Tristan felt a weight on him, and coming around from a deep and restorative sleep, cracked an eye open, seeing Pip there. “Well, good morning,” he said, his voice still full of sleep.
Pip was sitting on the couch, with his leg curled over one of Tristan’s feet. “Hi,” he said, his eyes riveted to the TV Rain had finally hooked up this week. Pip’s lower face was covered in chocolate sauce.
Tristan rubbed his scrubby chin. Definitely needed a shave. He sat up and felt the soreness in his lower back where the couch’s spring had dug a home during the night. “Is there any bread or pancake under that sauce?” he asked, pointing to the river of chocolate in Pip’s plate.
Pip shot him a quick look and stared down at his plate. “I forgot.”
Tristan chuckled and moved his foot under Pip’s legs, shak
