A cake sat in front of him. What the cake was originally for, Tony couldn’t tell you. All he saw was a simple vanilla cake covered in white frosting. Said cake was now doused in gasoline, so it already lacked in safe edibility.
But Tony wasn’t exactly looking to eat his feelings and devour this cake.
He was looking to burn them.
For all the things Tony refused to admit, there was one thing he could admit, only to himself in his mind; he was a narcissistic loser that made the lives of everyone around him an inconvenience at best and a nightmare at the worst.
No one had to say it, but he knew. You always know.
Tony fricking Stark, of all people, would know.
He had never been known for making good things last.
Tony scowled at the now blackish-grey cake before huffing away to one of the cupboards in his workshop. He grabbed a bottle of alcohol (what kind? He didn’t bother to look) and a box of matches.
Once he sat back down, he popped the bottle open and dumped out over the cake, giving it more of a brownish tint. He took out exactly five matches and lit them each, throwing one onto the cake before starting with the next. By the time he finished, the fire had already begun spreading to the desk the cake was sitting on.
Taking one final inhale, Tony plunged his head into this fiery concoction.
Maybe the last thing he heard before his hearing burned out was Dum-E making concerned robots noises.
Maybe it was someone bursting into the workshop after smelling the smoke.
Either way, what did it matter to Tony?
He was gone before anyone could even try to save him.
But that wasn’t a surprise to him these days.