Y/N was just passing through.

Badge clipped to her coat. Coffee warm in her hand. A normal Tuesday, with a stack of case files waiting on her desk and the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

Then the chaos hit.

Tony Stark, in the flesh. Unshaven, rumpled leather jacket, dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept in a week—and absolutely owning the space like it was built around him.

Then his eyes found Y/N.

Just a glance, at first. Casual. Dismissive.

Then something clicked.

His whole demeanor shifted—barely a fraction, but enough. Sharp. Focused. Like a targeting system locking on.

And he was walking straight toward her.

Oh no.

His hand found hers—warm, sure, completely uninvited—and he slid into her personal space like they'd done this a hundred times before.