Byronic
Tony's eyes, when he thinks no one is looking, lose their usual sparkle. When he concentrates on work they are focused, when he's caught up in a memory they are pensive. When he laughs, they shine. But sometimes, you can see something that's tearing him apart.
Steve notices this for the first time on a warm March day, when he goes down to the workshop to drag Tony upstairs and take him to lunch to simply enjoy the beautiful weather and each other's presence. He doesn't realize what day it is, but he remembers as soon as he sees Tony, sees his eyes –
(An anniversary.)
– they are burning mad; they are dead.
It is like only his persona could handle this Byronic equivocation. Steve realizes this is how he does his charm; and he is hooked, already, he has been from the very beginning. See, Tony does this: chats and offers, outsmarts you easily, sweet-talks and begs and jokes until you can't make out the hollowness in his voice anymore. He hides things so well that he believes his own deception.
Steve doesn't register much besides the eyes for a few moments, but it feels like seconds stretching into millennia.
