At this point, Tony would recognize an arc reactor made out of toothpicks. He’s had his hands on his own so many times, modifying it, reworking it, making it more efficient, less likely to have problems, that he knows the shape of it as intimately as he knows the shape of his hands. One that’s made out of paper is easy to recognize.

He can’t see the tree. He can only know that he faces it, can only touch its leaves and the homemade ornaments that grace its branches. For a moment, that’s what he does. Stands there in front of the tree, beside a man that he still doesn’t know quite how to act around.

Finally, he reaches out to touch his arm. Unlike Steve, he can talk, but right now, he opts not to. He doesn’t say anything at all, just squeezes his arm once. Mostly in thanks, but also for a hundred other reasons he can’t even begin to decipher.