Re: [The Motel: Cat & Reece]
It was't creepy, it was just weird. And to be fair, it was like, the slightest bit too long, the hand-holding. Most people, if they didn't think they had killers and torturers after them, probably wouldn't notice. But, Reece was more than on edge. He was over edge. He was clinging to edge with his nails and can you imagine the havoc that would wreak on nailbeds? Ouch.—He looked at the kid, who was now on his bed, on his clean sheets, in spite of just having been on the ground outside, and he couldn't collect himself to just grab the boy and kick him out. He was like, just, dumbfounded that this was happening. And still highly suspicious that something was happening that he couldn't quite parse. He knew it was right there and he was just too stupid to grasp it.
Still, the dramatic flop. The talk of medical attention. They did get to Reece, just a little. He wrung his hands together, metal and flesh both, and he looked at the ceiling when the boy did. "Yeah," was all he said, distractedly. His gaze drifted back down at the mention of MRSA. Reece's expression went to disgust and annoyance. "I know." He gestured at his loafers, like, hello. "You're the one on my bed after sitting on the ground. I brought those sheets you know. Like, from my house."
It was obvious to anyone who could read Reece that he was trying to decide what to do. He glanced at the door—still slightly ajar, then crossed over to close it. He was fighting himself. Obviously, this was some kind of trick and he needed to kill this kid or incapacitate him. But, God, that was much easier said over annoyed text to 'Tod,' than done. He grimaced as he turned back toward the bed, drifting in its direction almost listlessly. "My girlfriend's out of town and I... don't like... sleeping in the bed alone." Close enough. Reece knew all lies should have a grain of truth, to make them believable. He would've smiled then, to like, seal it, but the kid was cradling his hand like it was his pet bunny that just died and the man waffled again.
"I'm Reece," he finally said, stupidly, probably confirming his own death with his name, and he sat on the edge of the bed, near the foot. He tried not to look at the limp hand. "What's your name?" He couldn't do it—he couldn't not look, then he felt even worse. "Should I find some like, burn cream or something?" He shifted, loafers dragging on the gross floor. "Do you work for Tethys?"