[He's not worthy of the acceptance he feels in the small, simple gesture of her hand squeezing his, the smoothing of her thumb over the back of his hand. It's too comforting.
He's made up entirely of scars like armor. When he'd said it all those years ago, he hadn't meant it metaphorically, but it rang true all the same. He was his work. He is Iron Man. Armor with a very squishy, breakable, broken core.
A quiet, breathy laugh escapes him before he can even consider holding it back, and he catches sight of his reflection before he slides his gaze to look at hers. He's smiling. It almost hurts to.]
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He's made up entirely of scars like armor. When he'd said it all those years ago, he hadn't meant it metaphorically, but it rang true all the same. He was his work. He is Iron Man. Armor with a very squishy, breakable, broken core.
A quiet, breathy laugh escapes him before he can even consider holding it back, and he catches sight of his reflection before he slides his gaze to look at hers. He's smiling. It almost hurts to.]
I'll put it on your tab.
[Yeah. They're even.]