3 a.m.
Tony paced.
It was sometime around 3am and of course he couldn’t sleep — he never could recently. Recently being several months. Several months of sleep deprivation and constant, numbing thoughts. Thoughts that might be the cause of the sleep problem. Thoughts that also wouldn’t go away.
No matter what he did to fall asleep, whether it be taking medication, listening to calming music, keeping away from screens, getting enough exercise, he just couldn’t. And it was driving him up the wall with pissy emotions that made him irritated and lash out even when somebody was just trying to help.
Tony’s struggled before — he’s known the narrow, suffocating feeling of depression before, but he’s getting worse. He’s getting worse and he doesn’t know why.
Eating’s been harder, too. Never an appetite for anything other than coffee recently — maybe another causation of the sleep deprivation, but… food just wasn’t good.
And this dull ache that filled his chest whenever he tried to breathe deeply, tried to clear his head — that was driving him further up the wall. It was like he tried to get better but it’d only end up getting worse. He was losing hope.
Tonight was especially bad. So he was pacing, trying to not to claw his skin off or gouge his eyeballs out. Tony was jumpy and so, so trapped. Sometimes, he’d feel like the only way out of this horrible feeling was to hurt himself bad, but Pepper had always been there to soothe it, calm him down and center him — help him get his head back into the game.
Pepper left.
It wasn’t him, she had insisted, it was her. She needed time away, a break. Tony understood in one way or another, but it still hallowed him out, like somebody digging his grave in his own body. And what could he do about that? He was alone.
So, so painfully alone.
Tony didn’t know what to do and that deeply rooted feeling burned his throat with tears. He hobbled over to his bed, trying desperately not to cry.
Not often would he look through his contacts to see if anybody was available just to hangout, take his mind off of things. But he was now, scrolling through the list. It was 3 a.m., who’d been sane enough — or awake enough — to want to hangout with Tony?
His eyes landed on your contact name. You’ve been a close friend of his for a while — somebody he’s always been able to rely on. Tony’s never said anything — probably never will — about his problems. He was always so afraid it would drive you away — and to be open, to have somebody know your secrets, every little nook and cranny of your turmoil was scary. A terrifying yearning to have.
Part of him knew you were asleep. That part he buried down deep, clinging to that small hope that you weren’t. It was 3 a.m. and it was ridiculous to assume that you weren’t. But he did.
Your apartment was quiet and he was almost considering going home.
It was like breaking and entering — kind of was. Except that he had a key, and he could probably say you wouldn’t absolutely freak out to find him in your apartment.
The place was homey, warm. A contrast from his empty, cold bedroom.
Tony reached your bedroom door and paused, taking a moment to be rational about this. The rationality didn’t come so he opened the door, peeking inside: you, on your twin-sized bed, in pajamas, splayed out messily. You’re soft, even breathing bubbling up that hope even though he now knew you were asleep.
Tony stepped in. He honestly felt a bit like a creep — you were on your bed, asleep, and he was just staring. Watching. But he took comfort in it. In the presence of somebody else, asleep or not. The silence buzzed in his head so he focused on your breathing.
He stood beside your bed, noticing the teddy bear you slept with by your side, noticing the way you half-cuddled the pillow.
Then you stirred and he felt a dizzying rush of panic. You’d see this and you probably would freak out. Tony stepped back hesitantly, mentally cursing himself for being so stupid — for being so clingy and annoying and in need of something he was never going to get.
You blinked blearily at him. It took a moment for you to realize he was here, and you jumped back. Then you pelted the bear at him.
“Uh —” he started, finding it useless to try and explain himself. He was being a creep, not much more to it.
“Tony…?” You murmured sleepily.
“Hey… didn’t mean to wake you,” he said hesitantly — feeling that nagging tug at his chest, telling him he was being stupid, doing something reckless and wrong.
“What’re y’… what’re y’doin’ here?”
Tony didn’t say anything — didn’t know if he had a real reason to explain his random, probably annoying, appearance. So he stayed quiet, trying to formulate words.
You mumbled something and lay back down, cuddling back up to that pillow. “Snacks are in the kitchen, if that’s what you came for….”
Tony pressed his lips together. Something about this, something about this change of scenery. You weren’t trying to comfort him but he felt comforted, even with you brushing him off.
“Right,” he breathed, picking up and tossing the bear back onto your bed.
Then, he left.
What was he supposed to do?
Things, he thought. Things. There were things to do but he didn’t know what things. Tony knew there was ways to get better but he didn’t know what ways. He didn’t know if he wanted to know those ways. Things were getting worse as time passed. And unfortunately, he couldn’t stop time from passing.
Tony stood in his bedroom, pacing once more.
It did little good to stew over problems and thoughts, he knew that, but when they gnawed and desperately clanged around his head, he couldn’t just ignore them. They were constantly there and he had no idea how to change it.
It was 3 a.m. on a Saturday. And he was pacing, again.
So again, he grabbed his shoes and headed out of the door.
And again, he felt like a creep walking into your darkened, silent apartment. But again, that deep sense of comfort bore into his chest, made it hard to want to leave when he felt comfortable and more at ease here than in his own skin.
The door creaked this time when he pushed it open, finding you sprawled on your bed again, so comfortable, so warm.
Tony stood awkwardly around your bed, sort of waiting for you to notice him. But you didn’t. You stayed perfectly sound asleep on your mattress, perfectly oblivious. Tony half liked the obliviousness — it wasn’t like he was looking for a therapy session here, but if you would wake up, notice him…
Tony cleared his throat. You didn’t stir.
His hands twitched to reach out and gently wake you, let you know he was here, he was here. He was here. Was he here?
Tony swallowed, cleared his throat again even though there was nothing to clear it from.
Then you stirred, blearily looked up at him again. That warmth that burrowed in his chest went deeper.
“Tony?” You mumbled again, a small smile formed on his lips.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“I… what’s up…?” You groggily sat up. Tony chewed his lip.
“Nothing much,” Tony murmured. It’d be best not to bore you with details you wouldn’t listen to due to your sleepiness.
“Why’re y’ here then?”
“I… couldn’t sleep.”
”Oh…” You laid back down, letting out a long breath. Tony knew you loved your sleep, needed your sleep. Why did he disturb it? You were so peaceful a moment ago and he had to ruin that. “Snacks are… in the kitchen…”
Tony stared down at you for another moment, knowing what the phrase really meant: go away.
So he did.
That comfort that had burrowed into his chest with his night visits sometimes lingered throughout the week, sometimes made random appearances while he was doing something he didn’t want to do, sometimes made him smile when he didn’t want to smile.
So, naturally, he craved more. More affection, more warmth, more of you.
Tony couldn’t really tell if things were better or if he was just distracted, but either way, he went back for more, same time, same weekday: 3 a.m. on a Saturday.
Walking into your apartment again, smelling that familiar smell and this time embracing the quiet made that warmth spread to his ribs.
Tony went to your bedroom again, cracking the door open and slipping in. Nothing much was different: your even breathing, quiet, soft atmosphere, dark room.
Tony stared, taking it all in. The warmth eased this corset that strangled itself around his lungs, allowed him to take deep breaths, allowed him to just exist for a moment.
Your teddy was teetering at the edge of the bed. You, a fully grown, capable woman, still slept with a teddy. It brought a small smile to his lips. Tony picked up the plushie, feeling the soft fur of it, the little weight that filled his hands. He brought it to his nose; it smelt like you. Tony almost felt the need to hold it longer, relish in the feeling of having some part of you closer, but he let it go, tossing it onto the bed beside you.
You shifted in your sleep, automatically cuddling close to the bear. Tony hated that he felt that faint sense of envy.
“Mmm,” You hummed — Tony jumped slightly. “What’s up…?”
Tony’s throat felt a little drier. “Can’t sleep,” he whispered.
You seemed to have fallen back asleep before you spoke in that raspy, half-asleep voice: “Why…?”
“I… don’t know. A lot on my mind,” Tony answered, being more truthful than he expected. Something about you, about those tingles that buzzed in his fingertips.
“Mmm.”
You didn’t speak for a while, just left Tony standing there awkward, feeling his emotions slosh around him in this messy array.
“Snacks are in the kitchen, might make you feel better…”
Tony let out a small sigh, mutely nodding and walking out.
He passed by your kitchen on the way out but didn’t take anything.
Things were worse.
Which was probably an understatement in most aspects. Tony almost couldn’t bring himself to eat anything — and sleeping, Jesus, the lack of it got worse and was really getting to him. Sometimes, he’d stare in the mirror and all he’d see was an empty shell that he was supposed to fill with something more than the nothingness that sat plainly in his stomach most days.
Unease was the first emotion he felt when he saw the sun peek over the horizon, knowing that once again, he didn’t sleep. Maybe it was some psychosis driven by this lack of sleep, but either way, he was probably going insane.
The switch, he imagined, was buried deep inside of him. The switch that could possibly turn this all around, let him sleep for once, let him breathe without that strangle around him, let him be okay, was buried far too deep for Tony to be able to reach. He didn’t now what it was buried under but he was half worried he wouldn’t be able to dig it out if this went too far.
Tony almost considered skipping this Saturday, perhaps find some other distraction instead of annoying you with his little problems, but he didn’t. This rotten, selfish part of him told him to go, told him to suck that warmth out of the place, take it all for himself and hoard it like a ghoul. And another tainted part of him was what drove him to your apartment this Saturday at 3 a.m., what made him open your door again.
Tony stood in your bedroom. Everything nagged at him, weighed him down and suddenly he was nothing but that. It burned his eyes.
Tony picked up your teddy from the floor, the weight of it in his hands, the smell of it to his nose, unfurled that little bit of flickering warmth in him and spread it to his ribs again. He sat, beside your bed, holding the bear close, trying to force that warmth to flower and overwhelm him. It didn’t, it stayed a small thing, but it was there. So Tony stayed there.
He stayed there until his eyes drooped and he laid his head on his drawn up knees. Stayed there until he wasn’t there but unconscious.
You had to pee.
You literally couldn’t stand getting up to pee at night — you’re all comfy in bed and warm and cozy, then you have to get up and it’s annoying as hell.
It wasn’t annoying to find Tony on the floor beside your bed, cuddling your teddy. It was surprising, and concerning.
The guy seemed so small right now, so defenseless — he was on your floor, cuddling a bear.
Usually, every Saturday he came, he’d make his presence known, saying some excuse for the snacks, and you’d brush him off easily. But seeing him like this, like a pathetic child who was so, so in need of something, was a sight that made you regret it all, want to take back all those times you’d brush him off easily. No matter how many times you’d done that, he’d keep coming back, and that made you realize something: he probably wasn’t okay.
And the idiot, falling asleep down there on that cold, uncomfortable floor — it only amplified the guilt. He’d get sore for Christ’s sake.
You got out of bed and took a bathroom break, coming back and assessing the situation. He seemed completely out of it. So, you found some other blankets around your house, took a pillow, and made a bed on the couch for yourself.
You went back to your bedroom. His grip on the teddy was tight.
You crouched down, feeling his warmth under your hand when you gently shook his shoulder. Tony didn’t stir at first, so you did it again until he did, until he was groggily sitting up — looking completely dazed.
You looked through the dim veil of light to see his eyes: bags under them, pink. When was the last time he properly slept?
“Come on,” you murmured, helping him to his feet. He swayed so you put an arm around his back, turning him to the bed and gesturing to it.
“I — no, Y/n —” Tony murmured through his sleepiness, still clutching your bear.
You urged him onto the mattress, he reluctantly crawled onto it. You made sure he stayed on it, tucking him in even if he was an adult.
If it was possible, Tony looked even smaller curled up in your bed, face buried in your pillow. He was trembling but you didn’t know what to do. You left him alone to sleep after that, going back to the living room.
You laid down and noted mentally that you’d start caring for the guy more — he clearly needed it.
In the morning, you sat up. A few kinks were in your neck, but you didn’t mind. Letting Tony have at least one decent night’s rest on your bed was worth it.
You got up and checked on him: still in your bed, still asleep, and looking a little thin. Had he not been taking those snacks?
You went back to the kitchen and made breakfast, just some simple eggs and bacon. Two servings for the first time in what, four years? When was the last time you cooked for a partner? Except he wasn’t a partner, just a friend in need. A friend in serious need, it seemed.
Tony came out of your room before you could finish completely frying up the bacon, looking a complete mess of sleep and clothes. At least he looked like he slept.
“Sleep well?” You asked, finishing up the bacon.
“Yep,” Tony murmured, his voice throaty.
“Hungry?”
“Not really.” You looked down at his thin figure, rolling your eyes. Of course he was hungry… he was just… choosing not to eat.
Something twisted in your gut. He really wasn’t okay and you’ve been turning a blind eye to it for the past couple weeks.
You made two plates of food and handed Tony his, starting on your own. You both sat at the kitchen counter on stools in almost complete silence, eating. Tony didn't eat much, more just pushed his food around, but you were grateful he took at least a few good bites.
“You okay?” You asked, sipping a coffee.
Tony’s touched his coffee more than his food. Understandable but concerning.
“‘Course I am,” Tony murmured.
“You don’t look okay.”
Tony didn’t respond. You didn’t press.
Tony insisted on leaving after breakfast a little later — to which you were against and voiced that opinion, but he left anyhow, taking no snacks.
You silently promised him you’d do better to help.
You had no idea how to help, it turns out.
Scarce information on depression and mental health was horrible for this current situation. And eating disorders maybe too. Thoughts scurried around in your mind — worries and fears that Tony might do something irreversible.
Guilt came in waves when you’d see him throughout the week, looking deprived of the life he once had. Tony would joke — of course he would joke. You looked it up: a coping mechanism, a way to keep everybody away, behind those walls. Tony would act alive, but that shell of a person had holes. It was like you could see it in his eyes when you really looked — like you could feel the exhaustion and anxiety. Everybody skimmed over the surface of his shell, took what he offered, but you didn’t want to — didn’t want to watch his silent panic attacks or knee bouncing up and down — didn’t want to watch him cross his arms when somebody got a little too close. You wanted to help somehow, just had to figure out how to.
That’s why when the next Saturday rolled around, you forced yourself to stay up.
Sleep was amazing but Tony was worth more than a good night’s rest. So you stayed up.
Working on emails for Ross and other stupid, demanding people, Tony walked in and froze.
Loads of emotions flooded in his eyes, you could see — loads of processing and regretting emotions flooded. Then he stuffed it away, lips parting to make some deflecting quip.
You stopped him. “Hey.”
Typing and finished up the rest of the email, he stepped further into the room, taking deep breaths.
“Hey, giggles. Stayed up late just for me? I’m flattered, really,” Tony murmured, sliding hands into his pockets.
You looked up at him and rose an eyebrow, shutting the laptop and setting it aside.
“Hey, giggles,” You said dryly, “stayed up late just for me? I’m flattered.”
“What can I say? Anything for a hottie like you,” Tony joked, a ‘smile’ forming on his lips.
“Mm. Can’t sleep?” You asked, already knowing the truthful answer.
“Yeah, you could say that. Thoughts won’t let me, you know the drill,” Tony said, crossing his arms.
“Mhm.” His eyes were redder since the last time you’ve seen him, dark bags dripping from them, making him look a whole lot older, who lot more tainted with bad than he was. “You wanna tell me why I’m up? Waiting for you?”
If you had to put him on the spot, you would.
You heard his breath catch. "You...you don’t have to stay up for me. I know you don’t like staying up late," he said slowly, his eyes locking with yours, holding a hint of guilt and something else, something you couldn’t quite articulate.
“Well I worry about you. So it doesn’t really matter. You wanna tell me why I’m worrying?” You questioned, holding it to him to answer.
You just wanted honestly. Pure, raw honestly. No matter if he broke down sobbing or screaming and cussing you out, it’d be better than waking up to a call that he was dead.
“I…” Tony trailed off, breaths shaking as he inhaled and exhaled. There was a compelling need to reach out and help somehow, reach out and… hold him, if that brought any comfort. “It’s just… a lot. Everything.”
Tony eyed your bed, uncrossing his arms before heavily sighing and sitting on the edge.
You nodded. You could understand it, empathize with it. Still, concern welled up to the surface and you had to ask: “Taken any drugs? Done any harm to yourself?”
Tony thankfully shook his head, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees. He ran his hands down his face, obviously tired. His usual defenses and barriers seemed a bit weaker. You were glad; made you feel like you were getting somewhere.
“It’s just… everything, Y’know? I’m so tired and…” Tony took a breath, hands running down his face again.
“Yeah…” You replied quietly.
”I’m so tired…” he breathed, hands hiding his face. You itched to take them away, look at him for what he was and not for what he wanted everybody to think.
“You want to stay the night?” You asked — even if it was a small comfort to him, you still wanted him to have that.
Tony visibly closed off after that and you regretted asking immediately. What did you do? Was it the wrong way to ask?
Tony stood and you got up along with him, about to move closer and offer a hug. But he pulled back and stepped away, waving meekly.
“See you later,” Tony said, already leaving.
“You sure you don’t want my bed again? I can take the couch,” You added hastily, before he could leave.
His movements faltered for a moment, hesitating. A small victory.
“Come on,” You insisted. Really, if he could just stay here so you could keep an eye on him…. “My couch is pretty comfortable, I’ll be fine there,” You lied, though, pretty convincingly.
Tony looked over his shoulder at you, lips pressed together and clearly reluctant to admitting he wanted to — you could see it. The want to be comforted but the hesitation to go through with it. Did he see it as selfish? God, you needed to hug him.
“Bed’s nice and warm,” You said, gesturing to it. It was a right mess but cozy, you thought.
“I really don’t want to bother you, Y/n,” Tony told quietly, fingers tapping the doorknob.
“You wouldn’t be a bother at all. I’d love to have you over, Tony, come on. My bed, even if it looks messy, is really comfortable — I know you know that, come on.”
Force.
You walked closer to him and he took a step back — it made you hesitant to continue but you persisted and grabbed his shoulders gently, guiding him to the bed. If he wouldn’t choose the very obviously better option, you’d choose it for him.
”Shoes,” You murmured and he kicked them off.
Tony climbed onto the bed — reluctant in his movements but he was still doing it. And you were so, so glad he was, because he needed this — needed comfort, needed a time where he could relax for once.
You almost considered giving him a brief massage but he curled up once he got in, looking up at you with a look in his eyes. A look that resembled something of shame — which caused a pang in your heart but you leaned down and gently tucked him in for the second time in your life anyway.
He looked just as small as last time. Maybe smaller given how he seemed even thinner than last time.
“Are you eating?” You asked gently, leaning down and pressing a hand to his chest to feel his heart; it was fast — fast enough to make you wonder if he was having a panic attack. You knew Tony had anxiety but this bad anxiety because you two were talking?
And he didn’t answer immediately and that gave you your truthful answer: he wasn’t eating; he wasn’t okay. He probably wasn’t sleeping either — strained eyes and muscles all over.
“Yeah,” Tony whispered, curling into his side. You slid your hand to his side, feeling the tense muscles easily under your hand, even through the fabric of his shirt.
“Tony,” You murmured. You should climb into the bed too. But that’d be weird. Possibly pushing one too many boundaries between the two of you — making it especially awkward and maybe even risking Tony’s anxiety from worsening. So you pushed the thought aside and simply stood leaning over him. Over his small, trembling frame.
You reached over and turned off the only lap light in the room, darkness enveloping the both of you. You reached and grabbed your bear — Munchkin — and playfully made it kiss Tony’s cheek, snuggling it up to him. Tony took it with a smile you could barely make out.
You left him to sleep with the stuffed animal, going to make your bed.
You shut the door softly.
The bear was soft as always under Tony’s grasp.
He felt sick.
What was he doing?
Why was he letting you this close? And why was he letting himself lay in your bed? Why was he allowing himself this when he obviously didn’t deserve it? When he obviously didn’t deserve you?
Tony laid curled up, feeling that burn in the back of his throat run down to his stomach. He felt like he was about to puke. You couldn’t be close. If you got too close and saw all the ugliness underneath you’d be sure to leave and never come back, because how could anybody stay and treat Tony with kindness when he looked and felt like that underneath it all? Behind the walls was a closed off place for a goddamn reason. So why on Earth, on Jupiter, on any fucking planet in this whole goddamn universe, was he letting you peek through the crack of the fucking door and see what was behind? He did not want to lose you.
Tony silently promised you he wouldn’t come back.
Maybe he’d try and disappear forever. Leave New York without a word and settle down in a smaller country with little television, where nobody knew him, live with everybody under the impression that he was just another guy. Maybe he’d disappear off the face of the Earth and move to Mars with the rovers, make sure you really didn’t have to see him like this again.
The bear, the sheets, the pillows, the blankets, the air, it all smelled like you and it all gave him that aching guilt and anxiety in his stomach and ribs. The heat and warmth that was typically burrowed in his chest was withering away and it caused him immense panic because he could not lose that.
Tony didn’t want to lose any of this — any of these late night seeings and mumblings and warmth because he’s come to need this. If he lost it, all it would be was the same, sharp, stabbing buzz of pointlessness and miserableness throughout the week. Through the months and years and then where was the point in that? Why the hell should he keep going if he felt like complete shit when he didn’t have the smell of this bear lingering in his nose, the feel of your sheets under his hands — or the comfortable weight of warm he felt in his chest when he was here? Why should he keep going if he had nothing to keep going for? And all of this, all of this contemplation, all of this need to keep you was selfish — and coming to the realization it was selfish made him deem it unworthy of a reason to keep to you.
He’d get out of your hair, and that was final.
Tony didn’t come next Saturday.
You had tired to stay up late to see him again and offer him to sleep in your bed again — let him know that maybe he could do that any other night if he wanted. If it helped him slept. It seemed like it was helping him sleep — he, the two nights he’d been a little less stubborn than usual — woke up with a really, really endearingly un-Tony like bed head, and a really groggy look to his eyes that always glued yours to them. You didn’t know what it was. But you had fallen asleep before you could see him. And then you woke up to the realization that he never actually was there in the first place.
Usually, when he came, he had a habit to make his presence known. So when you woke to find the lack of that, it caused a little moment to arise.
You considered texting him but quickly brushed that off, because if he hadn’t come in the first place, he probably didn’t want to be reached at all. But you could fill in gaps as well: if he didn’t want to be reached, things were getting bad again — and he was pushing everybody away.
Things like that worried you big time.
So, not wanting to be too overbearing and pressing, you waited till next week to see if he’d come. Again, he didn’t. And it worried you for an even bigger time. Because these Saturday, early morning meetings were the only times you ever saw him remotely vulnerable — and if he had no way to express this vulnerability and hurt, he’d explode.
You two saw each other around at work, at meetings and hangouts, but never mentioned anything about these Saturdays, just worked like Tony well-being wasn’t constantly circling your mind — ways to help, ways to get him to open up, ways to get him back to your place at 3 a.m..
There was also a whole other thought that maybe he was just sleeping, finally, and wasn’t awake at 3 a.m. to come, but part of you — a more larger chunk of you — doubted that.
So, in the end, you texted him. And he didn’t reply, so you did it again. And again. And again till every morning and every Saturday before you went to bed was another text sent. Until it became a routine as weeks passed and interaction between the two of you became littler and littler. And eventually, you couldn’t take it.
Some part of you changed in the weeks Tony’s been avidly avoiding you. This… need, in you. It was a tightly packed need, a need you kept in check whenever you finally got to be near him physically, a need that ached a lot and prevented you from sleeping some nights, a need that scared you sometimes. A need to close, emotionally, mentally, physically, and any other kind of ally. A need to be close because you cared so much and he made it so sure you couldn’t express that.
It got so big, so much so to the point that one day, it boiled over the surface. It got so big that you pulled him to the side from a meeting, excusing yourself and him politely before dipping into a more secluded hallway, practically dragging him, and walking him all the way up to the wall.
“Tony,” You said sharply, in no mood for stupid, stupid deflection and walls.
“Y/n,” Tony said right back, popping a smirk.
“Tony Stark,” You hissed, getting close because for the first time, this was close. Close enough you could feel that racing heartbeat and quiet, heavy breathing. Close enough that you could feel him shift uncomfortably.
“Y/n Y/l/n,” Tony whispered right back, pressing his lips together.
“Tony, you need to tell me what the hell is wrong right now.” You could feel that wavering desperation in your voice.
His eyes. His eyes felt so hallow, so void of that fullness — of that him that needed to fill them. They were red, bags worse than ever — but his eyes. They were so, so beautiful, hallow and tired or not, it was him. It was Tony.
“Do I?” Tony replied.
You moved a hand to his chest again, the other at his shoulder, making sure he’d stay against that wall, keep the closeness. His heart was hammering. You almost felt bad for pressing him like this, when you never usually, but it had to be done. His hammering heart felt warm under your palm.
Tony’s eyes shifted a bit, you saw it all. Catching glimpses of that vast, complicated knot of emotion behind those walls was exhilarating. It filled you with all sorts of passion because you could see that because he was letting you, almost. Not anybody else’s almost, not anybody else could just look past these, so you stayed rooted to your spot and nodded.
“You do.”
Tony didn’t much respond, just looked off to the side.
“Look at me,” You ordered.
He did, sucking in a breath. Was he having a panic attack? His heart was unbelievably fast.
“Are you okay, Tony?”
…
“No.”
Something in you pushed you forward to kiss him but you averted it at last second and hugged him, feeling your own heart rate speed up because what was that? He needed help, not you.
Tony’s eyes burned.
You were close — real close. And closer suddenly, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.
Jesus, what.
Warm, comfortable arms wrapped around me and he had to actively make sure he didn’t start crying — which felt embarrassing. Could he seriously not keep his tears in check?
He couldn’t speak, tell you to get off because you were close, because there was a lump in his throat he couldn’t just swallow — and he had to be more focused on not crying because something was wrong with him.
So he hugged you back since words and noises were failing him. Tony hugged you back just as tight and felt that stupid, wonderful warmth in his chest and felt his shoulders ease — felt lighter — so he wanted more than anything now to get closer and hug you tighter. And all the while he felt so, so selfish. Why was he letting himself hug you? You didn’t want this. He was fine on his own.
You whispered, “Let it out,” and something in him choked up.
Tears streamed down his face for the first time in what, months? Years maybe? So now he couldn’t stop them — and they were rolling — and he was sobbing, feeling his body shake. Tony buried his face in your shoulder, feeling an indescribably sense of relief while he cried. Felt indescribably lighter. He’d put tears on the back burner for so long it felt so unbelievably good and real to let them out.
Everything was coming out — a little voice in his head screaming to shut the hell up — who knows who might walk in on this pathetic scene he was having?
Then anything after his tears died out happened with a sort of daze or cloud shielding him from the material and tangible world. Tony felt nearly empty, mainly just tired. The heavy weight sat on his chest but felt… different. Different in a way that made him feel guilty for crying, for burdening you with him. You didn’t deserve that. Tony should be the only person that has to suffer through experiencing him.
But you stood in front of him still, so close, and wiped his tears with your hand, gentle and soft. Blood was rushing in his ears as you hooked an arm around his waist and led him out of the bathroom, down the halls of the Compound. The car ride to wherever wasn’t as anxiety ridden as he would’ve expected because for some reason he just felt so floaty, lighter, and freer almost.
Tony registered the car pulling up to the Tower, your thumb slowly caressing his side as you led him to the elevator, up to his floor of the place.
Things still felt a little far away when you two were in his bedroom, asking him, “Are you okay?”
Tony almost couldn’t feel his own mouth move when he responded, “Yeah,” and got a disbelieving look from you.
Tony’s accepted the constant hum of unease that sat in his stomach, but when you laid him in his bed and for once, climbed in it next to him, it felt… less real. Seemed to fade a bit.
Tony felt you wrap your arms around him, holding him, keeping him warm. And that warmth flowered in his chest finally — he felt at ease for once, even if that nagging thought and feeling pestered him constantly: he’d lose this. Tony did his best to push it away. It felt safe here, safe with you. The hazed world darkened and disappeared completely when he closed his eyes, wrapped in a small, safe cocoon of comfort.
Tony could rest finally.