Tony Stark

The meeting had ended just like all the others: with you practically screaming out, Tony raising an eyebrow, and all the other engineers pretending not to exist.

—You're impossible, Stark.

Stark replied.

—That's part of the charm.

You left the building with your heart racing and your jaw clenched. The rain was barely falling, but it promised to turn into a storm. Your partner had told you, "I'll pick you up when you get out, love." Ten minutes had passed. Fifteen. Thirty. One hour.

You were already soaked, your arms crossed against the cold, cars speeding by on the avenue in front of Stark Tower. All the anger from before was beginning to mix with that quiet sadness that left your throat tight.

From above, Tony was reviewing blueprints when he saw a lone figure in front of the building. You. Getting wet. Waiting for someone who clearly wasn't going to show up.

He stood still for a few seconds, watching. His expression changed from annoyance to worry, as if something had become lodged in his chest.

—FRIDAY, why isn't anyone letting her in? —The young lady indicated that she was waiting for someone, sir. Tony pursed his lips. —Yes, well… that's not working anymore.

He took the elevator down as if it were an emergency. When he got out, the rain was already heavy. He walked purposefully to you without saying a word and, without asking permission, took off his jacket and put it over your head, covering you.

—You're going to get sick, genius. His voice wasn't ironic or sarcastic; it was one of concern, even if he wasn't about to admit it.