CHAPTER 8
That afternoon, Tony entered his home to see that his parents had returned and were, surprisingly, sitting in the living room. Normally when his parents returned from a convention, his father would head straight down to his lab with new inspiration for a life-changing product. His mother would sleep in, always saying "Our beds are far more comfortable than any hotel, darling."
His father was catching up with Sunday's newspaper, his mother dozing while watching the local news. "Welcome back," Tony said, taking off his shoes and backpack.
"Son?" he could hear his dad's voice echo as he slid on the kitchen tile.
"Yeah, dad?" Tony pried open the refrigerator, trying to decide between water and soda. He chose the latter, grabbing a can and sliding back into the living room where his parents sat. Howard folded up the paper he was reading, handing it to his only son. He pointed to the article that Tony was reading less than an hour ago. "Huh, whataya know. That's me!"
"Yeah," his father breathed, brows furrowing. "Why is that you?"
"I'm not a big fan of the picture, though. I was having such a bad hair day," Tony continued, as if his father hadn't spoken.
"Son," Howard said, a warning signal.
"Oh, I dunno, Dad. Maybe because I nearly died due to a rare heart condition?"
"Tony, no need to use that tone with your father," his mother threw in.
"And why did you almost die?" Howard continued, looking away.
"Because you let me play baseball," Tony said, intending to sound as harsh as he did.
"Because you forged a medical examination," Stark turned his head quickly, looking his son in the eyes. He said it angrily, and Tony returned his glare.
"Howard," Maria tried to intervene.
"It wouldn't have been possible without your signature, father," Tony stepped forward.
"Anthony."
"Were you trying to get yourself killed?!" Howard stood now.
"Dad, I don't need this -"
"Why would you talk to the newspapers?"
"They were storming Steve and I -"
"And what is this about you and this Steve Rogers? Damn reporters. We have to straighten out yet another story. Now that they think you're -"
"Gay? I don't see a problem."
"That's ridiculous. You're not homosexual."
"And if I am?"
"Tony, we don't need this right now. Stop joking around -"
"I'm not. I am gay. I prefer males. And Steve Rogers is my boyfriend."
"Anthony, darling -" his mother wasn't able to finish.
"I forbid you to see this boy."
"I dare you to try and make me stay away from him."
"Fine, you're grounded. How about that? A month sounds good, right, Maria?"
"Howard, you're being a little bit harsh."
"You're not to go anywhere other than school. You'll be picked up at exactly 1:40 every afternoon, and then you'll head straight to your room."
"Why don't you just lock me up in the dungeon?"
"Still not done? No tech. That means no TV, no Internet, no cell phone-"
"Dad, you can't do that!" Tony shouted angrily.
"Watch me. Now go to your room," Howard said, slamming onto the couch and rubbing his forehead. Maria frowned, worriedly looking at Tony, who was nearly crying. The couple watched their son leave the living room, but rather than stomping up the flight of steps to his room, he grabbed his backpack and started lacing up his shoes. "Tony?" His mother stood up, holding her arm. He continued, walking into the kitchen briefly to grab an apple. "Tony, what are you doing, baby?"
Tony continued to ignore her, shoving the apple in his bag and stepping to the door. His father spoke up now. "Son, come back here."
He opened the deadbolt and stepped out into the driveway, slamming the door behind him.
"Tony!"
Damn it!
Steve threw another crumpled sheet of paper at the ground. The chords, the lyrics, the rhythm. They just didn't fit. His floor was covered in crushed sheets of paper, broken pencils, and emptied soda bottles. When he wasn't at school, with Tony or Pete, or playing baseball, he was writing. Or trying to, at least.
"I'm holding out ... No, no. I'm crying out. I can't ... I can't see you? No, that's stupid."
How could he possibly lack inspiration?
Steve smothered his face in , guitar laying neatly beside him. Once he was unable to breathe, he lifted his face, hugging the pillow tightly to his chest. His fan caused a paper to blow onto his bed. He grabbed it, examining the words on the pink sheet. It was a flyer Tony had handed him over a week ago.
"Hey, have you seen this?" Tony had asked, handing the fluorescent printer paper to Steve.
"No, what is it?"
"It's like a talent show/concert thing in town, I guess. You should sign up!" Steve examined the paper closer.
"It says original music only," he said, trying to hand the flyer back.
"So what? You can write a song. And you can dedicate it to me," Tony smirked at him, pushing the flyer back at him. Peter had come into the conversation then. "Yeah, Steve! Go for it," he winked.
"Okay, okay, " Steve smiled, giving into the pleasant peer pressure and shoving the paper into his bag.
It honestly seemed easier at the time.
Rogers crumpled up yet another scrap of sheet music, littering his floor once more. He sighed, rubbing his face and ruffling his hair. A knock on the door resonated from the living room. "Steve, can you get that, please? I'm doing my makeup," his mother called out from her bedroom.
"Sure," he said, placing his guitar by his bed and maneuvering around the sea of wadded paper. He pulled the door open, only to see Tony with his backpack. "Hey," Stark said, greeting Steve with a brief wave.
"Hey, what's up?" he said slowly, obviously confused by Tony's presence.
"Can I ... er... stay here for a couple nights?
"Um. Come in," he said, watching Tony walk to his room.
"Who was it, Steve?" his mother called. Steve stepped into his mother's doorway, leaning on the post. "It's Tony. Could he possibly stay here a couple of nights?"
"During the school week ...?" she asked skeptically, looking at him in her mirror.
"Homework will be done, I swear."
"And I don't want any late nights. In bed by 10:30. And my house had better be -"
"Spotless," Steve smiled, kissing his mother on the cheek. "Thanks, Mom. Have a good night at work!"
Steve hurried into his bedroom, seeing that Tony was spinning around in his desk chair, unwadding and rewadding the paper scattered around his room. He plucked the paper Stark was holding and tossed it back to it's rightful place; the ground. "So... What's going on?"
"It's not a big deal, I just got into a fight with my parents," he said, not looking Steve in the eyes.
"Your parents?"
"My dad, rather. He wanted to ground for for a month," Tony uttered with a sigh and a complimentary eye roll.
"Well, that's not so bad," Steve said.
"No TV, no Internet, no cell. Not allowed to go anywhere but school and my room. And ..."
"And?"
"And he didn't want me to see you anymore," Tony twitched. He grabbed the apple out of his bag, taking a bite out of it slowly. "What?" Steve asked, honestly a little shocked. The couple of times he had met Howard and Maria Stark, he felt like they genuinely liked him. He had even managed to make Howard smile at him a couple of times, which was apparently hard to do when you're Tony's friend. "Why not?" he asked.
"He was bitching me out about the newspapers," Tony grumbled.
"And he was angry about you being gay," he guessed.
"More so about it being in the papers, but yeah."
There was a pause.
"So here I am," Stark smiled weakly. Steve inhaled deeply, falling back back onto his bed. "What's your plan?"
"I don't really have one," he said, spinning the desk chair quickly, " I just really want to be able to see you."
Steve's heart fluttered in his chest.
"Because, at this point," Tony continued, coming to a slow stop, "I don't know if I could go on just seeing your face twice per school day. I can't really live without you."
"And to think; of all the people you could be saying this to, it's me, right now, "Steve said as Tony snorted.
"I think you're missing the point, Steve. See, it's not when or who or what I'm saying. When you think about it, there's only one question that really matters. It's 'why?'"
"That is probably the most brilliant think I've ever heard you say," Steve laughed.
"And right on the spot, too! Sometimes I astound even myself."
"So," Steve trailed off for a second.
"Hm?" Tony closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat.
"Why?"
Tony seemed to think about his question for a while, the two of them sitting in complete silence, aside from the fan that hummed on Steve's desk. Finally, he opened his eyes. " You know, you got me on this one. But I have an idea."
"Yeah?" Steve ran his fingers through his hair.
"I will give you one reason every day for 100 days if, and ONLY if," Tony picked up a ball of paper and tossed it to him, " you finish my song."
Steve smiled, "Sure."
"AND," he stood up, taking the pink flyer from the bed, "You have to perform it."
"You got it," Rogers laughed.
Steve was scribbling notes when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He slipped it out and set it in his lap, glancing at the message as he continued to work out some Trigonometry.
TONY(7:53): Reason #1: You have the best eyes. It pisses me off sometimes.
"Rogers, put away your cell phone."
"Yes, sir," Steve said, nervously sliding the phone into his pocket.
