The way that Dylan stared at him made Tony uneasy, and while normally he would be able to hide it or even say a smartass remark to cover it, right now he couldn’t with all the amount of alcohol he had consumed the past few... What, hours? Days? It was hard to keep track by now. When December had started the scotch had been kept at an easy reach at all times, and he had locked himself in the lab unless he went out of town for surfing with Pepper for a couple of days in California, or driving around. It had been his way of keeping himself from crashing onto a tree like a few years ago, or doing something even more stupid. To Tony, this was his way of “taking care” of himself; in a way, he was putting himself out of harm’s way. Drinking was just...well. That was nothing.
Dylan’s look and comment, though, made him a little actually think about his appearance. Did he really look that bad? Glancing at a mirror that was in the hall once Dylan started moving towards the kitchen, he realized just how disheveled his hair looked, saw the
( ... )
"I don't know. If I blew it, I'll see what I can do, but it should be fine. Everything's just fine." He wasn't about to blame Tony for him possibly blowing the final. Whatever happened at school was on Dylan and Dylan alone. There was too much blaming shit on Daddy going through Tony and his friends. Dylan was breaking the cycle
( ... )
It was hard to figure out what made him flinch the most - the sight of his mother’s recipes, or the fact that Dylan slammed them down. His heart felt like it compressed tightly in his chest, but a sort of anger surged through him as well because Dylan was his son but how dare he treat the recipes like that. They were his mother’s. It made the drunken apathy disappear as a muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched it shut. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, or if he would have reacted like this even sober just because of how protective he was over anything that regarded his mother, but at least it was something over the numbness he had been feeling all this month
( ... )
Good. He wanted him annoyed. Hell, he wanted him angry. Dylan was tired of being the only one of the two of them feeling everything. It was childish to act this way, and in a way he suspected his mother wouldn't approve. She'd always stressed that you speak your mind, but Dylan was bordering on passive aggressive. Of course it was quickly becoming more aggressive than passive
( ... )
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Dylan’s look and comment, though, made him a little actually think about his appearance. Did he really look that bad? Glancing at a mirror that was in the hall once Dylan started moving towards the kitchen, he realized just how disheveled his hair looked, saw the ( ... )
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