Tony's tinkering away when he realizes you're way quieter than usual. You're writing an essay, listening to music in your headphones. He wants to know what you're listening to, wanting to get to know his “kid” better.

‘I’ll be better on Saturn. None of this matters. Dreaming of Saturn.’

“Sounds kinda depressing, kid. You okay?” He asks as he gets closer, instantly getting the faint whiff of weed on your jacket.

Holy shit, the kid he pegged as being a “goody two shoes”, is high.