(B)EULER.

It’s a once special silence - gentle hum, machine rhythm and buzz; they’re all common things. The norm and noise that ebbs away to leave him alone to think, to wonder and to build. But that was a thing disturbed - Newton’s first law; ripple and consequence that hit him again, and again and again.

He wouldn’t have the ability to forget his voice or presence even if he tried. There’s the heart skip, the stillness, the intake of breath and the noticeable voice as the voice splits the calm. Though it’s always cold...this time - this time - it’s different. Harsher. Sharper. A little bit more bite. 

He remembers a taste in his mouth, sweet and crisp that pair with eyes filled with intent he so easily ignored. There’s salt against skin. Complimentary to the bite of biblical forbidden fruit. 

Tony remembers a moment then too. 

( Stolen air, a coffin personally made, a mistake and a once thought final breath... )

He’s stiff, but still he turns. “This?” he repeats. 

Miracle. How are you alive? What happened. What did you do? 

A broken record in his mind and no real answer - no proper explanation. All he’s had is silence. 

Maddening. Silence.

Ha, he took the bait ! ‘‘ Are you sure, Mister Stark ? ’’ Comes a, albeit feigned, oblivious response, ‘‘ Honestly I’m surprised you even knew what I was talking about, because it’s– it’s an ancient film. ’’

The very moment he hears those steel strings pluck away, eyes close. It was a classic, but not one he’d have started out with. It’s soothing. Fingertips follow the strum against the metal table top, slow with each chord plucked away. He’d tried to learn it once, a long time ago; a dusty, forgotten guitar case in his dad’s garage, found and given new life for a summer. 

He remembers the callouses on his fingertips.

Eyes still closed, he’s listening to words he’s heard sung a thousand times before– it doesn’t even register that he’s coffee’s being stolen, the warmth from it, long gone. 

God, it takes him back.

     Ooh, makes me wonder.

Gaze lifts, the hand that once strummed for the first few bars, now moves to smooth over his lips before coming to prop a cheek against it. He watches Tony with his coffee and offers a small, tired smile. 

“I love this song.” Among his favorites, really. The bridge starts after the guitar solo, and he lip syncs, head bobbing to the beat, expression serious in his rock session; a silent concert for one until the very last verse. 

(A lifted finger, the concert is over, all that remains is the voice in his earpiece singing those last few words softly.)

Yeah, that was a good choice.

He sees the way fingers twitch, as if it itches to pluck at metal strings to feel the way the tone echoes in the air in a way that just seems to....soothe. He knows it, understands it well --- there’s a touch of something personal there in his choice of song. It’s repeated, extended, listened to hours on end. Stress unravels, a mind clears, and he can work. He can focus. 

Reciprocation in the curve of lips, and Tony’s glad Rhodey can appreciate. He answers with the way his smile beams, a burst beyond the mug that had once been raised to lips. Don’t want to ruin the song with the intervention of words --- one of those things, sit, relax, and let the tunes drown everything else out. 

That same mug hides the way he watches with peculiar attention. Pilot’s lost in his own little world. Huh. Not that he finds it easy to ignore how easy the music engulfs him --- foreign ceramic against lips and the heat of a body next to him are the only anchor from a mind that tempts to delve into the mystery and wonder of his curiosity. 

He’s dropping his bag onto the floor, next to a stool he sits in to glide over to Tony’s side effortlessly. “Well,” He muses, “If I did, I’d have to make it up to you, somehow.” He’s lifting a hand to rub fingertips over his lips in thought. 

     “Can’t offer to buy you dinner, sort of already doing that… Can’t offer to let you stay at my place again, you already do that without even asking.” He gives a playful shrug, leaning forward a bit to look over what Tony had been working on.

     “I’d offer to help with what you’re working on, but something tells me you’ve got that covered.” A beat, “…You could always tell me what you want– but only if I really did keep you waiting. Otherwise, it’s an abuse of power.”

There is no denying the flurry of thought that makes it’s way into Tony’s mind --- violent currents that propagate into ifs, whats and maybes that promise every bit of trouble an imaginative mind can muster. Must show in his face, in the twitch of his lips and the way eyes dip, covered by fingers that rub his nose. 

He clears his throat, those digits still resting, curling to cup at chin and cover his lips. Index extends, taps as he hums. Tony rocks in the chair, a gentle swing side to side as fingers on the concrete floor tap a syncopated rhythm. A drum, additional percussion to help his thoughts ( to keep him waiting... you know, for a little fun ).

“ How about a smooch, sourpatch? ” he asks --- in jest! 

For the most part.

Sort of.

Not really. 

     “  you’re usually tired,  ”      she points out,  pressing messy blonde curls haphazardly out of her face with the palms of her hands.  it’s a fact she’s stating,  little more than a casually pointed inquiry into whatever’s bothering him.  taking the offered opportunity,  she presses herself off the arm of the couch and folds over into his shoulder,  legs curling into her abdomen.  the sleep’s  heavy  in her voice,  dragging down her words,  and she doesn’t necessarily try to fight it,  so her speech comes out slower,  like she’s got to work at her words to make them come out.       “  thinkin’  ‘bout what  ? ”     

He’s passing the bowl of nuts over, listening as Tony speaks, stealing a few nuts of his own. Brows pull– he feels like there should be a little more elaboration, but it doesn’t seem like the guy is interested in continuing. He half wonders if this buddy of his, got married.

Nah, it had to have been something else.

“I needed a drink, figured this was the best place to get started.” He considers it, gaze dropped to the glass he’d been nursing before lifting it to signal to the Bartender for another. 

     “…They told me disorientation happens, but it goes away eventually– or, it’s suppose to; that I shouldn’t worry about it, but…” The guy next to him had been there when he woke up, called him Platypus, but Jim hadn’t the foggiest clue who he was or why he was even there.

A nurse told him Tony was a benefactor of the hospital. It seemed like a lie.

He gives a shrug right as the bartender places a fresh glass before him, taking the other away. His gaze returns to Tony. 

     “–You ever wake up and can’t remember where you put your keys? It’s like that; every time I wake up, I feel like stuff’s always missing.”

“ Come to the perfect place. ”

Cardboard coaster between his fingers, turned and flipped as his mind processes. Tony’s attentive, despite the way digits are distracted, feel for the fibres of the paper as Rhodey speaks --- the sharp of his eyes never softening. He thinks about what happened, thinks about the fall and sacrifice and what they tell him. Can’t help but think about that. Fuck.

Another sip. 

This was probably a bad idea, he thinks; warning delayed where he finds himself in the company of temptation. James Rhodes; a man who always had a way with words, always had a way with him ( soft spot and that heat affected zone with point precise it’s easy to crumble ); and...well, the demon in the bottle he chose to  remove himself from. 

You’re a masochist Tony. Couldn’t keep away. 

Fuck. 

He smiles

The security feature alone is enough to get him to feel like he’s walking into a vault, but what waits on the other side of the door is anything but. It’s open, and big– there’s even an attached bath! 

Fuck, all his furniture would fit in a corner in this place, and yet–

     “…wow.” It’s all he manages; still taking it all in as he walks further into the place. “You– You’ve really been slumming it, huh. No wonder you like my place better.” It’s meant to be sarcastic, but he’s still lost on the idea that Tony would rather spend time in a shoebox, compared to, well, this.

He drops his pillow on Tony’s sofa before laying across it, stretching out enough with legs dangling partially off the side. 

     “–And here I thought you had some shitty roommate situation.”

He won’t answer; leaves it with a quick smile and the brief wring of his hands. What was he supposed to say, after all? Shitty roommate situation was relative: he couldn’t have any, that was the rules; guidelines given where risk always followed ( honey pot one day, secret organisation hell-bent on revenge the next ).  Tony shrugs. 

“ Yeah, guess it’s something like that,” he admits as he watches Rhodes flop onto the sofa. 

A small smile then. 

“ Comfortable? ” he asks, steps slow, motions tactful in their lazy way as he positions himself to lean against the edge of the sofa, back pressed against the cushions so he can turn to look towards the initially unwilling ‘roomie’. A slouch, one knee up as the other stretches and he turns his head, cheek brushing against the soft fabric of the seat. 

He allows three seconds to watch, to pick and pluck at the hidden notes he often reads between lines that make the curve of lips, crinkles by eyes and frowns. Three seconds, no more no less, before gaze turns upward to the high ceiling. “ Your place is nice. Not exactly state of the art, but it’s... ” 

Warm? Homey? Feels a little more...real? 

Me: did u hear abt those people in the lgbt community?

SB: what did they do

Me: couldn't vote bc they were killed for loving someone ; it's pretty up there with being headbutted for being a homophobic slice of scum dont you think?

A - AGE: 25 B - BIRTHPLACE: Philippines  C - CURRENT TIME: 10:25 PM D - DRINK YOU HAD LAST:  earl grey tea E - EASIEST PERSON TO TALK TO: becs, probs  F - FAVORITE SONG: i’m just going to say coldplay  G - GROSSEST MEMORY: third year engineering  H - HORROR YES OR HORROR NO: good horror please yes I - IN LOVE?: with myself, tbh.  J - JEALOUS OF PEOPLE: yeah. K - KILLED SOMEONE: no i’m a good boi  L - LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT OR SHOULD I WALK BY AGAIN?: you should walk away w that pick up line tbh.  M - MIDDLE NAME: beatriz N - NUMBER OF SIBLINGS: one O - ONE WISH: for people in positions of power to stop fucking shit up  P - PERSON YOU CALLED LAST: old mate  R - REASON TO SMILE: caffeine, pillows, good characterisation  S - SONG YOU SANG LAST: john denver: take me home, country roads  U - UNDERWEAR COLOR:  black V - VACATION: nz / japan  W - WHEN’S YOUR BIRTHDAY: dec 29 X - X-RAYS: my teef  Y - YOUR FAVORITE FOOD: pizza, pasta, hotpot  Z - ZODIAC SIGN: capricorn 

SHOOT I FORGOT TO TAG PEOPLE FOR THIS

Tagged by: @underoosed