Fred hadn't been asleep long when George banged on his bedroom wall and shouted at him. He hadn't heard that particular sentence in weeks, but once upon a time, he'd heard it at least once every handful of days. Thinking that George damn well knew better than to point out his dry spell like that, Fred shot out of bed with a wide yawn, heard Trish ask George what he was doing and stepped into the kitchen just as his brother was heading out the door.
With a glance in Trish's direction, he chased after his twin. Only one of them was wearing shorts - and it wasn't George.
"George? Georgie!" he called after him, then shared another look with Trish before chasing after him, George's pale arse bare in the early morning sunlight. If this were any other situation, this would've been hilarious, but Fred remembered his momentary lapse in sanity (and the bruised chin George had given him out of love). He knew where he was headed and had no intention of letting him get that far.