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The first time Tony notices it is during one of his trips to Tennessee.
He'd been working on a "kid-safe" Iron Man suit, because Harley's sister wanted him to wear it for her birthday party, and, as usual, he realized too late that he'd forgotten to eat.
When he finally got up, he noticed that Harley'd been there the whole time. Said he’s “not hungry.” Tony shrugged it off. Teenagers are like cats—eat when they feel like it, disappear when they don’t.
Then it happens again.
And again.
They're on call one night, Tony's pacing around his lab, taking a stretch break before getting back to work. He mentions—offhand, careless—that he skipped dinner, and Harley pauses on the other end of the line.
For the rest of the call Harley sounds.. despondent; down. Tony can tell he tries not to, but the kid is easy to read.
Tony lets Harley move the conversation along regardless. Files it away. Adds it to the growing, uncomfortable mental spreadsheet he’s trying very hard not to look at directly.
Then there’s the opposite end of it.
Movie night at the Keeners’. Harley demolishes half a pizza, goes back for chips, then ice cream, then whatever’s left in the pantry. Tony clocks it instantly. The kid eats like he’s trying to outrun something.
His mom laughs it off. “Growth spurt,” she says fondly. Tony laughs too. But later, Harley disappears. Bathroom door shuts. Lock clicks.
Tony tries not to assume anything. Again, he's a teenager. Teenagers hide away all the time. Honestly, he'd be more surprised if Harley had decided to stay while they cleaned up.
That night, Tony doesn't sleep much. He just lies on the couch, staring at the ceiling, replaying the last few days in his mind frame by frame. How he hadn't see Harley actually eat anything nearly all week; not outside of a couple slices of an apple his sister shared with him.
He wishes he could blame it on Harley not feeling well, but now it's a pattern. Some days he'll barely eat, if at all, and others he'll eat far more than Tony frankly thought someone his size was able to stomach.
By dawn, he still hadn't slept a wink. He gets up and makes breakfast. Eggs, toast; even cuts up some fruit. He sets it out on the table like it’s the most normal thing in the world, like he makes breakfast all the time. If Harley questions it, Tony'll just say he wanted to give their mom a break.
Harley wanders in a few minutes later, hair a mess, hoodie two sizes too big. He stops short when he sees the table.
“Oh,” he says. “You didn’t have to—”
“I did,” Tony says. "I was up anyways, thought might as well."
Harley doesn't respond immediately, still just staring at the plates as Tony starts serving himself. “I’m not hungry,” he mutters.
"Alright," Tony shrugs, as calmly as he can, "you could at least sit with me, though. Feel kinda awkward eating while you just stand there."
He watches as Harley hesitates again, then finally sits at the table. Tony silently nudges the other plate toward him, stopping when he sees Harley's eyes dart to it.
Tony takes a bite of his own toast, making a show of chewing it. Once he finishes the piece, he glances up again. "Can I ask you something?"
"…Depends."
“Do you notice when I forget to eat?”
Harley freezes. Just for a second, but Tony notices anyways. “Why?”
“Because I notice when you do,” Tony says gently.
Harley stares at the table. His fingers curl tight around the edge of his plate. “I’m not—” He stops. Swallows. Tries again. “I’m not doing anything bad.”
Tony exhales through his nose. “Did I say you were?"
“You don’t get it.”
Tony nods. “You’re right. I don't. That's kinda why I'm asking." When Harley doesn't say anything, he keeps going. "Me not eating isn't something to copy, bud. Okay? I'm honored that I'm kind of your idol, here—" he smiles when Harley chuckles, even if the smile drops almost immediately "—but.. I'm also kind of an idiot."
Harley’s voice comes out small, whatever modicum of humor that was there a second ago had already disappeared. “You’re Iron Man.”
Tony winces. “Yeah. And clearly Iron Man is an idiot."
"Iron Man also once superglued his own hands together," Tony adds after a moment. “So maybe let’s not use him as the gold standard.”
Harley huffs despite himself. It’s small, barely there, but it’s something.
"You don’t have to eat. I’m not gonna force you. I just—” He searches for the right phrasing. “I wanna understand what’s going on in that head of yours.”
Harley’s fingers twitch. He picks at a corner of the napkin, fraying it thread by thread. “It’s not a big deal,” he says. “I’m fine.”
"Yeah, no one's ever said that and not meant it." Tony sighs. "Come on, kid. Talk to me."
Harley’s jaw tightens. “I just… sometimes I eat a lot. And then I feel gross about it. So I fix it.”
Tony’s chest tightens, sharp and familiar. He does his best to keep his face neutral. “How do you fix it?”
Harley shrugs, too fast. “I don’t eat for a bit. It’s not—” He falters. “It’s not like—I'm not— throwing up or anything, don't worry about that.”
"I know, that's not the part that I'm worried about."
Harley swallows. His voice drops. “I'm not copying you. It's just that when you don’t eat… it makes it easier. Like—like I’m not the only one doing something wrong.”
Tony reaches over, placing a hand over one of Harley's. "Okay, listen to me. You don't need to— You—" Tony pauses, taking a second before starting again. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, okay?"
Harley nods, but didn't say anything more, so Tony continued, "now, think you can eat some? Or do you just wanna head outside? We've gotta work on the car today."
"Can we just head outside?" Harley asks, still not looking up at Tony.
"Yeah, yeah. We'll try again later, alright?" Tony stands, motioning for Harley to follow him. "Come on. I wanna get started before your sister wakes up anyways. I promised I'd play Pokemon with her today."