His eyes dart to the side as she tosses the needles away, brow pinching in confusion. What was she doing? Did he do something wrong? Did he upset her? He was being honest, serious, letting the warmth in his belly spread out through his body, sending his mind tingling and blanketing over, the haze of his first taste of alcohol finally settling in. So he looks up at her, mouth open to say something, but the look on her face has his teeth clicking as his mouth shuts, has him blinking rapidly at her in confusion instead.
Perfect? He wasn't perfect. Anything but, actually. He was a jerk, a pain in the ass. Hurt and bitter and that bitterness had almost cost him his family. He pretended to be able to lead his friend and family, to be able to know what was best to do in a fight but the bottom line was he didn't. He didn't know what to do, where to go, who to talk to. This entire ship has his head spinning. There are so many people here, and everyone pretends like it's something normal. He's only met and known seven people in his entire life, and then suddenly he's here? With people he knows but doesn't know, his family nowhere in sight.
And he can kill them. All of them. Just by being himself, acting how he was raised to act, he'll end up killing them. His parents, the Avengers, it'll be his fault just like Tony getting captured had been. And ever since he'd seen that happen, had remembered clutching tight to the railing as everything shook, as shouts echoed over the coms, as Tony yelled at him to go back with the others. Natasha's soothing voice telling him to be good, even if she was out of breath, pained, dying. Cap had already gone down, but she was telling him she loved him and that would happen again, here, so what if it had been his fault in the first place? Had he touched something? Done something to bring Ultron to the mansion? Had he-
Lips, against his. Hands on his arms. He doesn't know what to do other than freeze, to open his eyes wide and reach his hands up, fingers skimming over Libby's skin gently, nervously, not sure where to touch, what to do. He knows what kissing is, he's not that stupid, and he knows what it means, but he's never gotten why people would do it. Why it would feel nice. And it... does. It's weird, he doesn't know how to react, but the contact feels nice. Reassuring. And he welcomes it.
He knows he should do something, but all he knows is to sit as still as possible and see what happens.
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Perfect? He wasn't perfect. Anything but, actually. He was a jerk, a pain in the ass. Hurt and bitter and that bitterness had almost cost him his family. He pretended to be able to lead his friend and family, to be able to know what was best to do in a fight but the bottom line was he didn't. He didn't know what to do, where to go, who to talk to. This entire ship has his head spinning. There are so many people here, and everyone pretends like it's something normal. He's only met and known seven people in his entire life, and then suddenly he's here? With people he knows but doesn't know, his family nowhere in sight.
And he can kill them. All of them. Just by being himself, acting how he was raised to act, he'll end up killing them. His parents, the Avengers, it'll be his fault just like Tony getting captured had been. And ever since he'd seen that happen, had remembered clutching tight to the railing as everything shook, as shouts echoed over the coms, as Tony yelled at him to go back with the others. Natasha's soothing voice telling him to be good, even if she was out of breath, pained, dying. Cap had already gone down, but she was telling him she loved him and that would happen again, here, so what if it had been his fault in the first place? Had he touched something? Done something to bring Ultron to the mansion? Had he-
Lips, against his. Hands on his arms. He doesn't know what to do other than freeze, to open his eyes wide and reach his hands up, fingers skimming over Libby's skin gently, nervously, not sure where to touch, what to do. He knows what kissing is, he's not that stupid, and he knows what it means, but he's never gotten why people would do it. Why it would feel nice. And it... does. It's weird, he doesn't know how to react, but the contact feels nice. Reassuring. And he welcomes it.
He knows he should do something, but all he knows is to sit as still as possible and see what happens.