Again with the Potter thing. It would be annoying if it wasn't so weird.
"I'm not... it's me, Mr Stark. It's Peter!"
There had to be an easier way to do this. Perhaps he'd be able to think of it if he wasn't so stuck on the fact that he'd just bumped into Tony Stark, walking casually down the street like it was any other day. Mr Stark, whose funeral Peter had attended a year ago. Mr Stark, who he had missed every day since. Peter's heart was doing a weird tap-tappity-tap thing against his ribs, his stomach suddenly doing backflips. An ache, the one he knew all too well by now, was starting to bloom deep in his chest.
"You're not going to -" he started. "Look, I climbed through a window and then I was in Cardiff, right? And this Wizard was all 'Mr Potter, are you alright?' and I was like, 'who's Mr Potter?' And then - oh my god," Despite his very real intentions of being normal and not a complete idiot, Peter's hand had reached out of it's own accord and prodded Tony quite hard in the chest. "You're here. Like really - wait."
Something had just occurred to him, and the teenager looked sharply back up into the older man's face. What if this wasn't his Mr Stark? If Peter knew anything these days, it was that there was no guarantee that the people you met in alternative universes were who you thought they were.