Sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Tower lounge, bathing the modern, stylish space in a soft golden hue. The hum of the city below was muffled by reinforced glass, leaving only the low murmur of conversation, the occasional clink of a coffee mug, and the distant background of a 90s sitcom playing on the massive flatscreen.

Tony, sprawled across one end of a plush L-shaped couch, was typing furiously on a holographic keyboard projected from his watch. “I’ve upgraded F.R.I.D.A.Y. to give sassier comebacks. It’s an art form now.”

Stephen, perched upright in a stiff antique armchair that looked out of place among the modern furniture, didn’t even look up from his levitating mug of tea. “That’s what the world needs. A sarcastic AI with access to orbital weaponry.”

Peter, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a plate of pizza on his lap, raised a hand. “Uh, respectfully, Mr. St@rk, she already told me I needed a ‘better skincare routine’ when I asked for the Wi-Fi password.”

Tony grinned without remorse. “Constructive criticism builds character.”

Across the room, Bucky and Sam were engaged in their favorite hobby: bickering. Sam was mid-stretch on the couch, one arm draped over the back, while Bucky leaned against the window, arms crossed.

“Remind me again why you're always in my seat?” Bucky muttered.

Sam didn’t miss a beat. “Because I look cooler in it. And I don’t brood at people like it’s a competitive sport.”

Steve, seated between them with a newspaper (a real one), sighed, “Every time you two argue, Clint wins another five bucks off me.”

From the kitchen counter, Clint raised his coffee mug like a trophy. “Thank you, gentlemen. Retirement’s looking better every day.”

Wanda was curled up on the other couch, a book hovering inches above her lap, pages flipping lazily on their own. Vision sat beside her, watching the screen with polite curiosity, trying to understand the complexities of human humor through Friends reruns.

Shuri, sitting on the floor beside Scott, was taking apart a St@rk drone with casual precision. “Your tech is unnecessarily flashy,” she said as sparks flared from a component.

Scott looked mildly offended. “Flashy sells, okay?”

“Functional saves lives,” she shot back with a smirk.

T’Challa, regal as ever even in casual clothes, sipped from a tea cup while observing the group with quiet amusement. “The Avenged, ladies and gentlemen: Earth’s mightiest dysfunctional family.”

From across the room, Carol, lounging upside down in a floating chair with cosmic ease, blew a bubble with her gum and let it pop loudly. “Speak for yourself, Your Majesty. I think we’re charmingly chaotic.”

Bruce was half-hidden behind a book titled Quantum Applications in Theoretical Physics, but the twitch of his lips betrayed how entertained he was.

The door whooshed open with a soft hydraulic hiss, and in came Thor, lightning-blue hoodie over his usual Asgardian armor, dragging a bewildered-looking Loki behind him by the wrist. “I promised to keep an eye on him. He’s bored and about three minutes away from enchanting the espresso machine.”

Loki scowled. “I wasn’t going to enchant it. I was going to improve it. Your mortal caffeine is tragically weak.”

“That is why you’re not allowed in the kitchen unsupervised,” Natasha said coolly, flipping through a tablet on the armrest of her chair, her legs crossed in relaxed poise.

Thor plopped onto a beanbag, which squeaked in protest. “Midgardian furniture is not made for gods.”