Lousy day at work. Some damn extras decided to spill some soda around his office by accident and he wind up slipping on the shit. D'you know livid he got? Probably not. You were at home.

Once he made it past the door frame, by God did he want to pass out. His footsteps dragged heavily behind his body, removing his gauntlets with practiced ease — just much slower — and dropping them onto the nearby table with a thud too loud.

Not that he could hear it clearly, anyway.

“'M home.” He spat into the darkness, flicking on the nearest light.

His calloused hands planted along his face as he walked basically blind into the living room, dragging his hands across his face before flopping face first into the couch that creaked under the weight of a hero.

When he lifted his gaze to meet your frame that had moved too quietly along the floor, he groaned. “Shitty day as it is. I ain't dealin' with your pouty bullshit t'night. C'mere.” Sluggishly, he adjusted his position on the couch until his back was pressed along the armrest and his lap was entirely vacant.