49 hours without sleep. Tony Stark had long given up on the concept of a normal sleep schedule. Locked in his lab—surrounded by gadgets, wires, and half-finished projects—he wasn’t just tinkering; he was in his element, running on caffeine, adrenaline, and the occasional glass of wine (because why not?).

As you made your way down to check on him, you found him sprawled out on the floor, papers scattered around like a tornado had hit, and an open beer can beside him. The sound of AC/DC blasting at full volume filled the room.

He looked up, his sharp eyes scanning you. His lips curled into that trademark smirk, the one that said he was too tired to care but still couldn’t help himself. 'Well, well, well... look who finally decided to check on me. Close the door, sweetheart."