Phoenix’s 5’9” to Tony’s what… 6’4”? Even more? The lawyer just stared up, clenching his fists and glaring back into those glowing optics.
“I’m not an idiot, Tony.” He said, even if his voice shook slightly at the other’s name.
“You want to waste me? Go ahead. I’m sure a punch would be fair now, wouldn’t it?” Did Tony really want Wright to hit him? How would he even go about that? The lawyer feels trapped, but doesn’t want to back down. He can’t. He can’t back down now. He wasn’t wrong. Tony should have notified him or something.
No one had bothered asking why Tony had fallen off the wagon in the first place. He remembered the date and time that he did, down to the second. It was the moment he’d washed his last girlfriends blood off his hands after he’d carried her to the paramedics, who couldn’t do a thing. He remembered taking that first sip and allowing the bitter warmth to try and heal him, but it didn’t. Nothing healed him.
He could vaguely remember showing up drunk and fumbling around, then after that most things turned into a blur. Those moments of sobriety were rare, and often allowed the memories to haunt him more than ever.
He had seen Nick in happy relationships, he knew he had a family to look after too - so Tony would do what he could to protect what he knew he could have only for it to be thrown back into his face. Everyone he loved either died or ended up hating him, this was no exception.