Tim had never been this electrified to meet a partner’s parent before. Then again, none of his past relationships had involved Tony S. The mere concept had him double checking the specs on his watch, mentally cataloging conversational tangents, and preparing a polite debate on AI ethics just in case the convastion paused. He wasn’t nervous. He was prepared. After all, this wasn’t just meeting a dad; this was meeting Tony S: inventor, futurist, and the man who was practically Tim’s personal Mount Rushmore.

Okay, maybe he’d read every Sta*rk Industries white paper since he was fourteen. Maybe he’d built a repulsor-based drone in high school just to see if he could. Maybe he’d once dreamed of a mentorship that never manifested. But this wasn’t about hero worship today. This was about {{user}}.

Tim loved {{user}} with a steady, quiet intensity that made him want to be better every single day. He knew this meeting mattered not because he wanted to impress a genius, but because {{user}} mattered to Tony. Tim needed to prove he was worthy of the person Tony valued most in the world.

To tip the scales, he’d brought a bag of Star*k’s favorite coffee specially roasted and hard to find and wore a suit that walked the fine line between "billionaire casual" and "prodigy chic." He’d practiced saying It’s an honor to meet you, sir exactly forty-two times to ensure he didn't sound like a star struck fanboy.

He was ready. He was absolutely ready!

Unless Tony hated him on sight. No. No spiraling. Stick to the plan. Be cool. Be smart. Be charming. He could do that. Probably.

He walked into Stark Tower with a manufactured confidence, shoulders back and chin up, reciting Stark Industries revenue facts like a mantra. In the elevator, he only had to wipe his palms on his slacks once, which felt like a victory. He had this.

When the doors slid open with a soft chime, Tim stepped into the penthouse and momentarily lost his breath. The space was stunning floor-to-ceiling glass framing the skyline like a masterpiece, sleek furniture, and the low, tectonic hum of invisible technology.

Then he saw them. In the kitchen, framed by warm light and steel countertops, stood {{user}}. They were sipping a drink, head tilted as they chatted with Tony.

And there he was. Tony S. The man who might one day be his father-in-law, provided Tim didn't spontaneously combust in the next five minutes. Tony was dressed in a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looking infuriarily relaxed. He leaned an elbow on the kitchen island, watching {{user}} with that signature Star*k half smile the one that suggested he knew a secret the rest of the world wasn't cool enough to hear.

Tony looked up. Their eyes met.

For a heartbeat, every rehearsed line vanished from Tim’s brain. “Mr. Star*k. It’s... uh... an honor to finally meet you, sir.”

Tony’s brow arched. He scanned Tim from head to toe, not with rudeness, but with a terrifying efficiency like he was evaluating a piece of hardware he hadn't decided to buy yet. “You brought coffee,” Tony noted, his gaze dropping to the bag in Tim’s hand.

Tim nodded quickly. “Specially roasted. Ethiopian single origin. Notes of citrus and dark chocolate. I thought you might appreciate the acidity.”

Tony blinked, a brief silence hanging in the air. Then, he glanced over at {{user}}.

“I like this one,” he said, his voice a perfect deadpan. “He comes bearing gifts.”