Malcolm awakes to the profiles of his youngest, but most successfully manipulative brother, Dewey, and the second oldest, but most physically destructive brother, Reese. Initially wincing to the increased amount of light in the room, his eyes focus enough to see Reese's sleeping figure.
Malcolm can't help but allow his gaze to linger on the peaceful, sprawled figure of Reese; he realizes that he's never just looked at him outside of plotting some mindless prank as he sleeps, or, more commonly, glaring daggers at him in hopes of causing Reese's spontaneous, but long-deserved combustion by means of mere will. But now, right now, Malcolm might even dare to think Reese looks angelic. Ethereal, even. Too many adjectives to describe a single, complex being.
But not fucking beautiful at all.
'Wow, I didn't think I'd lose it this quickly,' Malcolm thinks. 'It's obvious that I've gone crazy, considering that it's Reese we're thinking about here. I mean, what part of a generally destructive idiot could you find even the slightest appeal in?'
Malcolm quickly grows tired of his own thoughts, and resolves to dissipate them with physical productivity. He winces at the harsh cracks and pops of his back and shoulders as he stretches, then drags himself into the bathroom to rid himself of the foul morning breath currently plaguing the inside of his mouth.
Just as he's about to close the door and brush his teeth, the door swings open, making him jump in surprise to see Reese wandering in. "Morning," Reese greets him, a sleepy expression still gracing his flawless features as he reaches for the toothpaste-
'Flawless?' Malcolm thinks. 'Are you possessed or something? 'Cause that's not something you, his brother, would think about the way Reese looks. In fact, go back to thinking about how he looks as dumb as he is. Now, shut up and brush your teeth, dipwad.'
After fumbling to twist off the cap for almost two long, embarrassing minutes, Reese reluctantly shoves the infamous tube into Malcolm's hand, snatching his hand away before he felt like holding Malcolm's instead.
'...The fuck is going on with me?' Reese thinks, a frown of disappointment on his face when Malcolm easily twists the cap off, a mockery of a smile beginning to show.
"Don't you say a goddamn word. A toothpaste cap is nothing compared to the beatings I hand out daily. Don't look so excited," Reese grumbles, quickly taking the toothpaste tube to brush and get on with his day.
"See, this is one of the very few instances in which your 'thug' status is fairly questionable. Do you need me to carry your backpack for you too, wittle baby Weesie? Could change your diaper, too-"
Reese drops his toothbrush before snatching the front of Malcolm's t-shirt and yanking him close, breathing hard from the petty manifestation of rage boiling inside his veins. Malcolm can hardly concentrate with Reese being this close, thinking he's gone too far, and the brush of Reese's strong fingers against his stomach as they clutch his shirt in a death grip and his cool, minty breath against his face aren't helping.
"Listen," Reese growls, "just because you think I'm a 'thug' doesn't mean you can successfully provoke me at any time. After all, thugs don't really beat up people who don't deserve every punch and kick they get. But I can still intimidate the hell out of you." Malcolm's hands fly up to Reese's wrists, clutching them mainly for support...and penance, for fear of what Reese might do later. "After all, who's the pint-sized nerd in the clutches of his stronger, cooler older brother?" Reese finishes, leaning in to capture the fear in Malcolm's sky-blue eyes.
Malcolm's grip on Reese's wrists tightens out of nervousness, making Reese internalize the pain-related wince that he doesn't dare display externally. Malcolm gulps, leaning his face away from Reese's, realizing he pretty much poked the bear that is a ticking time bomb of fists. Reese leans in closer, breath washing over Malcolm's face. "Who holds the power, Malcolm?" Reese can't help but notice how fragile Malcolm looks in this very moment.
Reese says his name with a tone bordering on brutally volatile that Malcolm all but whispers, "Me," and tries to yank himself out of Reese's grip; Reese lets go of his shirt, only to catch Malcolm by both his wrists and pin them to his own chest, forcing Malcolm to face him. Reese leans in until Malcolm's pink, slightly chapped lips are a hair's width away from his own, hovering for a moment, then darts to his ear. "Let's talk later," he says, releasing Malcolm from his hold and ambling out of their shared bathroom.
Malcolm lets out the breath he was holding in; he can barely reflect on what just transpired, when Lois calls them for breakfast, temporarily snapping him out of his thoughts as he rushes to dress and get downstairs, a worrying mix of fear and...something foreign swirling low in his gut.
But, he's not really rushing, since, you know, Reese is down there.