#evtuocs

He chanced a glance over at his mother and watched her push her hair back as she sighed. Sugar and flour were smudged onto her face, and Easton stared down at the unopened can of Apicots as though it was the source of all her stress and hair loss throughout the last few years.

When she looked over in his direction, Ingo dug his face back into his arms.

Yet another sigh. Then, "Ingo, I'm not mad."

"Liar."

He heard the shuffling sounds of her slippers against the tiles before his mother's hand landed on the top of his head. It stayed, stationary, for just a moment before running across the back of it. "I promise. I'm more upset than mad, anyhow."

Unbidden, his eyes grew watery and the slippery grasp that his ten-year-old mind had on his emotions started to falter. Ingo didn't enjoy being the source of any upset. "I'm sorry..."

"It's not me that you should be apologizing to," Easton said, causing him to whimper. He didn't want to think about a couple of hours ago when his twin had cried after Ingo struck him—completely unprovoked. "I just want to know why you hit Emmet."

"I dunno."

"I'm going to need a little more than that," she pulled out the stool next to him and sat, abandoning her egg batter on the opposite counter. Easton nudged his arms, making him lift his head out of them. "You can be honest with me, you know that. Whatever the reason, justified or not, I want to hear it. Because I know you, and you don't do things without a reason behind them."

Ingo looked away. "He," he breathed out slowly, trying not to cry. "He was on the phone."

Just thinking about the conversation between Emmet and their classmate caused his face to suddenly heat up, an encore to the sensation that had slowly possessed him as his twin chattered on the flip phone their parents had gifted them on their birthday. It was a novelty, exciting at the moment as it seemed as though now they wouldn't be the last kids in class to have a cellular telephone but it came with an unexpected cost of suddenly enabling a one-sided conversation to occur within their own room.

At the time, a fuzzy noise nestled in Ingo's ears, with no culprit of the sound in sight. The longer the call went on, the more that Ingo felt physically strained by having to listen. Rubbing at his ears or his boiling face didn't cause either of the two feelings to disperse.

Before he knew what had come over him, he had flown across the room from his desk to hit Emmet. Hard. Or, at least, hard enough to get him to wail loudly, attracting the attention of their parents.

Ingo had been seated at the kitchen table ever since, separated from his twin. While his mother stayed behind as the block warden, their father had gone to console Emmet who didn't know what he had done wrong to cause Ingo to hurt him. And that was the thing, he hadn't done anything. Ingo just... reacted. He regretted it so much, the second after contact was made, but shame prevented his tongue from working properly enough to give a sincere enough apology.

"And, I dunno," something hot slid down his cheek, and Ingo didn't need to catch it to know it was a tear.

Easton rubbed her hand down his back. Ingo was certain that the confectioners' sugar decorated him as much as it did her by this point.

"Honey, you know that you have to let Emmet have his turn with the phone," Easton said, before growing thoughtful, "Although, if it's become this much of a sharing problem between you two perhaps you both were too young for the responsibility of having one."

He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off, "And before you even think of asking for one of your own, even if we could afford it, your actions tonight don't inspire any sort of goodwill for a reward of any kind."

"No. I," Ingo swallowed past the lump in his throat. "It- I didn't... want... it. The phone."

It was true. He hadn't felt jealous that Emmet was on it and not him. Ingo had felt content to just play with his model trains at his desk. And it wasn't even that he was upset that Emmet was talking to someone other than him, they had plenty of friends between the both of them.

At least, that was how it was when the call first started. But then, a mounting pressure grew in his head until the lid—and his temper—just exploded right off.

"No?" she asked. He shook his head, another tear escaping from jail. "What was it then? Your reason, I mean."

"The talking." Ingo pressed his hands against his ears. "The talking bothered me."

Easton straightened in her seat, thoughts dancing behind her eyes until a conclusion was swiftly met with open arms.

For Ingo though, it was such a simple admittance, but it felt like it took an entire prison break for it to leave his mouth. And yet once he started, he just let it all spill free, "Something about the call made my face get all hot and my ears hurt because there was buzzing and it just wouldn't stop so I couldn't take it anymore so I hit him but I didn't mean to hit him he's my best friend but it just happened and—"

"Oh, my poor baby," Easton guided him closer to her, and Ingo wrapped his arms around his mother, crying. She didn't care that he was ruining her blouse as she carded her fingers through his hair, "I think I know what happened."

Hope, a thing he didn't know he needed more than air, flooded his being.

"You do?" Ingo desperately needed an answer as to why he would turn on his twin, why his body turned against even himself, and he got it:

"You were overstimulated."

He blinked, tears cloying on his lashes. "Huh?"

"It was the sound of Emmet speaking in your room that bothered you, right? Not what he was saying or who he was saying it to," Easton used the sleeves of her shirt to wipe away the tears and snot and droll on his face from how messily he was sobbing in her arms.

Ingo resisted the urge to bat her cloth-covered hands away and nodded. "Yeah..."

"Were you feeling overwhelmed?"

"Uh-huh."

"Then that would do it," she told him. "Especially in a space as small as your guys' room, while doing an activity that doesn't necessitate noise. The mind doesn't need much more than that before playing mean games on you."

"Oh." He sat back in his chair. It seemed so simple when she laid it out like that, but then again, most things did when they came from his mama.

"But listen, that's not an excuse for your actions," Easton brought his attention back to her with her stern tone. "You can't just hit your problems until they go away."

"I know..." Ingo looked down to fiddle with his fingers. He really, truly didn't mean for this to keep happening— He had hoped he would have left the habit behind just like his toddler years.

"I know you do," Easton softened. "And I have a feeling that this time it was probably an automatic reaction. But listen, if you start to feel the way that you described to me—the buzzing and your face getting flushed—I want you to try and articulate the feeling. You're real good with words, much better than I am anyhow, so if you're lucky, it'll be around me or Dad or Emmet, and we'll understand. And we'll try to help."

"Ok," Ingo would try his absolute best to follow through. "I can do that."

"I'll also work on trying to get you some sort of noise mufflers for when you're not so lucky. Or maybe some sort of toy you can use as a distraction," she muttered. Easton shook her head and told him firmly. "Whatever we land on, we'll figure it out. Together. Capeesh?" 

"Caposh."

"Good boy," she pat his cheek before getting out of her chair. "Now, do you want to help me finish making these Apicot fritters?"

"I thought you weren't rewarding my bad behavior?" Ingo asked, slipping off his seat and following on the heels of his mother.

"I'm not— These are to cheer Emmet up. But there's enough for five servings and I don't believe in withholding food as punishment," she answered him truthfully. "Besides, you've been beating yourself up enough that I don't need to pile onto the crappy way you're feeling. But you're going to be the one who gives Emmet his plate and I expect the two of you to make up when you do. Explain what you explained to me to Emmet, I promise you he gets it."

"I can do that," Ingo nodded, already planning what he would say to his twin. Preferably, it would be a little more rounded out and less of the word vomit that he had given his mother. But then he realized one detail that was off, "Wait. Why five servings? There's only four of us."

"I'm making some for Emmet's little friend too," Easton began preparing to heat the fat so that she could fry the Apicots. While that was in motion, she pulled open a drawer to the side of the oven and grabbed her can opener. "You wasted quite a few of her minutes by interrupting their chat."

Ingo scowled. "So? It's not like Elesa lost anything other than time. Emmet can just call her back— And it's not like I hit her."

It took her a moment to process his response before Easton burst out into laughter. Ingo watched for a moment before exclaiming, "What?! It's true!"

"That's not what I meant by minutes." Easton leaned over so that she could place a kiss on his forehead with a fond smile on her face. Fondly, she said, "Promise me that you'll stay this young forever?"

Despite still going through a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, Ingo was never one to deny affection from his mama. Especially not after the care she had taken to listen, even when Ingo thought he didn't make much sense himself.