Matt drops into the chair with a muttered word of thanks and pulls his hands up behind his head, like someone hit in the solar plexus might to regain their wind. He sits like that for more than a good handful of seconds, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears and as he tries to put the breaks on it, and when he manages, relaxes slowly, hands dropping into his lap. He blows out one, final breath, before he falls back into a normal breathing pattern.

"If I didn't know better, I might think I was still wearing my old costume," Matt tells him, finally. "It's as light as it felt, before I put it on. And it doesn't -- it's not as restrictive as I was worried it might be." Nor as loud, not like the leather it feels like it's made out of. Not that he doubted Tony, but well, he wasn't sure what, exactly, to expect, really.

"I kinda wish I'd let the guy get his hands on the knife, though." He's wondering how well it really holds up and what it feels like, getting stabbed, wearing it. Just because it'll probably stop him from needing more stitches doesn't mean it might not hurt on impact.