There had been one scar in particular, near the bottom of the arc reactor, that Steve hadn’t been able to place. It hadn’t been a gunshot, and it had been closer to a stab wound, but the healing doesn’t match exactly. He still wonders where that’s from.

But Tony’s assurance really isn’t convincing at all, and then he seems uncomfortable even talking about it — and Steve still can’t quite put it together. To him, the scars don’t make Tony ugly, or hideous. They make him strong. So in Steve’s mind, the only reason that Tony could be this uncomfortable, is if he’s embarrassed that he’d gotten those scars in the first place. But that doesn’t feel right either. Tony’s a proud person, but he’s not so proud that he thinks he’s untouchable.

It’s … difficult, how little sense Steve can make out of this, and Tony’s still not looking at him.

“Yeah?” he asks, when Tony says that about his shirts, and a for a moment, he plays along. “Well, I think I’d get jealous, if you really had no problems taking off your shirt.”

But soon enough, that playfulness eases into gentleness, and Steve lifts his hand to slide up against Tony’s cheek. Lightly, he guides Tony back to him, and leans in for a soft kiss. It’s much more chaste than what they’ve gotten used to, especially after what Tony’s showed him, but it’s mean to help soothe Tony more than distract him.

Even when Steve pulls back, he doesn’t go far. Instead, he just leans himself into Tony’s shoulder, and let’s Tony do the same. Together, they make a little arch with, but the important part to Steve is that a position like this still lets them be close, but it doesn’t force any eye contact from Tony.

“Why is it hard to look at me?” he finally asks.