Inwardly, he can agree with that. He’s still the same guy he was when he went to sleep. A little rawer around the edges, maybe. A little more prone to jumping on the emotional rollercoaster. He feels more than he did before, sharper and harder, so much so that it’s difficult to ignore it the way he did when he was alive. It’s not a problem with the positive emotions, he doesn’t mind being deliriously happy or extraordinarily turned-on. But the darker ones, the negative ones, already Tony can see that that might be a problem.

Unless he learns how to control it. With time, maybe he will. He just has to hope that he has that time before he ruins everything with his quicksilver mood swings.

Outwardly, though, he’s hardly the same. It’s a difference emphasized when Bruce touches him again and he feels how warm he is.

“Maybe that should be our gimmick,” he suggests, hooking an arm around Bruce’s waist and walking backward toward the bed. “Setting various rock and pop songs to inappropriate dance numbers. The Mister Roboto dance to Enrique Iglesias’s Hero. That kind of thing.” When he’s close enough, he leans backwards, precursor to falling onto the bed, and tugs at Bruce to follow him down.