31 Dec 2016
Tony sat on the cold floor in an unused room in the tower, a phone in one hand, a glass of scotch in the other.
It had been two months since the fight in Siberia. The fight where Tony was left cold and broken. The fight where all Tony got was a shitty apology letter and a burner phone. The fight that turned him against his friend. He let these thoughts sink into his mind, as he gazed out the panoramic windows overlooking New York City.
The phone sat in his hand, mocking him. Reminding him of what had happened.
Hastily (and drunkenly), Tony flipped open the phone and stared at the only contact in the phone, before clicking the talk button.