(English isn't my primary language, so I tryed to translate my mini-long. I Really hope it's understandable. If you have any advace, please let me know! I'm ready to improve myself alway <3)

You have been swept away; your body disintegrated into a thousand small pieces impossible to reassemble, letting the void take your place and never return again.

He is there, in front of the coffee machine, and it is days that you wonder if you would have ever met him, yet despite having no doubt, you almost hoped it would not happen.

Hands in his pockets, a white T-shirt of A Clockwork Orange , a red checked shirt to make him a jacket, the absorbed and unconscious expression of a teenager with too many things to think about, waiting for his drink to be dispensed.

"Tony?", you ask uncertainly, and he turns to look at you and raises an eyebrow. As always, as usual, as if it were the switch that raises a wall of defense.

Hold your breath. You should not have done it, Peter .

"Have we ever met before?".

Is He asking if you know him? What an idiot question, to be honest.

"No, you do not know me yet," you say. You smile. You wouldn't want to but you do it. It's stronger than you.

You disappeared and you reappeared, in a world where people are dressed like Aunt May in the photos of when she was young. Where the Avengers do not exist, yet, where you were not born and where Tony, by a twist of fate, is your age or maybe a little more.

Funny, ridiculous .

A snap of fingers has separated you from him, and now you have it in front of you rejuvenated for a lifetime.

It makes no sense, it almost makes you laugh, if it's not that you're not understanding anything, what's going on.

They told you, the S.H.I.E.L.D. - after they found you in a cloud of radiation and they studied you as if you were an alien just landed on earth - that what happened is a temporal paradox; that you're not dead, you've only been moved to a different time, as if you had parked waiting to go home.

In short, you are in the past and you have no idea how it is possible but, after all, since that spider bites you, it is difficult for something to surprise you again.

There is only to be patience, they told you; that you just have to take care not to say too much about yourself, because the less they know about the future, the better it will be for everyone.

Even a single misstep can change the fate of the future from where you come from.

Or, as you prefer to call it: your present.

In this reality, Tony Stark is not one anyone.

He is the bored and silent son of a man who is unloved, who builds arms and sells them, who works with those people only because it is better to have him as an ally rather than an enemy.

Tony runs for S.H.I.E.L.D. from time to time; he returns from school and does not know what to do and you ... you could not help but call him by name, when you crossed him through the corridors and you recognized him.

Short hair, not even half a trace of a beard. It's the features that betray him, like his long eyelashes and his chestnut-colored eyes that burn with the light you could never recognize, when it shines like that.

"Ah, you must be that guy comes from the future. Or so you say. My father talked about it recently with colleagues ".

He says bored. Not from you, but from life.

It seems devoid of stimulation, devoid of dreams, does not even seem the same person you know in your present.

You miss your Tony, and that one you have in front of you is unjustly permeated by an inconsistent desire to live, soiled by a strong dissatisfaction in the face, disguised as arrogance.

Not so different from the man who will be, but not even the same.

"So you know me. In the future,I mean", he continues and you can not talk about it. You can not say anything. You curse yourself for calling him but it was so instinctive, so much that you wonder how you could not do it.

"Just ... of sight," you whisper, carrying a lock of hair behind your ear, in a gesture that reveals the fact that you're lying, "I can not say much more. You know, I don't want to ch- "

"Change the course of events, I guess" he interrupts, sighing and looking up at the sky. Perhaps considering that fact unjust; perhaps only because he finds it ridiculous.

You nod, because you want to leave. You have to go away. Move away before doing damage, before falling in love with him once again.

Tony stays still and you overcome him. You're safe, Peter. You are safe. A few more steps, despite his gaze on you, he is studying you without respite, and will pass. This too will pass.

"Peter?".

He just opened his mouth and you seemed to receive a shot in the middle of the shoulder blades.

You block yourself. You do not even look at him. Close your eyes and you're feeling like you're dying.

Would you like to dissolve, once again, this time forever and pretend that it did not do so badly.

"It's your name, is not it? I heard it around. The boy of the future, his name is Peter , they said. "

Stay still, assimilate those words with the only awareness that you should not have turned around; not with that smile, then. You should not have spoken to him the sweetest tone in the world, and despite the abysmal difference from Tony Stark of this present and that of yours, it makes you palpitate the same and your heart is his again. Perhaps it is only the fault of the idea of ​​what it will become.

Of what you will become.

Hey, do you know that love binds us, in my present? , you would like to tell him and luckily you do not.

"Yes, that's my name," and maybe I should have even lied about the name., you think.

"See you around then, Peter," he says simply, and raises a hand to greet you.

I hope not, you think, but not for real.

"Yes, see you around."

...

You have stopped strolling around the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters just because you have a boundless fear of meeting him. And although you feel the desire to do it, you also know it's wrong. Totally.

deleterious; exhausting. For both.

You saw him again just a couple more times, maybe three, slipping away from his looks and the questions that vibrated between his lips, and you ran away stopping in the bud that his attempt to give it to you.

You tried to eclipse, not to go out too often from the room that you have assigned, where sometimes someone comes to ask you some questions, sometimes personal, sometimes medical.

You just decided to talk as little as possible and spend your time alone, reading books and listening to music.

And you wait. You wait to go back, and that's it and you're definitely a landslide to wait. You've always been.

Then they knock at the door, and it is definitely the umpteenth medical team that came to interview you, in order to understand who the hell you are.

You open the door and Tony smiles and you feel trapped.

A smile that says you can not escape forever, Peter.

Please do not do it ... , you would like to tell him.

He is holding a pile of clothes; pants, shirts and a red hooded sweatshirt and other things that you can not recognize at first glance.

He does not say hello. No need. Just like in your present.

A glance is enough, and nothing more. It always worked like that with him.

"You need new clothes, they told me. So they even thought to ask me to lend you mine. Sometimes they also have some brilliant ideas".

It's absurd how certain ordinary things fuck you from inside, and you feel like dying as if those words had pinned you with the sole intent of hurting you.

Only God knows how many times you have worn his clothes, wrapped up in the scent of his cologne - Who knows how many you have changed, over time ... What you are wearing now is still different, but so yours -; how many times have you slept with his shirts on and how many times he have slipped away from you to make you wear only his skin.

You have a chill and close your eyes. There is something terribly erotic in those images that pass you in front of you, and something far too innocent in his propose to lend you some clothes.

"Thank you," you whisper, and you do not say anything else and take the flashlight that hands you, timidly in your hands.

Tony raises his usual eyebrow, the one that looks more like the trigger of a gun ready to shoot you in the middle of the eyes, then twists lips.

"Our conversations will always be limited only to me talking and you responding with thank you, then later and ... my favorite one: I can not say anything , right?"

He made your imitation, and it's a Tony thing; and now you can not find it funny.

He has no idea how hard it is for you to hold your tongue down when it comes to him, with whom you've always talked about anything, really anything.

Even your most intimate fears. Even the most stupid jokes. Even the most hidden desires.

"I'm sorry ..." you say, and you bite a lip.

"I forgot I'm sorry, " he chuckles, raising his eyebrows, and it's still an attempt to make fun of you, then he sighs and scratches his head, "With the others you look much more comfortable, anyway. What's that? Do I treat you badly in the future? "

"Far from it," you reply lapidary, just because you can not say the opposite.

"So what? We do not have to talk about what you do there ... in your present . There are so many things you can discuss, no? "

You snort, and you raise your eyes to the cealing, but inside you just want him to understand: "Tony, that's not the case. Really. I'm too afraid of having to pay serious consequences ... I do not want to go home and find out that I have cracked something. "

Tony shrugs, puts his hands in the pockets of the blue striped white bomber jacket, and seems to have taken the matter too lightly.

Or, as always, he's pretending to be like that.

"I do not see anything wrong with having a chat, and it would not hurt you to get out of this prison a little."

"I'm trying not to pollute your reality, and mine too. They told me to do like this and I will do it. Do you think I would like to stay here, waiting to come back to my present, without interacting with anyone? Just ... I have to, " you whisper and have already exposed yourself too much, for your tastes.

"You do not have to, you just have to be careful!" He blurts out, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Just because, as always, he does not know what it means to be on the other side.

He always succeeds, identifying himself in others, and you do not have to admit it.

"It's obvious that you do not know me yet," you snort, amused, finally. "I am a kind of irrepressible disaster. I would be able to create trouble even while standing still ".

"Oh, now I understand why we get along so well, in the future. We are not so different, "he sneers, with his arrogant way of doing that always hides a deep sweetness and care, at least to you.

You can not help but smile, but lower your head, because you do not want to expose more.

"Please, Peter ..." he tells you and seems to hesitate for a damn moment and, for your misfortune, that hesitation disappears in a flash. You raise your eyes on his, he smiles at you, because he knows he's caught your attention, "you do not even know how long you'll have to stay here.You do not even know if you'll come back! "

"I will return! Of course I'll be back! ", You say, annoyed, and you feel the lump in your throat blocking your breath. He seems to regret having said it, and takes a step back, metaphorically and one forward, a true one.

"Of course you'll come back but ... it could happen in a long time. You can not just wait for it. "

"I have no other choice," syllables.

One more step forward, the left hand trembling. As always. As he does every time he is nervous about something he wants to change but who knows he has to fight to do it.

"Yes, you have it! Come on, Peter! Let's try to do something and if you do not feel sure, I swear I'll disappear from your life for the next thirty years. "

He smiles. It displaces you.

You can not help doing it too. Because as always he is fighting to have you on his side, even there, even in that distant past.

How can you say no? How do you say no to someone you love so much that you do not find the somatic traits so different from those you're used to seeing usually so disturbing?

How can you not crave his company as he wants yours?

"Why exactly with me? Why me?" You say, even if you know the answer, even if you know that accepting means ending up in a lot of trouble.

He shrugs; his feigned indifference enchants you as always, because you know how much time he has lost, to mull over it.

As if he had thrown it there, but it is not like that.

Puffs amused: "Because you're not so bad".