@ccmplicatedweb gets a delayed starter that i am FINALLY DOING.
blue eyes are an aching, aching hue. sinatra might weep for the shade, actually. a kind of blue that’s tender and dangerously simple to shatter, breakable. Stark’s every emotion is worn on his sleeve — or, to be more specific, glowing warmly in the center of his chest. it illuminates his acdc shirt, makes black briefly turquoise and then a dull white.
“you ever play the drums?” he grins, ear to ear, a brightness. it’s a boyish charm that’s never left him, only become something handsome, something clinging easily to youth. a part of him that is always, always unquestioning. nat brings out the warmest parts of him. he hands a drumstick over, waits patiently for her to take a seat on the stool behind the shiny, sleek cherry kit, “it’s new. i thought you might just enjoy banging on something to shit for a sanctioned reason.”
he steps on a pedal, gently, enough to elicit a dull thunk, muted enough to not alarm. the arc reactor shimmers silently, a barely discernible hum.
“and i was maybe just. a little excited. it’s real pretty. but also, this room is soundproofed. i’d never drive you crazy like that. i’m not that much of a dude.”
pause.
“i know what dude behavior look at my drum kit is.” he snorts.
