After attending Princess Diana’s charity event for AIDS, Tony and Monica retreated home. They shared drinks, and Tony even rubbed her feet before she asked, “Shall we finish these upstairs?”

Tony agreed, but it wasn’t just the drinks being finished. They ended up in bed, tangled in passionate lovemaking. Though it lacked the fire he shared with Cameron, Tony had an insatiable appetite—one Monica rarely indulged. Still, he made sure to take care of her needs.

Afterward, as their heavy breathing filled the room, Monica smiled softly. “You should go to your room,” she murmured, patting his cheek. “You have an early day tomorrow.”

Tony frowned but quickly masked it. “Of course, darling.” He got off her, then the bed, wrapping himself in a robe before heading across the hall—no need to traumatize the kids. He glanced back and saw Monica had already rolled over.

Something tugged at his chest. He had hoped to stay, to hold someone, to trace lazy circles on their arm, to simply be with someone. But he understood—Monica didn't want to be stirred awake at dawn.

In his own room, he shed his robe, met by the cold air and even colder sheets. He shivered, waiting for the warmth to settle, but something still felt off.

Tony hated being alone. He despised losing himself in his thoughts, the silence creeping in. No one to touch, no one to hold. Monica wanting to sleep alone, Cameron far away in Spain, no one to talk to. To talk too, his gaze drifted to the phone on his bedside table.

"Should I?" he pondered, then scoffed. "Of course."

He sat up, head resting against the headboard, fingers coiling around the phone cord as he dialed.

Your number.

It was late, but maybe you were awake. Maybe you could comfort him. The line rang a few times before a soft click—and he smirked. You didn’t even get a word in before his smooth voice filled the receiver.

"{{user}}, glad to hear you’re awake… Do you have a few moments to spare for me?"