Celine Dion’s got a discography half a mile long. Not that Tony would know; he doesn’t actively listen to her music, it’s more of a case that it finds him than the other way around. But he doesn’t need to ask which song Bruce means. It’s that kind of song. One just knows.

He’s tempted to break into the chorus just for the fun of it, but as Bruce settles in on top of him, he thinks that maybe there are better things to do with his mouth than waste it belting out trite, overused schmoopy love songs.

Bruce is so warm that the heat radiating off of him gives Tony an idea of just how cold he must feel. The goosebumps he finds when he runs his hands up his arms are another clue, and he resolves to figure out a way to do something about it. Not at the moment, there’s nothing he can do. But later, surely there’s something he can make. A heat blanket, a thermal shirt of some kind that can subtly warm his body to at least room temperature, something.

Silently, he apologizes to Bruce as he curls around him, recognizing that it’s selfish but wanting to be close to him too much to pull away. He ducks his head to kiss Bruce’s shoulder. He’ll fix this. Somehow, some way, he’ll fix this. That he promises to Bruce, even if he doesn't say the words out loud.