Tony finds the picture in a box that used to live in a forgotten corner of Bruce’s basement, and proceeds to dance around the living room, waving it. “Look! Look! You were young and edible and not in a ‘hot up-and-coming physicist’ way. You were young and edible in a totally indecent, naughty-magazine way!”
“Tony,” Bruce sighs, and holds his hand out for the picture.
“Nope,” Tony retorts, and slips out of his reach. The dogs follow, bounding around him like wild animals dancing to a satyr’s wood flute. ”Nope, see, I’m keeping this. I’m keeping this and displaying it so everyone knows that you were once young and thoroughly hot.”
Bruce raises an eyebrow.
“Differently hot,” Tony amends, waving a hand. “Untouched, blushing-virgin hot. Not older-but-wiser, gray-around-the-edges, soft-in-the-best-places hot.”
“Ew,” Miles observes without looking away from his video game.
Tony grins, and Bruce knows he’s lost.
(Later, Miles tips his head at the photograph that’s now hung on the refrigerator with a strange expression. ”You do look young,” he says.
Bruce snorts. ”Thanks.”
“No, I mean, you look— Not like you.” Bruce pauses as he pours his tea and looks over; Miles shrugs. ”You look like a guy, there,” he decides, and Bruce continues to watch him. ”You look like Bruce now.”
“Thanks,” Bruce says again.
“No, I—”
“No,” Bruce says, and he smiles. ”Thanks.”)