’s palm before letting go. He tried not to miss the connection but part of him cried about it, internally.
“Man’s best friend,” Tony grinned. “I’ve got a wife and kid. Two kids, if you count Pete. Which I do, honestly. He and Morgan raise hell on a regular basis. I’ve limited them to the weekends only or my home would be a wreck.”
“Peter’s that much of a mess?”
“He is when he’s hanging out with a five year old.”
Stephen snorted and took a sip of his cooling coffee as Tony continued. “The two of them usually leave Legos everywhere or make a mess in my workshop. I appreciate the creativity and dedication to science, but sometimes it’s a bit much.”
“Why’d you start helping with Decathlon?” he asks, finally giving in to curiosity. It’s not often that a world-famous billionaire inventor decides to slum it with high schoolers, especially without security.
“I figured it’d be a way to help Pete and the team out. Sometimes it’s nice having adults believe in you.” Stephen nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. The two sit in silence for a moment before Tony continued. “I would have killed for that at that age.”
“Me too,” Stephen agreed quietly. They say in companionable silence, drinking their coffees before Tony made a surprised noise.
“Wait, are you the Strange that was married to Clea Lake?”
Stephen sighed and put his coffee down, running a hand over his face. “Yes.”
“Oh wow, you were like the neurosurgeon from what I heard. That’s awesome.”
Stephen nodded and leant back in the booth, eyes meeting Tony’s.
“I like you better than your ex,” the other man said with a wink and Stephen rolled his eyes, laughing hollowly. “You’re much more my cup of tea. I don’t like blondes much.”
Stephen flushed and ducked his head, his ears burning.
“Too much?”
“No,” he croaked, looking back up. “It’s fine.” Tony grinned and put his hand palm up on the table.
“Is it okay if I give you my number? It’d be nice to get ahold of you directly rather than going through my secretary.” Stephen fished his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it, handing it over. Tony tapped on it, then grinned and handed it back.
If I distinguish between all the cards [in a deck], the configurations are all equivalent: none of them is more or less particular than others. The notion of “particularity” is born only at the moment we begin to see the universe in a blurred and approximate way.
-- Carlo Rovelli, The Order of Time, page 32
Tony helped him into his jacket and Stephen tried not to lean into his touch. Control yourself, Stevie. Chill. He followed Tony out the door and closed his eyes, bracing himself against the wind.
“Let me get you home,” Tony said, voice soft. He nodded, agreeing. As long as it got him out of the cold. He followed Tony down the street to a surprisingly discrete sedan. The shorter man unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for him, then hurried around to get in himself.
“Alright, Doc. Where to?”
“177A Bleaker Street,” he muttered, teeth chattering. Tony nodded and started the engine, blasting the heat. Stephen closed his eyes and braced himself again, hoping he wouldn’t panic as the car drove.
Tony hummed to himself as he drove and Stephen concentrated on his breathing. The car ride was smooth, though that didn’t help his anxiety.
“We’re here, Doc,” Tony said finally, the car coming to a stop. Stephen opened his eyes and moved to get out of the car.
“It’s Stephen,” he said, looking over at his companion. “You can call me Stephen.”
“Call me Tony.”
Once inside the door, Stephen leaned against it. He let himself fall into the fantasy of being walked to the door, of being kissed against it. Being told in a low, husky voice to have a good night. He breathed in shakily and ran a hand over his flushed face before moving to strip himself of his jacket.
As he fed Bats, the message notification on his phone went off.
You Know Who I Am:
hey
Received 19:53
Stephen leaned against the counter and swallowed hard. It’s just a text.
SS:
hey
Sent 19:55
It’s just a text.
...entropy is precisely the quantity that counts how many are the different configurations that our blurred vision does not distinguish between.
-- Carlo Rovelli, The Order of Time, page 32