#myentropy

               pushes the covers aside to crawl into the older twin’s bed. it’s the middle of the night -- maybe he had a nightmare. it’s a mystery. 

i’m just trying to get everyone to be alive for once and sing the fruit salad song and you’re FUCKING RUINING It

YOU GOT A LOT OF TALK FOR SOMEONE THAT ISN’T HELPING ME

@myentropy​ said: “I have been sleepwalking since I was fourteen.” ’Lines that have made me cry at one point’ starters! / accepting!!

               things always seemed harder to deal with in the dead of night, with the only sound in their room now the steady drip of rainwater that clatters on the roof and filters itself through the gutters of the house; the ocean waves couldn’t be heard ebbing and flowing beyond the storm -- and water and wind hit the windowpanes like applause.

                it’s a contrast to them. they had always been quiet children; a silent child is a well behaved child -- hadn’t they heard their father say that once? with fugo sitting at the piano and pannacotta sitting beside him with small fingers plucking at the harp strings he played. it was something panna had taken to heart -- the youngest sibling by 4 minutes -- he would think of his father’s words from time to time when they studied in the estate’s vast library. he doesn’t know if the words touched his brother the same way, and he never asked. 

                 they were quiet children, even with each other. they relied on their instincts -- the kind of bond only twins could share, an unspoken connection. when fugo gets angry, sad, discontent, peaceful... in some way, panna feels it all at the same time. soft tugs at the heartstrings, a record being played in a different room; soft, but heard. soft, but felt. and how could they not, when they grow up side by side in equal measure -- identical not only in physical appearance but in each skill and each movement. as lonely children as they were they were never truly alone. and they relied on this connection and didn’t speak too deeply nor too loudly through their childhood. 

                   this carried them through university -- through the point in their lives where everything broke; the pinnacle dynamic shift that chose this path they walk now. but they never talked about it; panna thought about it sometimes -- their silence -- and he reasons ( as they always do ) that why should they need to talk about it when they lived it together. and then, in the same thought he wonders if they had talked, maybe it wouldn’t have ended there. maybe they could have kept each other safe without the bloodstained mess of a man on the floor. maybe things would have been different. but neither of the fugo brothers ever dwelled too much on the past; it was part of the smothering silence they clung to. 

                    so it’s surprising that the dark clouds of this storm brought with them a break of the quiet, and for once they were talking. sleepwalking -- yes, that’s a way to put it. it’s not as if panna forgot -- he remembered the day they died; side by side as always. a life not even he could have predicted falling into place from the streets to bucciarati’s side. sleepwalking through it all -- doing as they’re told. somehow, in all of the hierarchy, finding their own voice. their own worth. 

@myentropy​ said: if you decide to move out kindly take all your stuff out of the room. the world book encyclopedia came out and i need the space to fit all 22 volumes.