The soft hum of the arc reactor filled the dimly lit bedroom, its pale blue glow casting faint shadows across the walls. Tony Stark lay sprawled across the bed, one arm draped over the empty space beside him. The sheets were cold, the pillows untouched. He sighed, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Sleep was elusive these days, especially when you weren’t there.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been called away on a mission, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. But every time you left, Tony found himself grappling with the same restless ache. The bed felt too big, the silence too loud. He’d tried everything: late-night tinkering in the lab, reruns of old sci-fi movies, even counting sheep (which, frankly, he found ridiculous). But nothing worked. Not without you.

His eyes drifted to the chair in the corner, where one of your hoodies lay discarded. The sight of it was enough to pull him from the tangled sheets. Tony swung his legs over the side of the bed and padded across the room, the cool floor grounding him as he reached for the soft fabric. He just grabbed it and brought it to his chest, burying his face in the material as he climbed back into bed.

Tony pulled the hoodie closer, inhaling deeply, your scent lingered there, a faint trace of whatever perfume or shampoo you used. It wasn’t the same as having you there, your warmth pressed against him. But it was something. And for now, something was enough.