A/N: Hey, check it out! I can type without looking at the keys! XD

I mean, err ... Hello. I have no real notes on this except that it was pretty fun to write and that I know my descriptions suck, please do not comment on them. I'd also like to thank my spiffy beta Tate - I dunno where I should link her, but hey:D She is credited and greatly appreciated for correcting my errors and tolerating me, because fuck, I'm really annoying. :D

It was Monday. It was a simple two-syllable word, but still a word that struck fear and dread into and rang in the ears of every 9-to-5 worker in America like some sort of incessant alarm of certain doom. Probably in Canada. Quite possibly most of Europe, too. Maybe even some small part of Africa where a hierarchy of lions had established a working schedule... but nobody really thought about them, anyway. It was just one of those things.

Connor always woke up at three. It started one morning when his alarm decided to go off at three A.M. instead of seven, and even though he had attempted to fix it at least a few hundred times before tossing the thing at the wall repeatedly until he was satisfied with the crashing sound, he had still woken up every morning at three since then. It drove Murphy crazy - he generally tried to sleep in as late as possible, for as long as possible, as often as possible.

"You awake?"

Murphy determinedly pulled the covers even farther over his head. "No."

Connor was also very stubborn, acting as buoy of opposition to Murphy's rabid procrastination habits. "C'mon, you're awake. Let's go get some food before work or somethin'."

Murphy grabbed his wristwatch from the floor and held it up to the moonlight cascading into the small apartment from the window. "Is' three in the fucking mornin', Con. Go back to sleep." As he made to toss the watch back onto the floor, he noticed that Connor was already fully dressed and gave him an exasperated groan.

"We could go to Denny's."

"You can go." Murphy dragged a pillow over his head in a valiant attempt to ignore Connor.

"And we could get those pancakes with blueberries in 'em," continued Connor, obviously knowing that Murphy could hear him through the pillow. "You know, they fold them over? With the real Canadian maple syrup drizzled on ... an' just a sprinkle of powdered sugar ..."

Murphy threw the pillow at his brother. "Fuckin' 'ell, Con. Shut the fuck up."

"And it comes with bacon on the side," he added dreamily, dodging the pillow without effort. "Fresh an' hot from the skillet and slightly crispy, exactly the way you like it." Murphy decided to pretend to be asleep, so Connor ploughed on. "And eggs. 'Ya can order them any way you want, like scrambled, but personally, I like what they call 'Adam an' Eve on a raft'."

No response.

"Well, that's pretty much just a poached egg on toast. And at Denny's, their toast's like magic. Never gets soggy or anythin', no matter how long you leave it sit there on the plate. And they use real butter," Connor added hopefully, as if the sudden mention of non-artificial dairy ingredients would convince Murphy to get out of bed.

"Fuckin' go away. Or ... or ... or you'll be ... fuck... Smoted. Smitten," Murphy corrected, poking his head out from under the blankets. "Smited. Hell, I'll jus' fuck ya up."

Connor snorted in an amused sort of way. "What'll ya do this time; throw a stuffed animal at me?" He made flailing motions in the air, like he was falling in slow motion.

"I'm going 'ta kill you," Murphy deadpanned.

"Oh, I'm shaking in my space boots. Look, c'mon, Murph, if we get there before six, they'll give us some of those orange crème sodas for only ninety-nine cents. And they keep refillin' em, too."

Murphy sat thinking about this for a good minute - and finally, after what which seemed to be a lot of effort, hefted himself into a sitting position on the side of the bed, the white sheet still pooled around his waist. Connor had a smug, triumphant, look in his eyes, but Murphy cut him off before he could start. "Aye. I can't believe you. Yer such a ..." He looked away for a second, seeming to be in a struggle to find the right words. "...Food whore."

"Good morning to you, too," Connor said cheerfully, searching for for Murphy's clothes on the floor and throwing them at him as he found them.

"Yeah. Mornin'." Murphy started to pull the shirt over his head, but stopped just as quickly, holding it over his head and peering at Connor from underneath it. "We're still on time for those orange creme sodas, right?"

A/N: Yes, I always add little author notes at the beginning AND the end. It's like a custom. And what d'you mean, this isn't R-rated? Shit, fuck, damn, hell, cunt, bitch.
There. Now it is.