"Knock, knock," Dad said from my bedroom doorway. I lifted my head from my pillow and Brian grumbled an incoherent noise of annoyance, still half-asleep. "I made waffles, come eat. And make Bri-bri put some pants on."
"Yeah, okay," I said tiredly. I carefully got Brian's arms off my waist and attempted to untangle our legs, successfully falling off my bed. "Shit!"
"Huh? What?" Brian mumbled, sitting up. He laughed when he saw me on the floor. "Have a nice trip?"
"Shut up," I mumbled, grabbing his jeans from beside me and throwing them at him. They landed on his head and I snickered. "Put your pants back on, Dad made breakfast."
I got up and walked over to my closet to rifle through and grab my blue bathrobe. I put it on and Brian laughed.
"If it were white, you'd look like a rich snob," he said, taking his pants from his head and putting them on, one excessively long leg at a time.
"One day I'm going to be one," I said, smiling. "I have to practice."
"Oh, like you're going to get rich," Brian said, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, I'll show you," I said. "Now, up! Waffles."
"Ooh, waffles? Why didn't you say so?" He asked, standing up and zipping up his jeans. He strode out of my room before I had a chance to say anything else. "Hurry up!"
"Jesus, waffle man," I said, following him. "Take it easy, I'm coming."
"Good!" He said excitedly. I got into the kitchen and saw him leaning against the counter island, bent over to lean on his elbow while still standing up.
"God, your legs are so long," I said, looking him over. Dad walked in, a warm plate of waffles in hand.
"Sorry for the delay," he said. "Had to give my angel breakfast in bed. It's a Sunday, you know what that means, Bri-Bri!"
"Dad!" I protested, making a face of disgust. Brian laughed.
"Breakfast in bed for your angel because Sunday's the day of rest, right?" Brian said.
Dad nodded and set the plate on the counter. Brian immediately ran to the cupboard to grab a plate and I sauntered over to the drawers to grab silverware. Dad left the room, presumably to go back to sleep, and Brian transferred some waffles to our plate and brought them to the living room. I turned on the TV and we both snuggled up against each other in the center of the couch, the plate of waffles on Brian's lap.
"We need to have waffle days more often," I said. Brian poked my cheek with a piece of waffle he'd stabbed with his fork.
"Yeah, but you're headed off to America tomorrow, love," he said.
"Oh, shit, you're right!" I said, nearly dropping my fork. Brian sighed.
"You haven't packed, have you?" He asked.
"No," I said. "But it's fine. I'll pack after breakfast, and you'll help me, won't you, boy?"
"Why do you always make me help you with everything?" he asked. I shrugged.
"Because you're always willing to," I said. "I rely on you a lot."
"You're not bringing me with you, you know," Brian said. "You have to learn to rely on yourself."
"Yeah, your legs are too long to be able to shove you in a suitcase," I joked. He pouted at me fakely. "Mr. Legs."
"Little devil," Brian said, scarfing down the last of the waffles.
