Miraculously, it wasn't from the front entrance, and thus the garage or the office on most days, that Tony joined him. He came in from the other side of the kitchen, dressed, as ever, in a sharply tailored dark suit and crisp white shirt opened at the collar and, more unusually, no shoes. He probably hadn't even left the penthouse yet that day. He carried his cell phone, though, and empty mug in the other hand that he meant to refill, and stared at the phone's screen as he wandered in to the kitchen and the familiar hum of the open fridge.
He stopped, frozen but for his gaze flicking up to take in the open door, then Steve, then the box. Didn't they have people to do the grocery shopping? "You missed breakfast," Tony commented idly, if a little icily, and continued on his way, as if a statement that hypocritical was barely worth noticing. The last time Tony had made it to breakfast at the Tower was months ago and Steve could have been kind enough to be present for the occasion. Instead he was out getting a box. Tony hovered his hand over the coffee pot, finding it irritatingly cool, and bowed over the counter to rest his elbows and his chin in his hand as he waited for it to warm up again.