Tony liked it. The sand. The sun. The waves. It reminded him of simpler times, back in California when all he'd had to do was leave his house and there'd been the beach. When he'd been younger, he'd actually made time to go visit it, to sit close enough to let the water lap at his ankles and just .... have time to think without stress.
That'd been a long, long time ago though. Before Afghanistan and Obie, before breathing had been difficult. Before Iron Man and the Avengers. Before Steve and Peter and Thanos.
As wrong as it felt to be enjoying himself on a beach, tasting the water from a coconut -- it was messy, slipping down the sides of his mouth and down his neck before he gave up with a rueful expression -- he sort of wished he could keep this. With Steve.
He ducked his head down slightly at the compliment, the praise that sat low in his stomach and burned hot there. "I'm not sure it should have been me," he admitted, leaning in closer, because Tony had never been good at taking that praise, no matter how much he thrived on it.