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𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝐹𝐼𝐹𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑁 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒'𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢
☀︎︎
Eddy sat in his room, listening to the low hum of the TV as a song played in the film, the screen lighting the dark shadows a bluish colour. A green, swirled watercolour hung on the wall opposite, one which had been sent to him from his sister's old things, presumably from Peggy herself or Steve, though he'd not heard from him since the fight in Germany. Beneath the painting, was scattered wrappers, all a shiny, metallic purple colour. It had been the same Cadbury bar that got him through weeks of the Blitz that would get Eddy through the sludge he existed in.
In only a few weeks, he'd created a perfect channel between the kitchen and his bed. The coffee sat below the mug rack, which hung from the side of the sickly green tiles, and there was only one reason that he hadn't yet stolen the kettle for his own room.
Happy Hogan had made a habit of being annoyed. Everything Eddy did seemed to irritate the man, whether it was his sudden appearance in random rooms or his distinct lack of presence at times. There was very little that Edward would leave his room for. There was food and drink, of course, but he also liked the training facilities- though only for intervals of half hours, as it often reminded him too much of Wanda, and the guilt of leaving the team had hit him hard. It didn't matter if he was there or not, Happy always had something to say about it.
He sat on his bed with a blanket covering his head like a veil. Sunlight streamed in from a thin crack below the curtains and the TV blared an old film from the fifties. Funny Face, it was called, if he could remember correctly. The mattress had gone hard beneath his legs from the hours sitting on it. Like one of the moaning ghosts he'd seen in a horror film, Eddy's stomach growled loudly. He patted it once, and then, like a routine, he teleported to the kitchen, letting the blanket drop against the bedsheets.
"Hey!" Edward snapped backwards as a hand gripped his wrist, just before his fingers could wrap around the kettle handle. "How did you do that?"
Tony stared back at him smugly, releasing his hand and taking the kettle to pour over his own coffee.
"You do the same exact thing every day," he said, shoving the mug toward him. "It's exhausting to watch, being honest." Then he pulled something small from his pocket. "I have something for you."
"The hell is that?" Eddy exclaimed as Tony pinned something on the chest of his shirt.
"Charming," Tony snorted. "You're sounding less and less like an old man each day." He nodded toward the pin. "This is your Midtown badge."
