Waking up to a bunch of giggles echoing from down the hallway and opening your eyes just in time to see Bobby run into the bedroom, wrapped up in Rhett's work flannel while a very shirtless Rhett chases him.

"Robby, I gotta fix the fence!" But Rhett can't muffle the sound of his own laughter. Wild hair bouncing as he skids to a stop. Perfectly settled in the gap of space at the foot of the bed.

Bob's cornered himself. Dodging left. Then right. Left again. But Rhett's herding him like he would a damn cow, always one step ahead.

Until Bobby turns and jumps onto the bed. "No, you don't!" Darting beneath the covers. Cold feet pressing against your leg as he snuggles right up against you, arms locking around you like a damn vice.

He's damned you both. Rhett wastes no time, on top of you both in an instant. The status of unwitting bystander does not exist in this house; you're guilty by association. Though the smothering lasts for all of five seconds. If there's one thing Bobby is good at, it's latching onto Rhett and not letting go. Rhett puts up a good fight, rolling and thrashing, squirming for the upper hand.

"It's barely nine in the morning," you grumble, somewhere between the sudden stillness and Rhett's defeated huff.

"I was tryin' t' be productive," his big hand falls into Bob's hair, ruffling it until pieces stick in every which way, "but someone had other plans."

Bobby just squishes his cheek against Rhett's bare chest and grins at you.