Rise || Marvel

《2》Same Head, Different Bed

《 Tia's POV 》

Sleepily, I rolled over, contentedly snuggling deeper into the warm blanket covering me.

I love sleep.

I felt my lips curve into a small smile, savoring the comfort of the bed. Through my closed eyelids, a warm, golden glow throbbed against the stillness. Frowning, I rolled over again, turning my face away from the morning rays of light. A small part of me was confused; I hadn't left my shabby curtains open last night, had I? I always felt safer with them closed... But I shoved the doubtful voice away irritably.

"Any serial killer who climbs through my window can just piss off..." I mumbled into the fabric of the smooth pillow cover, keeping my eyes closed. Maybe I could just drift off back to sleep. I didn't have any school today, and I tend to highly value the days where I can actually sleep for a change.

It's because you spend all night reading fandom-related fan-fictions, you ding-dong... My brain scolded me.

Shut up, I told myself.

Any normal teenager would sleep-in. Basic facts. School sucks the energy right out of you.

Now smiling, I shifted my arm into a more comfortable position and sighed deeply, ready to simply fall back asleep. Sure, I knew that if I did go back to sleep, I'd be here until noon, but oh well. Twas a risk I was willing to take!

...But try as I might, I couldn't seem to settle. I hissed under my breath. Eventually, I became aware of a faint, steady beeping noise. Dammit. Is that my alarm clock? I thought I didn't set an alarm. 

Blindly (as my eyes were still closed), I extracted my arm from the tangle of sheets and flailed it about randomly in the general direction of where I knew my bedside table would be.

*BEEP*

*BEEP*

*BEEP*

"Yeah, yeah... I'm awake. You win, clock."

*BEEP*

*BEEP*

*BEEP*

*BEEP*

"..."

*BEEP*

*BEEP*

"Oh, SHUT UP!" I growled.

*BE-*

Finally, my fingertips connected with the cool plastic of the alarm clock, and with a small shove, I knocked it from its position. I heard a satisfying 'thunk' as the solid object collided with the floor.

I inhaled deeply, arm still dangling off the edge of the bed. I let my breath out slowly. May as well get up. I won't do any good just lying here like a sack of potatoes.

Slowly, I let my eyelids rise, then blinked several times to adjust to my surroundings. I stared at the ceiling for a full minute, eyebrows creased in uncertainty. Something was off. I turned my head to the side blearily, rubbing my eyes, then directed my gaze towards the window. Indeed, the curtains were pulled back. But now I didn't care about that.

I sat bolt upright, all traces of exhaustion gone. I looked wildly around the room.

This isn't my room.

Panic began to swell in my throat and my stomach felt like it was doing a series of eloquent back-flips.

Where-?

My gaze rested on the sleek alarm clock on the floor. Out of instinct, I reached down to pick it up... only to realise that my right hand was on fire.

"WHAT THE FU-?!" I screeched, stumbling backwards before running around in circles, waving my hand frantically, "WHAT THE FRIGGITY FLIPPIN' FRACK, WHY IS MY HAND ON FIRE?! AND WHY IS IT NOT HURTING?!"

In the midst of my little existential crisis, a short burst of knocking sounded on the door to the bedroom-that-was-not-mine.

"Whas' all the ruckus?" Asked a drowsy voice from the other side of the wood, clearly male. I would've started shouting some more, but all I could manage was a weird goose-honk-choking spluttering noise.

I heard the guy on the other side of the door sigh heavily, then the door handle turned. The door swung open to reveal a weary-looking man. He had short, dark-brown hair smudged up to the side- he had clearly only just got out of bed. He bore very short, neatly trimmed facial hair and his dark eyes gleamed intelligently in his otherwise exhausted appearance.

I was so shocked at the sight of the man, that I almost forgot about my flaming hand. Almost. Shakily, I pointed (with my not-on-fire hand) at him, barely managing to formulate proper words, "Ho-holy crap, RDJ...?!"

He frowned, tugging at his dressing gown, "What are you talking about? Are you sleep talking again?"

I continued to stare at him, dumbfounded, "You... You're..."

"Tony Stark," he finished bluntly, "Believe it or not, I think I know my own identity."

"What is happening right now...?"

"I give up, you kids these days are too weird," he said. Though still totally confused, I abruptly remembered that my freaking hand was on fire. I held it up desperately.

"Why the hell is my hand on FIRE?!" I demanded. At this point, I was more angry than I was panicked. Robert- or rather- Tony, rolled his eyes.

"So? What's the big deal? Just put it out before you burn the wardrobe... again."

"'Put it out'...? How?! ...And what do you mean 'again'?!"

Tony shot me a weird look, "Well, don't ask me! I don't exactly know how you do your flame thing..."

"What 'flame thing'?! I'm so confused..." I groaned, flopping down on the bed-that-was-not-mine in defeat.

"Y'know, I thought you were being brutally murdered or something before I came in here... Geez... It's too early in the morning for this..." He complained, running a hand tiredly through his hair in exasperation, then slouched out of the room, grumbling, "Lemme get me some coffee, at least. There's bread and stuff in the kitchen. Come make some breakfast when you've recovered from your weird sleep amnesia."

I gaped after him, privately yelling several (very-colourful) words after him in my head, then death-glared my flaming hand.

"Go out, go out, go out, go out, go out...!" I hissed at it, shaking it for emphasis. After several moments of me praying to every single 'God' I had ever heard of and willing the fire to just go out, the flames flickered away. I held up my right hand and anxiously inspected it.

No burn marks. Just my normal hand. I glanced over at the open doorway from which Tony freaking Stark had just exited.

Just what the hell is going on?