Happy New Year, everyone! Hope you enjoy.

(This fic is intended to be read as a stand-alone, although it's in the same universe as Do Not Steal Steve's Fricken Pencils.)

Steve fricken hates Pepper Potts.

Pepper Potts is in the year above, and she's tall and beautiful and has shiny strawberry blonde hair and freckles. She's kind and nice and smart and Steve hates her. He HATES her.

'Pepper's so awesome, don't you think?' Tony says dreamily, and Steve feels like something's tearing and ripping inside his chest. Tony – Tony's watching stupid Pepper Potts, and there's a dazed look on his face, and he's forgotten his lunch. It's lying in his lap, unopened.

'Eat your lunch,' Steve says shortly, and Tony looks down at his lap, surprised.

'Oh,' he says. Then he looks back up to watch Pepper cross the playground, and Steve hasn't finished his sausage roll but he's had enough. He scrunches his paper bag viciously, jumping to his feet and pitching the rubbish into the bin with unnecessary force.

'Steve?' Tony says uncertainly. 'Steve, where are you – what are you doing?'

'Playin' ball,' Steve says haughtily, 'an' you can stay here.'

He hears Tony make a tiny, wounded, hitching noise in his throat, but he doesn't fricken care, Tony can fricken stay and watch fricken Pepper Potts and FORGET all about Steve. Who cares! Tony is dumb anyway.

Except.

Except Tony is really not dumb, Tony is real great and kind and smart and knows how to make all kinds of stuff, and his hair is soft and curly, and Steve always likes the way Tony looks at him with big brown eyes, like Bambi in that baby movie, when he thinks Steve's cool. Steve likes everything about Tony, really, that's why they're best friends.

But now Tony likes stupid Pepper Potts better than Steve, and it sucks and Steve hates everything.

Steve plays ball. Steve plays ball hard and fast and he headbutts people and pretends they're stupid fricken Pepper Potts.

But there is a stupid, stupid reason why Steve doesn't usually play ball. Because Steve gets asthma. Steve gets really bad, bad, bad asthma.

And Steve collapses on the grass.

The next few minutes are blurry and confused, with pain in his chest and wheezing and gasping for breath. The yard duty teacher's rummaging for his puffer and someone's grabbing his hand, and someone else is running for the First Aid lady and then someone's helping him take puffs of Ventolin and hold them in; and slowly the tight bands around his lungs ease up.

When he struggles his eyes open, the first person he sees is Tony, white faced and looking terrified, hanging on to Steve's hand despite the teacher's efforts to guide him away. Tony needs a hug, Steve can see that clearly, but he's dizzy and helpless and he can't hold himself upright.

And then Tony starts crying, CRYING, tears rolling down his cheeks, and that's unacceptable, Tony must be looked after so he doesn't cry, and Steve'd been mean to Tony. Stupid, stupid Steve, he'd made Tony cry.

Steve hauls in a big ragged breath. 'S'rry,' he wheezes, 'm'sorry, was mean, won't – again.'

But Tony puts his head down and presses it into Steve's side, crying with big choking sobs pressed into Steve's shirt. Steve looks down at him worriedly, because he doesn't know quite what to do to comfort him. He reaches out weakly to touch Tony's silky curls, stroking them with a wobbly hand, and that seems to help, because Tony's sobbing calms and he presses his head into Steve's hand.

'Sorry,' Steve says again, quietly. His throat feels raw and his chest aches. But he has to tell Tony something, and he closes his eyes and doesn't look at him. 'I – I don't care if y'like – Pepper Potts better. It's okay.' There. He said it.

'I – better?' Tony says after a moment. He sounds astonished. 'Better than you?' And then he puts his head down softly against Steve's side again, butting gently.

He doesn't say anything else for a while, and Steve turns his head worriedly on the grass. 'Sorry,' he says again, and his voice sounds stupid and small and miserable.

'You're so stupid,' Tony says suddenly and fiercely, putting his head up and glaring at Steve. It's so unexpected that Steve's mouth opens but no sound comes out, and he stares at Tony in surprise. Tony's face is bright pink and sort of angry, and his eyes are dark black and snapping, and this thing happens to Steve sometimes when Tony looks right at him – this thing where his heart starts thumping hard and fast and his ears go hot and he can't seem to talk properly. It's a bit like an asthma attack, but inside his – stomach, or something.

'Stupid, stupid, stupid,' Tony's muttering crossly, still glaring. And Steve looks at him unhappily, and Tony seems to deflate, all the anger going out of him. 'Of course I like you best,' he says quietly, and his eyes are big and soft again and his eyelashes are long and curly and still damp with tears. He gives Steve's shoulder a soft little pat, and Steve sighs out in wobbly relief. He gives Tony a tentative smile, and Tony sniffles happily and squeezes Steve's hand.

Mom works late on Thursdays, but she's got an arrangement with Mr Karolidis in the next apartment, so Steve always goes there and spreads his homework on Mr Karolidis's battered wood table and gets fed butter biscuits and pie with apricots. Mr Karolidis is old, very old, with thick, peppery grey-white hair and bushy eyebrows above bright brown eyes.

There is a Mrs Karolidis, too, but she is very tired and sick. She lies in her bed and sleeps, rousing a little to smile softly and drowsily at her husband when he goes to sit beside her and squeezes her hand. She doesn't remember some things, like who Steve is, or that she's not still living in Greece, but she remembers Mr Karolidis. It makes Steve feel sad and screwed up tight inside, sometimes, and he doesn't really know why.

But today he has something particular to ask Mr Karolidis, something he wants to do to say sorry to Tony for being mean and making him cry. He waits until he's sitting at the table holding his glass of milk. (Mr Karolidis is very big on feeding Steve milk. He says it will help Steve to grow up big and strong, and Steve's still faintly hoping he's right.)

'Can you help me make a cupcake?' Steve asks abruptly, and then adds, 'Please.'

Mr Karolidis looks at him sharply from under his bushy, bushy eyebrows. 'Ah, a cupcake!' he says. 'A cupcake, hm.' He has a pink flowery tea towel over his shoulder. Steve watches him levelly, and Mr Karolidis watches right back with a little quirk forming at the leathery corner of his mouth. 'For a special girlfriend, maybe?' he adds inquisitively, and Steve feels suddenly hot all over, hot and worried and defensive.

'No! It's not – ! It's a boy!' he blurts before he can stop himself, and his face is going red, he can feel it, and he glares at Mr Karolidis under his own brows, because Mr Karolidis doesn't understand. It's Tony, that's who the cupcake is for, and Tony is – Tony is different – but, but Steve doesn't have a girlfriend. He doesn't want one!

He doesn't know why his face is so hot, or why he feels so ashamed and worried; it's too dumb and too confusing and he doesn't want to think about it. So he hunches down over his milk and glares at it and swirls the glass around so that the milk makes a funnel and spills onto the scratched wood.

'Ah,' says Mr Karolidis, but he doesn't seem to be talking about the milk. He's still leaning against the countertop, and his face looks very kind all of a sudden, when Steve sneaks an anxious little glance. He doesn't say anything for a moment after that, but then he flicks the tea towel off his shoulder and folds it with a flourish. 'Well, cupcakes! Let's see then,' and he goes to the pantry to find some ingredients.

Mr Karolidis is a good teacher. He shows Steve how to measure out the flour and sugar, and break the eggshells with a single tap, not too hard and not too soft. Steve is good with his hands, and he's done some cooking before, so it's fun.

Mr Karolidis is telling him about his granddaughter Natalia, who goes to the uni and is learning how to be a doctor. Steve's heard bits about her before, bits about all of Mr Karolidis's family, but this time, it's all about Natalia. Natalia is a good girl, he says enthusiastically, a good girl who works hard! He's proud of her.

'Best doctor ever,' he says firmly. 'She's going to be the best. Lives with her girlfriend, nice girl too. They got lots of cats. Five! Five cats!'

Steve glances at him very quickly, then looks back at the batter he's spooning into a cupcake case. 'Her girlfriend,' he says under his breath.

Mr Karolidis nods, eyes bright. 'Very nice girl! Lauren, that's her name. They're gonna get married, two years, three? I said to Natalia, I'll walk you down the aisle. Her good-for-nothing father, he won't do it, but I'm her pappouli. I'll walk my granddaughter down the aisle. Me and the cats.'

Steve smiles just a little bit, down at the batter. 'Yeah,' he says quietly, and Mr Karolidis's hand comes and rests on his shoulder for moment, warm and reassuring.

'Okay, okay,' he says, 'now! Cakes cook in the cups, and we make icing. What's your boy's favourite colour?'

Tony loves the bright red cupcake, even before he tastes it. Steve can tell because of the way his eyes go round and wondrous when Steve offers it to him. And Steve looks at Tony's long pretty eyelashes and his big brown eyes and his pink mouth, and for some reason he thinks about Mr Karolidis's granddaughter.

'Made it for you,' he says gruffly, and Tony looks at him. He's got two little dimples that keep appearing at the corners of his mouth, and Steve thinks that he has never seen anyone with such pretty dimples as Tony has. It's funny.

'Really?' Tony says softly. 'You – you made it? For me?' His eyes are shining in the most beautiful way, looking right at Steve; and Steve can't help smiling back, a little.

'Yeah,' he shrugs, because he doesn't want to look stupid, like – like as though he was trying too hard. But it doesn't seem to really matter, because Tony looks so happy, so Steve must've done the right thing. It feels good.

Steve tells Mr Karolidis that Tony liked the cupcake, and Mr Karolidis slaps his hands on the counter delightedly. 'Good,' he says, 'that's good, Steven!'

Before Steve goes back home, Mr Karolidis rests his hand lightly on his back. 'Come talk with me,' he says quietly. 'If you need. I'm here, you remember that. Okay?'

'Yeah,' Steve says, and he means it. Mr Karolidis is a pretty cool guy.

(Steve doesn't hate Pepper Potts quite so much any more. Tony seems to have forgotten about Pepper, and Tony is Steve's best friend, after all. Nothing can beat that.)

There should be quite a long chapter of Do Not Steal Steve's Fricken Pencils coming very soon. Sorry about the wait, everyone, I've had an awful lot going on in real life, good and bad.

Come follow me at greymantledlady dot tumblr dot com if you want more fluffy Steve/Tony ficlets. :)