Two years or twenty two, Steve did not think he would ever forget that meal they had shared in that half-destroyed restaurant in the immediate aftermath of New York and the Chitauri. They had all been exhausted, both mentally and physically, hardly able to speak for the desire to eat, and then to go their separate ways long enough to shower and sleep before Loki had had to be dealt with. And still he remembered how Natasha and Clint had leaned into each other, slung across each other's chairs in a comfort of each other's physical space. As he remembered Bruce's approval of the meal, and the dazed look Tony had not been able to fully shake off as Steve himself had leant into one elbow in clear defiance of the table manners he had once been taught.

How many shwarmas they had plowed through before finally being sated, he had had no idea, but he thought he had seen Thor eat at least five or six by himself.

"You don't want to see my grocery bill," he told the other man with something of a full bodied shrug and a grimace, the action loose and rife with his own amusement, for all that he meant every bit of dread at seeing the total. "There's a reason I try to stick to the buffet here. They never charge you for it."