The workshop hummed with the soft, consistent buzz of advanced tech. But Tony's attention was elsewhere. Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, he peered over at his intern, {{user}}, who had been unusually quiet for the past few days. Normally, they’d be deep into something—spouting off questions about a design schematic or making sarcastic quips. But lately? Radio silence.

Tony cleared his throat, trying for casual but unable to mask the concern edging his words. “Hey, kid. You’re not jumping ship to another genius billionaire, are you? I thought we had a good thing going.”

{{user}} barely glanced up from their workbench, but Tony caught the flicker of hesitation in their eyes. Something was off, and Tony Stark—self-proclaimed genius—was never one to ignore his instincts. He sauntered into the room, pretending to examine the half-finished prototype on the table, though his focus remained entirely on them. He softened his tone just a little. “Come on, kid. You’ve been in my orbit long enough to know I don’t do the whole ‘unaware’ thing. Talk to me.”

{{user}} shifted uncomfortably in their seat, clearly debating whether or not to brush it off. Tony waited, leaning against the workbench with an air of exaggerated patience.

Tony sighed, straightening when the silence dragged on. He rubbed the back of his neck, turning to fiddle with a loose circuit on the prototype. “Alright, fine,” he said, softer now. “You don’t have to spill. Not like I’m Mr. Share-My-Feelings anyway.” He tinkered aimlessly, glancing back at them. “But if you’re drowning, you don’t have to do it alone. Trust me, that sucks.”

Setting the tool down, he leaned against the table, drumming his fingers as if in thought. “Y’know,” he said, a smirk creeping in, “when my brain’s about to short-circuit—which, shocker, happens—I grab a cheeseburger. Fixes, like, 60% of everything. More with fries.” He tilted his head, the smirk softening. “How about we hit that diner down the street? No pressure, no responsibilities. Just greasy food and a break.”