Spud wakes up with a groan on July 1st, rolling over onto his side. He has a lot of work ahead of him, Dixie growing more and more frantic with her demands as this Bully Ray business continues to evolve, the tension felt by everyone and anyone who spends even a minute with Dixie. He wants nothing more than to go back to sleep but there's a rapid banging on his bedroom door and he doesn't have much choice, recognizing the cadence of the strikes.
All but falling out of bed in an attempt to free himself from his sheets, he stumbles towards the door and unlocks it, pulling it open. He runs a hand through his messy blond hair, blinking blurrily at Ethan. "Sir? Is there a problem? Madam Dixie-?"
"No, she's fine," Ethan says, pushing past him and digging around in Spud's closet with little warning. Spud can do nothing but gape as he brushes numerous suits aside until he finds what he's looking for, tossing a robe at Spud. "C'mon, let's go, we're going to miss the start of the World Cup."
Spud's jaw drops as he fumbles with the puddling article of clothing. "Sir, I have work today-"
"Nope, I called in for you," Ethan says cheerfully. "You're going to keep me company during America vs Belgium. C'mon, put that on and prepare to be nothing more than a couch potato today." Seeing Spud's narrowed eyes, he coughs. "No pun intended. But seriously, move it, Spudsy." He claps him on the back before walking to the door and holding it open for him.
Spud sighs and wraps up in the robe before leaving the room, looking over his shoulder as Ethan follows, already chattering about America destroying Belgium and how great it's going to be, apple pie and Stars and Stripes and whatever else. He obliges him, never really minding his best friend's all-too rare cheerful rambling. It helps him to see why he's so devoted to the Carters, that underneath the rich smugness, there are real people who get excited and feel pain, want to better themselves, and sometimes fail just like anyone else.
Which is why he finds himself, hours later, sitting on the couch, stroking Ethan's back after he rages his way through America losing to Belgium 2-1, nearly upending the table with the remenants of their lunch and whatever else snacks and drinks the staff had brought them during the lengthy game. "I'm sorry, Sir," he murmurs.
"Whatever," he snaps, brushing Spud's hands away and sitting up. "It's a stupid game, and was a waste of time anyway." He watches as Spud's face falls, brow furrowing until he realizes. "The game was, Spud. Spending the afternoon with you wasn't," he explains, his anger fading away in the presence of Spud's hurt. "I'm sorry I made you miss a day of work, but don't worry, Aunt D won't hold it against you. I'll explain the situation to her." He claps Spud on the back and moves to stand up, fix the table.
He freezes when Spud's hands rest over his, stalling him from picking up the scattered plates and utensils that had toppled over when he'd kicked it over in the initial bit of rage. "Don't worry about it, Sir. I'll handle it." He squeezes Ethan's hands. "I was going to say, I'm sorry your team lost, Sir... but I did have fun this afternoon, with you."
Ethan's lips twitch upwards and he inclines his head slightly. "So did I."
Spud smiles too and they set to clearing the table off and putting everything right once more. "I'll tell the staff to take Belgium waffles off of the menus, sir."
"Good man."