earth is his stress ball.

no matter how villainous that sounds, it does. and he doesn't know if he should be ashamed because if it's you, stress really does fade away like just seeing you after having a bad sandwich and tadaaa!— magically okay. you smile at him, tease him, poke him. god, he feels more than okay.

are you gonna marry, kiss or kill him? truth, dare, spin bottle. he knows how to ball, you know aristotle. and it's getting tense in that saturday night betting all the cards he has to lady luck and hopes for the best, just want to ignore, avoid, and move on, cause there's no way he's gonna hit on someone like you. right?

he couldn't even tell what you had been saying. he didn't care, truthfully. all tony could focus on for the past hour was your lips and how they moved as you spoke about lore and stuff. how glossy they looked with the bold lights illuminating them and how your tongue ever-so-slightly brushed upon them.

heartbreak is his thing, disappointment is his mood. but shock sure never belongs in his vocabulary. but now it does when the bottle stopped spinning, the mouth facing you.