Vogue | Tony Stark

THIRTY TWO - A VOICEMAIL

"Come on, watch your step. This is so funny right now, I'll never let you live this down."

It was just shy of two o'clock in the morning when Estélla found herself carrying a rather drunk Tony down the steps of a townhouse in the Upper West Side of New York City.

They'd attended a sixteenth birthday party for a classmate that evening and had taken full advantage of the fully stocked bar in the boy's house, spending the majority of the evening by themselves sitting on a balcony basking in the midsummer night's fresh air.

After the party started to die down, unbeknownst to the two best friends living in their own world one floor up from everyone else, they were the last to leave. They bid a slurred goodbye to the birthday boy who struggled to lock the door behind them, eventually succeeding after sixty seconds of attempting, leaving Esté and Tony alone on the front steps.

"Sit down, Marcus said he'd be here at two to get us."

"Alright, alright, I'm sitting."

Tony staggered down the concrete steps and slumped down with a giggle, sighing as he rest his forearms on his thighs and stared up at the cloudy sky above them. It was warm for a summer evening but darkness covered the blue, a full moon breaking through gaps in silver beams that blended in with the cityscape and its fantastic lights.

"Have some of this," Esté said, twisting the cap off a bottle of water and holding it to his lips.

Tony scoffed and took it from her, pouring it into his mouth and scrunching up the empty plastic a few moments later, tossing it into a trash can a few feet away.

They'd had a wonderful night together, in fact, any night they spent together was never anything less. They talked and they laughed, danced to music and told secrets and shared dreams, connected in ways they never found they could with other kids they knew. They felt safe with each other, like there was never anything to be afraid of within their friendship or outside of it, so long as they were together.

"God, I really need to start saying no to tequila."

Esté laughed and placed a hand on Tony's shoulder, "Yes, you absolutely do."

He turned his head to look at her, admiring her side profile and the way her nose curved and her lips lifted, her eyes glistening in the shimmering mirage of a city, though she was by far the brightest thing for miles.

Tony often found himself lost for words when he looked at his best friend. His mind seemed to go blank and he couldn't feel himself breathe, though the sensation didn't frighten him at all. In fact, it felt like it was gifting him something he was always missing when she wasn't in his sight, the air always feeling a little denser and his mind a little louder if she wasn't around.

"You're the most beautiful girl in the world, Stella Goldwyn."

She glanced at him then, brows furrowed and lips pulled up into a sheepish smile. She'd painted her eyelids a shimmering gold colour and her lips were red, a Chanel lipstick stolen from her mother's makeup bag tucked safely inside her purse. Her hair was curled and she wore a white sundress with sandals, a gold necklace and two rings that were family heirlooms decorated her delicate fingers.

"You think so? You're not just a little drunk?" She smiled.

Estélla had never thought she was particularly beautiful, but she'd often found herself comparing the beauty of a sunrise to the colour of Tony's eyes. She heard silk in his laugh and saw patience in his smile, gentleness in his hands and faithfulness in his words. The same way people admired oceans and mountaintops, flowers and art, she admired him. To her, he was by far the most beautiful sight to behold.