For @lovelyirony Because Her Style Inspired Me While Writing This

for @lovelyirony because her style inspired me while writing this

The first thing, the first real thing, that Jim notices about Tony Stark is his hands. His hands: not manicured, not delicate, not soft or smooth, not perfect. Not what he expected from a rich kid whose daddy’s money paves the way for every milestone of his life.

No. They’re rough and calloused, with engine grease, of all things, still under his nails, and scars around his knuckles that don’t look like they’re there from fights, but rather from hours of long work resulting in skin that doesn’t heal properly.

They’re mechanic’s hands, worker’s hands, the same hands that Jim, who’s worked on his dad’s car and his momma’s stove all his life, has.

So. Tony Stark, heir to the grand fortune of Stark Industries and son of the American hero–the Merchant of Life–Howard Stark, has something in common with Jim Rhodes, nothing but a momma’s boy from rural Pennsylvania.

Jim keeps that in mind.

The second thing he notices is the way Tony speaks. It’s an observation that comes after a few weeks of knowing him, not within a few seconds, because Tony’s voice changes, and it requires attention to notice. And care. Jim notices because he’s…paying attention. Because he cares. Huh.

That’s an emotional thread to pull on some other time, he decides.

But Tony’s voice…it surprises him, because the almost childish babble laced with excitement is so different from the sharp quips paired with sharper smiles and different still from the slurred words that hold no meaning but build up so many walls and the furthest from the seductive purr belonging to someone so many years older than Tony.

Tony’s like a parrot, mimicking the tones of those around him, blending in so that no one realizes he doesn’t belong, but Jim does. Because he’s paying attention.

And maybe that’s why he’s the only one who gets to hear the babble, the voice that maybe belongs to the real Tony.

The real Tony.

Jim wants to meet him more than he realizes, or understands.

Why is he so attached?

He’ll figure it out some other time.

The third thing that Jim notices is the way he sleeps, and he thinks that the only reason it took him this long (almost four months) to notice is because Tony doesn’t sleep while he’s awake. When Jim falls asleep, Tony’s awake, or not even in the dorm, and when he wakes up, Tony’s awake, but more often than not, gone already, unless he never came home in the first place.

Home. Huh.

When he comes home–to the dorm–after a late night of studying, Tony’s there. In bed. Asleep.

And it’s so different than Jim was expecting.

Tony’s not sprawled out, like he should be, not taking up space, like he owns it, not acting like a rich kid who’s there because his daddy put him there.

Because he isn’t any of that, and Jim knows that now, but it’s still a shock to come home and see Tony–who’s so much tinier than he thought–curled up on the edge of the bed, knees tucked to his chest, a whole two feet of bed unused behind him.

Like he’s leaving space for someone. Like he’s waiting for someone to slip in behind him and complete the puzzle he’s created. Like he’s waiting for comfort he’s never gotten before.

It…hurts.

And Jim can ignore it, at first.

But then Tony mumbles in his sleep, almost rolling off the bed, and the pieces of the puzzle don’t matter anymore, because Jim slips in to fit them together.

And Tony relaxes in his arms.

And it feels right.

And Jim knows, now, why he was paying attention.