Chapter Text
Eli Stark lived in the house, but sometimes, it didn’t feel like he did.
He stood in the garden, hands buried in his pockets, eyes trained on the dining room window. Inside, warm light bathed the walls in gold. The table was set, plates arranged neatly, wine poured into delicate glasses. Tony was talking, gesturing animatedly, his face lit up with something Eli couldn’t quite place. Pepper leaned in, smiling, saying something that made Tony laugh, and Morgan—God, Morgan—kicked her legs under the table, swinging them back and forth as she chattered between bites.
Eli had a seat in there. He knew that. His chair was tucked between Morgan’s and Pepper’s, his plate waiting, his portion already served.
But still, he hesitated.
He wasn’t sure why. He lived here. He belonged here. He wasn’t the kid left out in the cold anymore, but some old part of him—some raw, aching part—hadn’t gotten the memo.
He shifted on his feet, staring at the scene through the window. He bet Tony had grown up eating at the table like this. He bet Pepper had too. He bet they’d both been fed love from silver spoons, been asked about their day, been taught how to belong. Maybe that’s why it was so effortless for them now. Maybe that’s why he felt like an imposter in his own home.
His stomach twisted. He should go inside.
He should just walk through the damn door.
The back door creaked open before he could make up his mind. Eli startled, turning to find Tony stepping outside, barefoot, wine glass in hand.
“Some habit you’ve got there,” Tony said, voice mild but knowing.
Eli exhaled sharply, looking away. “You always drink alone?”
Tony smirked, swirling the wine in his glass. “Who said I was alone?”
Eli’s throat tightened.
Tony took a slow sip, gaze flicking toward the house. “You coming in?”
Eli hesitated. He wanted to. He wanted to go inside, sit in his chair, eat his food, listen to Morgan’s stories and Pepper’s soft laughter and Tony’s offhand remarks. He wanted to belong in the warmth, instead of hovering just outside of it.
But his feet wouldn’t move.
“I—” Eli swallowed hard. “I should go.”
Tony’s expression flickered. “Eli—”
“Tell Morgan I said hi,” Eli muttered, stepping back, further into the dark.
Tony didn’t stop him. He never did. Maybe he thought Eli would come in when he was ready. Maybe he thought that, one day, Eli would sit at the table without hesitation.
But Eli knew better.
This was as close as he’d ever get.
Eli didn’t go far. He never did. Instead, he sat on the edge of the garden wall, staring at the distant city skyline, the hum of traffic a dull murmur in the background. The cold bit at his skin, but he barely felt it.
He thought about his childhood. Not the kind with scraped knees and warm meals, but the kind where the silence was too loud, where dinner was whatever he could make himself, where love was a thing he watched other people have. He had never known what it was like to be asked about his day and have it mean something.
And now? Now he had all of that, but he didn’t know how to take it.
Tony had left the back door open. Eli could hear Morgan’s laughter from inside, could hear Pepper’s voice, warm and gentle, could hear the clatter of plates being cleared. It was an invitation, an unspoken one. He could walk in at any time.
He closed his eyes.
Maybe next time.