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It’s a lie, Tony thinks—the way that Steve looks at him, the way Bucky kisses him.
It’s a lie, it must be, because if it’s not…
If it’s not then somehow he’s managed to stumble his way into a relationship with the two men he admires the most outside of Rhodey, and he just doesn’t know how to deal with that.
He sits in the chair tucked into the corner of his room, watching Steve and Bucky sleep in his bed contemplating all the ways a lie isn’t a lie, if what’s happening here can actually be the truth, and if it is, if he can possibly trust it.
He watches them over days, weeks—trying to find the lie, testing for it in every kiss and touch, wondering if his embraces are a lie with all this mess swirling around in his head.
“I’m fine,” he lies with a smile when they ask, his kisses earnest.
“I’m happy,” he lies when Bucky asks how he is, lips on Tony’s throat.
“I’m yours,” he lies when Steve is inside him and Bucky is pressed against him.
When is a lie not a lie? When he can finally allow himself to believe it.