[Morning-Tony does indeed deal with the problem, when he rolls over in his assigned apartment's bare-bones bed and catches the blinking indicator on his wrist device. It's the second thing he notices after the disappearance of the tentacles, though those he'd been kinda aware of from a) alien sex city's prescribed calendar, and b) the burning sensation along his forearms and calves in the middle of the night.
He stares at the messages for a few seconds, re-reads them once or twice.
Then he closes the message app window and rolls back over again to face the wall. He tugs the sheets over his head and closes his eyes.
If he doesn't reply, then maybe he never saw it. If maybe he never saw it, then Steve won't ask him about it.
But that doesn't mean he's not stuck right here, right now.
no subject
He stares at the messages for a few seconds, re-reads them once or twice.
Then he closes the message app window and rolls back over again to face the wall. He tugs the sheets over his head and closes his eyes.
If he doesn't reply, then maybe he never saw it. If maybe he never saw it, then Steve won't ask him about it.
But that doesn't mean he's not stuck right here, right now.
Thinking. Knowing.
He tries to fall back asleep. But he doesn't.]