- Hiraeth -

... One ...

Matcha -

Dreary didn't even begin to describe the day. Clouds rolled overhead, thunder rumbling in the not-so-distant distance. To put it lightly, a storm was brewing like a fine espresso. Espresso, Tony Stark pondered, sounded like a wonderful pick-me-up. To have a mental map of every coffee shop, be it a chain or a family-owned establishment, in New York would have been impossible for any mere man. Thankfully, a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist had no reason to consider himself bound to the restrictions of the mortal plane. A 90 degree turn on his heel led him in the direction of 'Sunny's Side', a small café that would keep him out of the rain. This was just in time, as the first drops from the engorged clouds had begun spitting onto the pavement.

Upon entering, Tony was pleased to see that there were currently only two other patrons, silently sipping out of ceramic mugs. It dawned on him that the roof of this establishment was made of some sort of tin, and so the rain caused a lovely tink tink tink every time that it struck. Caught in his admiration of this minimalistic atmosphere, Tony had almost forgotten to order. It was only by the deep resonance of an unfamiliar man's voice that Stark was brought back to reality.

"You've been staring at me for six minutes, Mr. Stark. Is there something you wanted to say?"

The question was not asked with curiosity. If anything, there was a hidden meaning behind the words. Something along the lines of 'please don't interact with me.' However, the engineer had never been the best at reading people, so he cleared his throat and straightened up a bit. He took a split second to assess the man before him. He sat at a table in front of a window, a frothy green drink settled into his cup. Around the ceramic curled long, gloved fingers. Gloves... in the middle of August. Tony's brown eyes snapped up, in an instant, to the man's face. His features were rigid, and the harsh bow of his upper lip slanted downward in an impatient scowl. His eyes seemed to be mirror images of the sky, complete with rolling grey storm clouds. His hair was black, pushed backward with streaks of grey at the temples. If Stark had been a weaker person, he would've been intimidated.

"Mr. Stark was my father." Tony corrected, tapping his chin and squinting. "But you knew that. Everyone knows that." His words were highlighted by an eyeroll, knowing that the strange man he was speaking to probably knew him from the media, as most people did. "If you really wanna know, I wasn't looking at you. Don't flatter yourself." Running his fingers through his slightly damp hair, Tony turned around and faced the barista, who began processing his order. He expected the man who he had just been talking with to push the conversation, but he never did. When Tony stole a glance his way, his stormy eyes were focused on the rain outside. It was absolutely pouring out there.

When Stark had paid for his espresso, he held the small mug close to himself, looking around for the perfect seat. He figured that he would be stuck inside the café for a while, and it wouldn't hurt to hunker down for a bit with a man in a cardigan who definitely had more to say than he let on. Sitting down, Anthony felt the air around him tense, and looked up to find a piercing gaze locked onto him.

"You didn't ask to sit here." A gloved hand came to rest on top of its respective cup, effectively blocking any unknown substances and sliding it closer to himself.

"Chill, weirdo." Was all that Tony offered at first, but then he held out his hand in a friendly gesture. "We didn't start off on the right foot. I'm Tony."

"Stephen Strange." Stephen ignored the hand that he had clearly been supposed to shake, and instead raised his cup to his lips. He stopped suddenly, quirking an eyebrow, "Doctor Stephen Strange." before continuing to sip his drink.

Tony brushed his hand off onto his pants with a small, awkward cough. He then folded his hands, placing them upon the table. "I should have recognized you." He sighed, a small smile spreading across his features. "You used to be a big deal, Mr. Neurosurgeon. What happened?"

Stephen looked like he had just taken a shot of lemon juice. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, scrunching his face into a grimace. "That's... Incredibly personal."

"Was it your soulmate?" Ignoring Strange's response, Tony continued to push forward. Personal was just another word for interesting to him, and he really did enjoy hearing other people's stories.

For most of his life, Tony had yearned to find his match. The past few years, he hadn't even been trying. The ordinary hustle and bustle of living as a superhero would suck up anyone's free time. Unless, of course, your superpower happened to be the ability to be in seven different places at once. Seeing other people's hands, proudly boasting various streaks of color, no longer hurt Tony in the way that it used to. It was usually on a person's hand, anyway. Handshakes were the most common way that people found their soulmates. On occasion, you could find folks that had bumped shoulders in the summer, or a man with bright brushstrokes on his cheek, revealing that he had been slapped by his soulmate. Now that would be embarrassing. Stark did seem to get slapped a lot. Not everyone was an adoring fan, but he hoped that his soulmate would be.

Stephen, on the other hand, had never been a fan of the soulmate game. Growing up, he'd seen friend after friend come to him with news of 'guess what! I just found my soulmate!' before gradually beginning to cease talking with him. Strange found other ways to make himself important, by saving lives. When that didn't work out as he had planned, he was nobody. No one cared about him, and that was his worst fear. Learning to overcome that fear in Kamar-Taj only solidified his stance on finding his soulmate. It was dangerously unimportant. A waste of time. "No, it was not. If you'd done all of your homework, you'd know that a car crash left my hands..." he paused, unsure of how to word his sentence so that his voice wouldn't break. "...impaired."

Stark noticed a sadness brewing inside of the other's previously cold gaze. It shocked him a bit, to see another man change so quickly from snark to... grief? Grief over what? The loss of his hands? Then, Tony understood. Stephen grieved the loss of doing what he loved. When Stephen looked Tony in the eyes, the latter noticed that they had somehow become more blue than before. A quick glance outside showed that the rain had stopped, and that the sky was, in fact, a glorious cerulean. "I..." Tony struggled to find apologetic enough words. He had clearly made Strange relive some kind of trauma, something not in the least unfamiliar to the engineer himself. He stood abruptly, banging his hip on the corner of the table. "Ow! Uh, sorry. I didn't mean to..." but he could think of nothing. He hastily grabbed a napkin from the table, scrawling something almost illegible onto it with a pen he always kept in his pocket and sliding it towards the other man before heading out of the door and making his way back to his tower.

Once Tony stark had been completely out of view, Stephen read his note. It contained the words IF YOU WANNA TALK - along with his phone number. Strange pocketed the napkin, never letting his crude façade crack.

The walk back to his compound would have been fine for Tony if a certain 16-year-old hadn't nearly tackled him on his way there. "Mr. Stark!" The boy yelled, flailing his arms wildly. "It happened!" Tony had no time to ask what had happened before Peter Parker was showing him his arm, freshly infused with bursts of red, blue, and a silvery black. Peter had found his soulmate.

Author's note:

If you want more, please tell me! Writing is hard, but I'll do it if you want me to continue!