Are
You had retreated to the safety of your room without another word, the anxiety filling your stomach and clouding your head as you tided as quickly as possible.
Tony had seen the mess your apartment was — the absolute pigsty.
He was probably disgusted, how low did a human have to sink? (Why did you let yourself sink this low?)
Your hamper was overflowing with clothes by the time the carpet was stripped of them. Laundry would have to get done when Tony left.
Tony didn’t want to be here, not in this mess, not around you, not anywhere around your fucked up life. He was doing this to ease his conscience.
The guilt of it all made you want to puke.
You drew the blankets up to the head of the bed, re-fluffing the pillows and smoothing out the sheets. Even though the bed looked better than it ever really had, the blankets were a bit nasty — another thing you need to wash. You made a mental note.
You then found your trash overflowing, so you took it out quickly, nearly dropping the thing with how shaky your hands were.
It was nice to use cleaning as a distraction of the anxiety that was gnawing at your ribs, at your stomach.
You were in the middle of fishing out more trash from underneath your desk when Tony’s clearing of his throat startled you.
“I’ve fixed it,” he said. “Just a simple motor problem, and a bit of blocked vents and stuff — shitty airflow, overall.”
He must’ve fixed the air conditioner quickly then — you hadn’t any time to even consider tidying the living room, kitchen, bathroom… etc. Everything was still a mess and it was overwhelming.
You looked over your shoulder at him.
Tony’s worry clearly displayed on his face didn’t help.
“T-thank you,” you said, cringing when you heard your voice shake about as much as your hands did.
You stood up, leaning back against the desk for support.
“I really appreciate it,” you continued. “Uhm… you can… go now.”
You didn’t much want Tony here to look too closely at the massive mess, see an even bigger one that could walk.
Tony frowned, tilting his head and crossing his arms. It punched you right in the gut, it felt.
Tony hesitated. “You sure?”
You nodded, frantically. You gripped the edge of the desk tightly, trying to get your breathing underway. Why was it so hard to be okay?
Tony regarded you carefully — it spiked your anxiety further. Spiked your panic.
“Are you okay?”