Best Friend's Brother But It's My Brother's Best Friend

1: Given the choice of anyone, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

Anyone in the world as a dinner guest? My mom.

I mean it with every fiber of my being when I say I hate him. The world could end and all my idiot brother is thinking about is how many times he has to ask before I cave and stop to get him McDonalds. It's seventeen times, apparently, today. Nick pounds against the dashboard as I pull into the golden arches, hollering a "Let's goooooo!" that has me flinching at the volume. I don't care that he's almost 20 years old, he is an absolute child. He texts the groupchat with the boys as I enter the drive thru line, hunting through my center console for a mask for when I get to the window. Two more McDonalds orders enter my messages, and I groan.

"You, oh my god, you are an absolute rat, Icky." I grumble. I hate talking to drive thru attendants, especially through the masks we have to wear for covid. I understand the need for protection, but I swear sometimes it is impossible to understand people through them. Especially after its run through a microphone and a crappy speaker. Nick scoffs at the nickname I gave him when we were, what, twelve? At least, I was, little icky Nicky was probably about nine when I got comfortable enough in the older sibling role to actually mess with the kid.

"I still hate that stupid nickname, come on." He says, tone hinting at a long accepted defeat of not being able to stop me. I laugh, pulling forward to the speaker as the car in front of us pulls ahead. I turn to face him.

"What do you want, Icky?"

He glares.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The other two heathens I live with descend on the brown paper bags the second they're out of my hands and on the kitchen counter, pulling requested drinks out of the carrying tray and digging around in a drawer in the island where we keep extra sauce packets. George makes a soft victorious sound as he snags the final ketchup packets, Clay rolling his eyes and huffing as he goes to pull the full size bottle off the inside door of the refrigerator.

"We'll get more soon, the amount of delivery you all order, don't get tilted over Gogy's ketchup, Clay." I giggle, pulling out my own food and earning my own eye roll from him. I plant myself in a chair across the counter from George, who leans on the counter, scrolling absently through tiktok while munching on his fries.

"Scoot." Clay says from behind me, collapsing into the chair next to mine. He sets three containers of food in front of himself, and pulls a box of fries out from one of the bags, pulling the fridge ketchup out of his hoodie pocket and drenching the upper portion of one of the containers in it. He offers it to Nick, who is now standing next to George in a similar position, but phoneless. The look of disgust on Nicks face makes it seem like Clay was brandishing something much worse than a bottle of ketchup in his face, but Nick takes the bottle anyway, holding it the way you would a dirty diaper as he tucks it back into the fridge.

The boys get lost in their food for a few minutes, all of us eating in a comfortable silence, until George breaks it, says something about a stream with Quackity and Karl, and he's off to his office off the dining room, door pulling shut with a quiet click. Nick follows suit a few moments later, taking his trash to the can in the closet and heading for the basement, where his and Clay's set ups reside. I fully expect Clay to go down too, but he doesn't, just shrugs at what I assume is a confused look on my face.

"Not in the mood for that level of crazy right now." He explains around the food still in his mouth. I hate living with boys, household manners are important so people don't end up seeing each others chewed up food, or one another in just a towel, or- Clay in just a towel sounds nice - a voice in the back of my head sounds, and I immediately push down those thoughts, can't be thinking of baby brothers best friend like that. Although- nope, stop it. I'm pulled out of my inner monologue by Clay saying my name.