“I think I’m level four,” a voice shouts in joy as the owner lands beside me on my bed.
“Jay.” I don’t open my eyes. “The hotel manager already talked to you once about bouncing about and shouting at six in the morning.”
“But he was joking!”
I crank my eyes open at that and turn my head. Jay has on his dark glasses covering broken eyes, his smile wide and huge like an espresso kick at 4 am. “He was joking?”
“Beds are made for bouncing,” he explains. “Because they go boing!”
“And the shouting?” I ask because I can’t help myself. Sometimes Jay is like a trainwreck, or at least like Thomas the Tank Engine on speed and laughing gas at once.
“I’m all happy, so you need to know that,” he says.
“And you’re grinning like a fool wouldn’t tell me that?”
“I grin all the time. Except when I don’t,” he explains, then pauses and holds out a hand, his shoes snapping through the air to his grip as he binds them together. “See?”
“You have shoes. I knew this,” I growl.
“But I’m level four now!”
“Please tell me this is a new reason to keep you off of tumblr?”
“Charlie!” Jay sits up and shoves the shoes onto his feet. “See? See? They won’t fit! That means I’m level four!”
“Jay. Calm down,” I snap, and he deflates a little at that as I push him off the bed. “Clothing. Now.”
He blinks, then goes and puts on his jeans and a sweater after rummaging through clothing. The sweater is on backwards; I’m almost positive that’s because he can’t see.
I get out of the one bed and walk over, checking his ankles and wrists. “Huh. Hold still.”
He does, and yelps anyway when I smack him upside the head.
“Notice anything different?”
“That I’m not holding still next – oh!” Jay reaches up, rubbing his head. “You hit me lower than you usually do?”
“I did. You’ve grown at least an inch.” I don’t point out that human children don’t grow an entire inch overnight; I have no idea what it means that he has now. “Now you can train for level five before we go shopping for new clothing?”
“By sleeping for five more hours,” I say, and head back to bed.