Insignificance
Tony stared at the infuriating Room 16.
What the hell had just happened?
You had been doing so good -- he had been holding your hand. You were making progress, letting him in, letting him help, letting him take care of you.
Why did you freak out?
What did he do wrong?
He was hesitant to step away from your apartment door -- even just one small step. He didn't want to leave you. Who knows what you might do now that you're alone. What if you...?
Tony swallowed, trying to steady himself, trying to keep his nerves underway. You were fine, clearly.
Maybe you just didn't want his help.
Maybe you just didn't want him.
But how could he be okay with that?
He slowly backs from the door, hearing footsteps from inside. He wondered what you were doing -- what you were going to do. He tried to keep that thought of it out of his head.
Tony made it all the way back down to his car without doing anything impulsive.
He got into his car and turned on the engine -- a spike of anxiety rising in his stomach. That had been getting worse after seeing you like this -- the anxiety. Anxiety of driving especially. After he had thought he was healed from it, too.
It took a few deep breaths in attempt to ease himself before he started driving back to the Tower. The Tower where you were supposed to live with him, supposed to be okay with him at. Why couldn't it have ended like that? Why couldn't you just trust him -- open your eyes and see that he just wanted to help. Why couldn't you see that you'd be okay if you just let him help?
It wasn't fair. And he knew that nothing was fair but it still didn't make it any better. The yearning for you to be okay.
He gets home and texts you.
Just a little thing.
Just to see if you're okay.
Just to try again.
Hey
Tony stared down at the blinking cursor, thinking of anything else he could say.
You didn't respond. Again.
You didn't respond when he was in the shower either, opening the curtain to check his phone just in case.
You didn't respond when he was dressing into pajamas, either.
Or when he was climbing into his bed, turning off the lamp light.
You didn't respond while he stared blankly up at the ceiling, hoping to feel his phone buzz.
Nor did you when he reluctantly curled up on his empty bed, holding his phone to his chest.
He'd never felt so empty waiting for you to respond.