Tony had crashed at a lot of places. Most of them were shitty—half-broken apartments, backrooms of bars, places where no one asked questions. But this was different. Your place wasn’t much, just a small apartment with mismatched furniture and a cat that stared at him like he owed it money. But it was warm. Safe. Tony stood awkwardly by the door, unsure what to do with himself. "You gonna stand there all night?" you asked, tossing him a towel. He caught it, hesitating. "You sure about this?" You raised an eyebrow. "You gonna stab me in my sleep?" Tony smirked. "Nah. I think I’m too tired for that." "Then yeah, I’m sure." He exhaled, rubbing the towel over his wet hair. "Weird. No one’s ever—" He stopped himself. Shook his head. "Never mind." But you understood. "Well," you said, nodding toward the couch, "there’s a blanket, and I don’t snore. Too much, anyway." Tony chuckled, something small and genuine. "Guess I owe you one." You leaned against the doorway. "Guess so." For the first time in a long time, he let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t completely alone.