Relationships weren't about being worthy, or even really feeling it sometimes. Tony knew that firsthand; if he waited until he felt like he was good enough for anything, he'd end up dying alone. It was a selfish sort of thought, he figured. But if he was going to die (and he was, eventually, inevitably, probably sooner rather than later if the future panned out like it was meant to) at least he'd do it with those he loved on his mind.
In some past, and some future it was Pepper. And in some ways, it would always be Pepper, even if those ways were complicated and hard to define. But here, right now, it was Steve (and it'd always been Steve, too, in a way). Even though it was practically a known fact, Tony didn't expect to hear it. Didn't expect it to be a spoken truth, at least not right now. Not like this.
It made his heart hurt, the spot in his chest where the arc reactor no longer was ache. "Steve," he murmured, soft, unsure. The hand against his cheek, on the back of his head made him feel a little stupid, a little foolish for having practically climbed Steve like this was going to be some kind of sex marathon instead of something more -- feeling oriented. But it was a little too late to move now without jarring the entire moment.
"You -- don't have to say that." It wasn't necessarily that Tony didn't believe it and it wasn't that he didn't want to hear it. It just felt like it was the timing of things that had prompted Steve to say it. Still, he tipped his head forward slightly, to press his cheek more firmly against Steve's palm. He was here, and that mattered.