Reese's Complex

Infection

The next morning, sunlight swarmed the bedroom like a cloud of vicious gnats, gnawing at Reese’s corneas. His muscles were springs, stretched to the point of snapping, but also gelatin, sliding through the prongs of fork. He shoved away the blanket from his chest, only to miss it immediately.

Tony must have sprinkled something in that food, despite claiming otherwise. No doubt the scheming punk sat at home, laughing his ass off. But Reese didn’t have the energy to do anything about it. Instead he sighed out through his nostrils.

And when he considered marching over to punch Dewey awake, all that came out was another sigh. Even though the traitor deserved a good bop to the teeth.

He had a lot of nerve locking Reese in their room until their parents got home, using a padlock made of blackmail. Playing his stupid, little piano and joking around with the enemy. What did he and Tony even have in common?

Aside from wanting Reese dead, that is.

Which was probably what they were up to yesterday. Talking mess about him and outlining their vengeful schemes. Maybe even spilling secrets.

He needed to tear them apart.

And his other brother wasn’t much better. Malcolm seemed to smirk at him, even as he lay there snoring. He mocked Reese by staying out late, doing that lame project with Stevie. Despite knowing full well that his older brother would be cooped up in this dump for another two and a half weeks.

Then, to make it all worse, he gets home and stares at Reese like he’s some whacky specimen.

If Malcolm had something to say, he should just come out and say it.

Reese yawned. He needed to get up and brush his teeth. Scrape the bad taste from his mouth with steel wool.

---

“This tastes amazing, Tony. I can tell your dad put a lot of effort into making it.” Reese smirked over a mouthful of pasta, eyes like candles left unattended. Every chew full of purpose and enjoyment. And cheese.

As antagonistic as his intentions may have been, he was actually telling the truth last night. On any other occasion, he would have asked for the recipe.

Lois almost spat out some food as her jaw fell to the table. Instead, she swallowed it, along with several questions. Whatever brought along this apparent goodwill from her son was better off a mystery. For the sake of a peaceful dinner.

Tony’s dark gaze never left his plate. “Yup.”

A second later, Dewey leaned over to the glum teenager and whispered a few words into his ear. They pulled a bright set of teeth out of hiding. The interaction continued with a whisper back.

Reese’s chewing slowed. The shifting of cannelloni inside his head made it impossible to make out what they were saying. A scowl. “I hope you’ll let him know how grateful I am.” He tried again, ready for his enemy to tell him off.

No reply. What gives?

After Tony stormed out a few hours earlier, he hadn’t acknowledged him at all. Not when Reese glared over with bitter accusation. Nor when they sat across from each other at the table.

Instead, he addressed everyone else. Cracking jokes, telling stories, and tossing compliments out like candy.

Reese left his bowl half-finished.

When he stepped into the chilling spray of the shower, those emotions grew. If Tony wanted to ignore him, Reese would do the same.

“When’s the last time you washed your hands?”