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– Can you two turd burglars get off the fucking couch? You're taking the whole thing!
– Hey! Greg is feeling unwell! He needs a rest, and needs company, too!
Sure he did.
It was Christmas, the late hour of the celebrations, when everyone got a little bit dizzy and full. The clocks of plates were showing all four – and shined empty, maybe aside from some grease droplets there and there. Everyone went to engage with their unpacked presents, leaving only Rowley and Rodrick anyhow active.
Greg, nestled on Rowley, his head on a soft spot between his chest and stomach, face hidden in his cuddle-buddy's fuzzy, embarassingly ugly sweater, was trying his best not to fucking laugh.
– Whatever. Get your buisness hauled upstairs. People other than you two want to use the couch.
– Greg probably won't be able to go there. Won't you? – Rowley leaned over, nose almost digging in the boy's hair, his voice softening so much that Greg almost felt like he was four year old and got baby-talked at again.
Yeah, not that he minds. It felt fitting with all the coziness. He shook his head slowly, stifling a smile.
– He can't. – Rowley pointlessly translated.
– I have eyes, baby hippo.
– I'm telling you-- he cannot walk up! – Greg never heard so much fierceness in the boy's voice towards his older brother. Usually, he'd fret and stutter. But now, he was lead by a higher purpose, that was – protecting the weaker and sick.
Supposedly sick, for Greg was not feeling bad at all. Sure, he was stuffed from the turkey and all the delicious foods once on the table, a bit tired and nuzzly – yes, but definitely not how he put it in words an hour ago or so:
„– Hey, R... Rowley – he groaned weakly, massaging his temple for effect. – I'm... kinda dizzy.
He almost lost it when the boy, sporting stupid little antlers paired with a santa hat and candycane hairbeads – he liked to go all out on Christmas – turned around, the funny look not matching the crazy worried fire in his eyes.
– Good golly! – he instantly panicked and got a good hold of his companion, arms already wrapping itself around the faux-hurt. – I- uh-- what-- is there anything else?
– Mh... like I swallowed fire. My throat... burns... God. – Greg sighed dramatically. – I need... rest.
Rowley wasted no time. One arm around the boy, he re-seated them both at the couch and sat back, pulled the „sick” one close and, allowing him to change his position, nuzzled up to him, as tight as he could to not irriate anything on accident, but still offer protection.
– Don't you need... um, pills? Like, medicine?
– Just rest.„
One thing he hadn't told Rowley was that it was all a part of a bigger plan.
Rodrick often crashed the couch and slept, snoring like a tractor, for hours during Christmas. He also had happened to pull a gross prank on Greg yesterday – he swapped out the neat prepared clothes with ones with stains and skid marks, just for the laughs. The tween unbeknownstly pulled them in and had a day ruined because of that.
That's why Greg had sworn he's going to get even with him soon.
He faked some kind of sickness to get Rowley to cuddle him on the couch. Them taking the saint place was Rodrick's kryptonite.
That's why now he was just listening, hiding his twitching corner of the lips in Rowley's horrible sweater.
– Ugh! – The teen was growling. – You two have planned it! I know it!
– You don't plan a sickness. – Rowley confidently defended back.
– Yeah, sure.– He snarled. – Whatever. Not goin' to ruin my time. – He stomped away to his room. His bitching was still audible, even from a distance: – ...little asshat. He probably ate pipe-cleaner chemicals just to take the couch. What a bastard.
Then, a slam. After a slam – sweet, fuzzy silence.
– Rodrick is so mean. I swear. I hope he got coal from Santa. – Greg felt a hand pet his head. Then, lips pressed against his temple. Hallelujah, what a nice thing. He didn't even had to ask for that, and he'd gotten it: affection.
Greg smiled again, but without much malice. He wanted ruthless, smart revenge, he also got free spoiling.
That's how you kill two birds with one, little, white-lie stone.