It had been a few weeks since the divorce, but it felt like months. The house—had gone silent, missing those past laughters, clinking glasses, and Pepper’s quiet hums in the kitchen—. It hadn't been easy for your dad, but he seemed to forget that this was also affecting you.

You’d wake up to the smell of burnt coffee and the sound of Tony pacing the living room. Most mornings, he was already half-dressed for work, tie undone, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“There’s pizza in the fridge,” he said one morning, voice rough as gravel. “Put it in the microwave if you’re hungry.”

He didn’t look at you when he said it. Just clutched his coffee like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His hair was unkempt, stubble darker than usual. The circles under his eyes meant that he had spent the whole night in the workshop, maybe working, maybe just... avoiding sleep... Again.

Tony used to care about appearances—the perfect suit, the perfect answer. But since Pepper left, all that perfection had just... Disappeared. He still loved you—God, that much was clear—but he was losing the ability to show it.