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I don’t remember deciding to come here.
One second I’m standing on a rooftop, city still ringing in my ears, knuckles sore and lungs burning, and the next I’m slipping through the Tower’s security like it’s muscle memory.
Maybe it is. FRIDAY doesn’t even ask who I am. Doors open. Elevators move. Everything is smooth and quiet and safe in a way my apartment never quite is.
That’s when my hands start shaking.
I shove them into my hoodie sleeves like that’ll fix it. My healing factor already did its job — the ache in my ribs is fading, the split skin along my jaw knitting itself back together — but my brain hasn’t gotten the memo. It’s still replaying the fight on a loop. The moment I slipped. The sound of concrete cracking where my head almost hit.
Almost doesn’t matter. Not when it could’ve gone worse.
The lab doors slide open and Tony’s there, hunched over a workbench, arc reactor glowing like a lighthouse. He looks up instantly. Like he felt me coming.
Great. Now I’m really going to lose it.
“Kid,” he says. “You know it’s, like, wildly illegal to sneak into a billionaire’s home after midnight, right?”
My mouth opens. Something stupid comes out. “FRIDAY let me in.”
Tony blinks. “Wow. Betrayed by my own AI. Et tu, robot?”
I almost laugh. It comes out wrong — too sharp, too breathless — and suddenly my chest feels tight. I stand there like an idiot, hovering in the doorway, unsure how close is too close, unsure what I’m even allowed to want right now.
He’s already scanning me. I can tell. His eyes flick over me fast: shoulders, hands, legs, face. He relaxes a fraction, then stops himself from relaxing too much.
“You usually text,” he says. Casual. Careful.
“I— yeah. Phone’s dead.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Like. Dead dead.”
Tony tilts his head. “Peter.”
“I’m fine.”
There it is. The lie. Automatic. Reflexive. I hate it even as I say it.
Tony sets his tools down slowly, like he doesn’t want to startle me. “Okay. Then why do you look like a raccoon that lost a fight with a blender?”
I swallow.
“I just… needed somewhere quiet.”
He doesn’t call me out on it. Doesn’t push. Just nods toward a stool. “Sit before you fall over and make this awkward for both of us.”
I sit.
The second I stop moving, my leg starts bouncing. I try to make it stop. It doesn’t listen. My heart’s still racing, like the fight never ended, like the guy could still be behind me even though I know he’s not.
Tony kneels in front of me with a med kit. He’s very focused on the latch. Too focused.
“FRIDAY says you clocked a stress spike about twelve minutes ago,” he says. “Which is impressive, because statistically speaking, you weren’t dying.”
“Sorry,” I mumble.
He looks up. “Hey. Nope. Not fishing for apologies.”
He lifts my chin gently, fingers barely touching. The bruise along my collarbone is dark, ugly. I didn’t realize it was that bad. His mouth tightens.
“What happened?” he asks.
My brain stutters. Words jam up in my throat. “Just— a guy. Stronger than usual. I messed up.”
Tony hums. “You’re breathing. I’m calling that a win.”
I nod, even though my chest feels like it’s caving in.
My hands are still shaking.
I don’t know when it tips from manageable to not, but suddenly my vision goes fuzzy at the edges. My ears ring. My breath comes too fast, too shallow, like I forgot how lungs work.
Tony notices immediately.
“Okay,” he says, lighter than the moment deserves. “Hey. Ground rules. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Preferably before you pass out and sue me.”
“I’m not—” I gasp. “I’m not freaking out.”
Tony raises an eyebrow. “Buddy, your heart rate says otherwise.”
I press my palms into my thighs. They’re damp. “I thought I had it. And then I didn’t. And I keep thinking— what if next time I don’t get back up?”
There. I said it.
The lab goes quiet.
Tony doesn’t joke this time. He shifts closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him, solid and real.
“You came here,” he says softly. “That tells me you’re smarter than you think.”
I laugh weakly. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
Something in his face changes. Not pity. Something heavier.
He hesitates — I can feel the hesitation — then opens his arms a little. Not dramatic. Not obvious. Like he’s giving me an exit.
“You want?” he asks.
My chest tightens so hard it almost hurts.
I don’t trust my voice. I lean forward instead.
For a second, Tony freezes. Then his arms come around me, firm and steady. I cling to him without meaning to, fingers fisting in his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping me upright.
My breath shudders out of me. Once. Twice. Then I break.
“I was really scared,” I whisper.
“I know,” Tony says quietly, one hand warm at the back of my neck. “I’ve been there. Different suit. Same stupid fear.”
I laugh wetly into his shoulder. “You’re bad at pep talks.”
“Hey,” he says. “I’m excellent at pep talks. I’m just emotionally constipated.”
That gets a real laugh out of me. It shakes through my chest, loosening something tight and painful.
He holds me until my hands stop trembling.
Until the city feels far away.
Until I remember how to breathe.
Eventually, my breathing evens out.
It doesn’t happen all at once. It’s gradual — a hitch less here, a shudder less there — until the panic fades into something dull and sore, like emotional bruising. Tony doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t comment on it. He just stays, solid and warm, like he’s anchoring me to the floor.
I become very aware of how close we are.
My cheek is pressed to his shoulder. I can hear his heartbeat, steady and slow, which feels unfair considering mine tried to escape my chest ten minutes ago. My hands are still tangled in his shirt, fingers cramped from holding on so tight.
Oh god.
I loosen my grip, embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Easy,” Tony says, immediately. “You didn’t dent the suit. We’re good.”
I huff out a weak laugh, but I pull back anyway, sitting up straight like posture alone can fix the situation. My face feels hot. My eyes feel worse.
Tony doesn’t make it weird. Or maybe he does, but in a way that makes it less weird. He clears his throat and stands, offering me a bottle of water like this is just another Tuesday night.
“Hydrate,” he says. “It’s what the cool, emotionally stable people do.”
I take it. My hands still shake a little when I twist the cap. He notices. Pretends not to.
I drink anyway. The cold helps. So does the silence.
The lab hums softly around us. Screens blink. Something mechanical whirs in the distance. It’s all normal, everyday Stark stuff, and it feels surreal that the world kept moving while I was falling apart.
Tony leans against the bench across from me, arms crossed. Not closed off. Just… unsure. Like he’s waiting for a cue he doesn’t have the script for.
“So,” he says eventually. “You wanna talk about it, or do we pretend that never happened and argue about homework?”
I consider that. My chest still feels tight, but it’s not crushing anymore.
“…A little?” I say.
He nods. “Dealer’s choice.”
I stare at the floor. Words pile up in my throat, tripping over each other.
“I thought I was going to die,” I say quietly. “Not in, like, a dramatic way. Just— suddenly. Like I’d mess up one more time and that would be it.”
Tony’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t interrupt.
“I keep thinking I should be better at this by now,” I continue. “Stronger. Smarter. Less… scared.”
Tony snorts. “Kid, if being scared disqualified you from hero work, I’d be out of a job.”
I glance up at him. He’s not smiling, but his eyes are gentle.
“You don’t get brave by not being afraid,” he says. “You get brave by doing the thing anyway. Repeatedly. Like an idiot.”
That actually makes me smile.
There’s another pause. This one heavier.
“Am I—” I hesitate. “Is it okay that I came here?”
Tony answers immediately. “Yes.”
Then, softer: “Anytime.”
Something in my chest loosens at that. Not all the way. Just enough.
I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve. “I didn’t know if… you know. If it’d be weird.”
Tony shifts, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. About that. I’m not great at the whole… feelings thing. Or the boundaries thing. Or the being-a-person thing.”
I glance up again. He’s not joking this time. Not really.
“But,” he continues, “I’m trying. And if what you need is a safe place to land when things get ugly? I can do that.”
My throat tightens. “You already did.”
He gives a lopsided smile. “Low bar. You set it yourself by showing up.”
The quiet stretches again. It’s not uncomfortable. Just delicate.
Eventually, Tony gestures toward the couch in the corner of the lab. “You want to crash here? We’ve got, like, seventeen couches. Most of them morally questionable, but still.”
I hesitate. I don’t want to push my luck. I don’t want to ask for too much.
“…Would that be okay?” I ask.
Tony looks at me like the answer is obvious. “Peter. If I didn’t want you here, the Tower would’ve launched you into the Hudson.”
I snort. “FRIDAY wouldn’t.”
“She absolutely would. She’s ruthless.”
I stand slowly, legs a little wobbly, and move toward the couch. Tony follows, tossing a blanket over the back like it’s already decided.
I sit. He pauses, then sits too — not too close, not too far. Our shoulders almost touch.
The almost matters.
Neither of us says anything for a long time.
Eventually, I let my head tip back against the cushions. My eyes close. I’m exhausted in a way sleep doesn’t usually fix, but it’s better than the alternative.
“Hey, kid?” Tony murmurs.
“Yeah?”
“You did good tonight. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”
I swallow. “Thanks.”
There’s a quiet click as he dims the lights a little more.
I don’t fall asleep right away. But for the first time since the fight, I’m not afraid to.
I wake up confused.
For half a second, I don’t know where I am. The couch is too soft. The ceiling is too high. There’s a faint mechanical hum instead of sirens or my neighbor’s TV bleeding through the walls.
Right. Tower.
My brain immediately supplies the rest of the memory whether I want it to or not — the fight, the panic, the hugging Tony Stark like my life depended on it. Which, emotionally speaking, it kind of did.
I groan quietly and roll onto my side, burying my face in the couch cushion.
Cool. Very cool. Definitely not mortifying.
I sit up slowly, half-expecting Tony to be watching me like some kind of concerned billionaire gargoyle. He’s not. The lab is brighter now, washed in morning light, and the smell of coffee hangs in the air like a promise.
That’s when I hear him.
“Before you panic,” Tony says from behind me, “I’ve already confirmed you did not drool on any priceless equipment.”
I jump anyway.
“Sorry!” I blurt, immediately. “I didn’t mean to— I mean, I don’t even know if I was supposed to sleep and—”
Tony rounds the couch, holding two mugs. He looks… normal. Tired, but normal. Like this is just another weird morning in his life.
“Whoa,” he says. “Easy. Breathe. No one’s in trouble. This isn’t a sleepover tribunal.”
He hands me a mug. I take it automatically.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Coffee. Or tea. Or some horrifying hybrid I invented at 3 a.m. Dealer’s choice.”
I sniff it cautiously. “It’s coffee.”
“Congratulations. You passed the test.”
I take a sip. It’s good. Of course it is. Stark coffee probably costs more than my rent.
There’s a silence.
I suddenly don’t know where to look. At the mug. At the floor. At him. I choose the mug.
“So,” I say, because silence is terrifying. “Uh. Thanks. For letting me stay.”
Tony shrugs, leaning against the arm of the couch. “You didn’t exactly ask permission. You just kind of… showed up and emotionally imploded.”
I wince. “Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” he says gently. “You’re going to wear the word out.”
I nod. Then nod again. Then stop nodding because I realize I look like one of those dashboard dogs.
Another pause.
“I, um,” I start. “About last night—”
Tony raises a hand. “We don’t have to dissect it if you don’t want to.”
“I just don’t want to make things weird,” I rush out. “Like, I don’t expect— I mean, I’m not—”
“Peter,” he says.
I stop.
“Things are already weird,” Tony says. “Have you met us?”
That gets a small laugh out of me. It helps. A little.
He takes a sip of his own coffee, watching me over the rim of the mug. “But if you’re asking whether you crossed a line? No. You didn’t.”
My shoulders loosen before I can stop them.
“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoes.
There’s another stretch of quiet, but it’s not as sharp as before. More… cautious. Like we’re both feeling around the edges of something new.
Tony clears his throat. “You, uh. You want pancakes?”
I blink. “What?”
“Pancakes,” he repeats. “They’re comforting. Statistically. I read a study.”
“You read a study about pancakes?”
“I funded it.”
I smile, really smile, and something warm settles in my chest.
“Yeah,” I say. “Pancakes would be great.”
He nods, already turning toward the kitchen. “Good. Because if you said no, this would’ve been way more awkward.”
I watch him go, coffee warm in my hands, sunlight spilling across the floor.
I don’t know what this is yet. What we’re allowed to be. How close is too close.
But when Tony glances back and says, “Hey, kid? You’re welcome here. Morning-after panic included,”
I think maybe we’ll figure it out.
One quiet, awkward morning at a time.