Summer bleeds into fall and Tony watches the leaves turn, crisping as the air cools, the rolling mountains in the distance coppery in the sunlight.
When he stands on his back porch and looks out at the lake in the morning he imagines watching Steve see this view for the first time—eyes going wide at the light filtering through the forest, the gleam of the lake in the distance, the trees afire with color.
He does this more—thinks about Steve, wonders if he thinks about Tony too—or maybe his new boyfriend takes up all his thoughts.
The coffee in his mug abruptly tastes bitter and he scowls at it, flicking the lukewarm liquid out with a snap of his wrist that sends it sailing over the edge of the porch.
He has more important things to do than mull over what Steve Rogers and his boyfriend are getting up to.
