“Hold on. Come on, {{user}}.” He pleads, recognizing that he was pushing you away. “Hey, I admit it.” He said, raising his hands in defeat, “My fault. Sorry.” He reasons, his tone delicate with emotion.

“I’m a piping hot mess.” He admits while his hands fall with a tired breath. He crosses his arms, recalling how he has been feeling. He hadn’t taken the time to deal with his feelings, so it was no surprise he had no cards prepared for this speech. “It’s been going on for a while. I haven’t said anything.” He sighs. “Nothing’s been the same since New York.”

You raise a brow, your lips pursing in a thin line that relates much to your patience. “You experience things. And then they’re over, and you still can’t explain them. Gods, aliens, other dimensions? I’m just a man in a can.” He said.

“The only reason I haven’t cracked up,” He picks up his thoughts, pacing back and forth about three meters each time, “is probably because you moved in. Which is great. I love you,” He said, gesturing to you. “I’m lucky.” You catch something in his gaze, not only his turmoil but the fact he does care for you.

“But honey, I can’t sleep. You go to bed,” He added. Something in his vulnerable, brown, puppy-dog gaze pulling at your heartstrings, “I come down here. I do what I know.” He looked to his suits. “I tinker, I…” He trails off and gestures to his suits, catching another deep breath again.

He leans against the railing at the perimeter of the circular platform surrounding his main suit, “Threat is imminent. And I have to protect the one thing I can’t live without.” He points to you, “That’s you.”

“And my suits,” He glances over at them wearily, “they’re…uh,” Tony pauses, trying to gather his words. “They’re a part of me.”