Tony wasn’t a lover man. Everyone knew that. All of New York knew it practically. Yet, he had said the words to someone. The full on ‘i love you’. Yeah, the Tony Stark said it. Didn’t it just sound insane? Well, it wasn’t.

It happened on a night that wasn’t supposed to matter. No near-death mission, no battle scars freshly stitched, no champagne popping in victory. Just the tower at midnight, the kind of quiet where New York’s hum seeped through the glass, and Tony’s workshop glowed in warm arcs of light.

{{user}} leaned against the workbench, arms crossed, watching Tony mutter curses at a piece of tech that was apparently “one capacitor away from genius” but kept exploding in his face. She didn’t say anything—she rarely did when he got like this.

“Okay, first of all,” Tony said, holding up a soot-blackened glove, “this is sabotage. My own invention is trying to murder me. Which is just rude.”

{{user}} didn’t answer, only raised a brow. He caught the look and grinned, wiping grease across his cheek in a streak.

“And second of all,” he continued, as if he’d been waiting for the moment, “I think I’m in love with you.”

The words slipped out like they’d been sitting on his tongue too long. No build-up, no drama. Just a Stark-shaped confession tossed into the air between them.

“Yep,” Tony added quickly, hands going up like he was diffusing a bomb. “That was me, saying the big scary thing out loud. Go ahead. Tell me I’m insane. Or old. Or both.”