Archive of Our Own ^beta

Peter had been cleaning out one of the spare rooms in the Avengers Tower—a cluttered space filled with old tech, crates of gadgets, and boxes labeled “Tony’s Miscellaneous Stuff (Do Not Touch).” Dust coated everything like a forgotten memory, but Peter needed a quiet place to think, away from the chaos of his world.

That’s when he spotted it: a thick, leather-bound photo album, wedged between two large cases beneath a pile of discarded armor pieces. Curious, Peter pulled it free, careful with its worn edges.

Opening the album, his breath caught.

These weren’t the polished pictures the press or the team shared. These were candid moments — snapshots Tony had taken when he thought no one was watching.

There was Peter laughing mid-joke, sunlight catching the freckles on his cheek, eyes sparkling with pure joy.

Another showed Peter crouched on a rooftop at dawn, his Spider-Man mask pulled halfway off, gaze fixed on the waking city.

Photos from late-night training sessions revealed his exhausted but determined face, framed in shadows. And a close-up of Peter’s hand, fingers tangled in webbing — delicate yet strong.

Beside the images, notes were scribbled in Tony’s unmistakable handwriting:

“The light in your eyes when you’re lost in the moment. It’s what keeps me going.”
“Even when you think I’m just watching the suit, I’m really watching you.”
“This kid—no, this man—has more heart than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Peter’s fingers trembled as he turned each page. He never knew Tony took these photos. Never realized how deeply Tony cared—how much he treasured these small fragments of time.

A photo slipped from the album and fluttered to the floor. Peter picked it up—a blurry shot of Tony himself, half-smiling, looking worn but hopeful. On the back was a message: “For when you need to remember you’re never alone.”

Tears pricked Peter’s eyes.

“Tony…” he whispered.

That evening, he found Tony in the lab, engrossed in some new project.

“Hey,” Peter said softly, holding out the album. “I found this today.”

Tony looked up, surprised, then his face softened. “I guess I wanted to hold onto the moments that mattered. You’re important, Pete. More than you know.”

Peter sat beside him, heart pounding. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Tony brushed a stray lock of hair from Peter’s forehead. “I always see you. Every day.”

Days later, Peter was surrounded by sketches and art supplies in his apartment. He wasn’t usually patient with drawing, but this project was different.

He wanted to give Tony something that showed how much he appreciated those quiet moments Tony had captured.

He began a scrapbook filled with drawings and little notes—a tribute to Tony’s care.

There was a sketch of Tony’s steadying hand during a fight, lines delicate but full of strength. Another depicted Tony’s iconic glasses, perched just so, with the note: “Your eyes see what no one else does.”

Peter illustrated their everyday life—the way Tony laughed at his awkward jokes, the quiet evenings tinkering with tech, moments when words weren’t needed.

On the last page, he wrote simply: “Thank you for seeing me. For every photo, every look, every unspoken promise. You are my anchor, my light.”

Wrapped carefully, Peter brought the scrapbook to the Tower.

When Tony returned from a mission, Peter waited in the lab, hands shaking slightly with hope.

Tony opened it slowly, flipping through pages with growing wonder. At the last page, his eyes shimmered with emotion.

“No one’s ever done anything like this for me,” Tony said quietly. “This is… perfect.”

He pulled Peter into a hug, fingers tracing the scrapbook’s edge. “You see me, too. I know you do.”

Peter smiled against Tony’s chest. “Always.”

The next evening, they sat side by side on the couch in the softly lit lab, each holding the other’s album.

Tony opened Peter’s scrapbook, tracing the sketches. “You really captured the moments I didn’t even realize mattered so much.”

Peter smiled, watching Tony’s eyes soften. “It’s because of you. You taught me what it means to be seen.”

Tony closed the book and pulled Peter closer. “I’ve never felt more seen than I do right now.”

Peter opened the photo album. “You took all these?”

Tony nodded. “When I thought no one was watching. I wanted to remember the real you — beyond the mask, beyond the fight.”

Peter touched a picture of himself on a rooftop, staring at stars. “I didn’t know you noticed those moments.”

Tony’s voice was gentle. “I notice everything. You matter, Pete. Every laugh, every breath, every scar.”

They leaned into each other, the albums resting forgotten.

“I’m grateful for these,” Peter whispered. “For memories we’ve made, and those still to come.”

Tony kissed Peter's lips softly. “Here’s to many more.”

And as night deepened, two hearts found comfort in the quiet power of being truly known and endlessly loved—captured forever through Tony’s lens and Peter’s art.