Chapter Text
Tony is in hell.
It’s just before second bell and he’s already curled in his seat, facing away from the window so as not to throw up, his head throbbing rhythmically. Throughout first period Mrs Verton has been shooting him dirty glances, but second period Mr Benjamin just doesn’t seem to care, and for that he thanks God.
Speaking of dirty glances, Hammer has got some pretty impressive ones coming his way at the moment. Tony wracks his brain for a reason but comes up empty, so he resumes staring at the wall, feeling the weight of Justin’s glare on the back of his neck. He doesn’t know it personally, but he’s heard of stares so full of hatred it makes your tench clench involuntarily.
Now what’s he done this time?
Not his most pressing problem at the moment. He has a killer headache and his vision is blurry. Probably - definitely shouldn’t have slept through that concussion.
“Psst,” someone hisses and his head pounds . Wincing, he reaches over and accepts the paper passed to him and opens it, forcing his shaking hands to be still. Thankfully he can feel no more eyes on him as he focuses his bleary eyes on the words.
you OK? -M.
It’s ridiculous how the three words make Tony’s face light up and he stares resolutely at the table as he feels blood rushing to his cheeks. He can only pray nobody is looking or him and nobody will find out. He glances up briefly and catches sight of Matthew looking at him. He nods a timid yes and Matt winks at him, which doesn’t help the state of his face.
It’s the 16th of December, which is bad news all around. It’s snowing, it’s cold, and Tony’s Mama died this day, last year. Matt’s always teased Tony about calling his mother Mama , he’s fifteen already, old enough to do all the house matters and to hold his own in a street fight, but Mama sounds so much more intimate than Mum or anything else and he loves it, loves her and wishes he didn’t sound so pathetic when he calls for her.
It’s the 16th of December, and Mr. Stark will be in a shitty mood.
Tony curls more firmly around himself, absently rubbing at an old bruise, twistedly enjoying the persistent ache. He feels another pair of eyes on him and turns slowly to acknowledge Clint Barton’s pale blue gaze. He considers sticking his middle finger out, but then again he doesn’t want to get on the wrong side of Clint and his gang. Not just because Steve and Thor, buff and blonde honchos, are more than capable of making him miserable (anyone on their team could, really, even - no, especially the redhead Natasha), but also because he has the most embarrassing friend crush on all of them.
He’s not ungrateful, he tries not to be, he has Matt and Ezekiel and he loves them, he really does. But he can’t help daydreaming about what it’d be like to have a group as close-knit as theirs; attending sleepovers twice a month at Natasha’s place, waking up to Clint’s prank calls, sciencing with Bruce, eating Steve’s homemade breakfasts, cleaning up Thor’s messes while laughing, going for study sessions every other day. Not exactly a crush, but close enough.
Happily for him, his dreams have already been shattered, last semester when Bucky caught him talking to Bruce in Lab lesson and just about slammed him into the wall so hard he bitten his lip bloody.
The bell rings and his thoughts are abruptly cut off in favour of clamping his hands over his sensitive ears.
“What’s your problem, man?”
Clint looks up as Natasha shoves her bag at him and kicks her chair out from under the table. “What’s bugging you?” she clarifies, sitting down and leaning forward.
He steals a quick kiss and she huffs fondly, flicking his cheek. “Stark’s bothering me,” he says, nudging her foot under the table.
He has to fight not to visibly recoil as storms start brewing in Nat’s eyes. “He’s bothering you?”
“No, no! He didn’t do anything specifically to me, he just… puzzles me.”
Nat sits back, instantly going into relaxed mode, obviously having lost interest. But that’s not all, he needs her input on this.
“Throughout first and second bell he’s been doing nothing but drifting off. It’s like he’s never had a decent good night’s sleep in his life.”
“Isn’t that normal? Sleeping in class?” Natasha lifts a delicately curved eyebrow.
“Hasn’t snarked at the teacher all day, hasn’t shown any attitude, hasn’t been obnoxiously belittling everyone at all.” Clint chews on his lip. It’s his first term having lessons with Stark, considering that Stark just transferred in. He used to be in a “normal college”, apparently, obviously some private school designated for rich boys until he was deemed “too intelligent” and changed to S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint fucking hates him.
“Hm,” Nat looks at him, eyes dull. “Well, I highly doubt he’s changing his ways, Clinton.”
“Greetings, my friends!” Thor exclaimed from behind Nat, ending their current conversation at once. “Shall we set upon our journey to observe the glorious match featuring the ball of foot that is taking place in the yard of court?”
Clint’s proud that he can tell when Thor is screwing with them, when he’s not confused at all but just playing a part. “Sure thing, big guy.”
Tony toys with the idea of telling Matt once again as he heads home, and once again settles on a ‘no’. He knows he’s a coward, but he can’t afford to lose Matt. He know Matt will understand, but he doesn’t think Matt will look at him in the same way, amazing as Matt is and always will be.
The door is locked when he reaches the front gate, so he circles to the back and climbs onto the shed to reach his window with the pipes. Then he pulls out his homework folder and prays he can finish it before Mr. Stark comes home.
He’s only halfway through his Math when the front door swings open and his blood turns to ice in his veins. Quickly he locks his window and runs to the bathroom to check his face. He looks okay but he knows he won’t after this. And he’s terrified.