"Boys!" The muffled voice of May reverberated across the hallway, "You only have two minutes."
Malique's arm slid past him, brushing against Peter's shoulder. He flinched instinctively; it wasn't intentional, yet the contact carried a strange, electric chill.
Peter gulped and tried to school his expression, he wouldn't want Malique to know that he had an influence on him.
"You know, err…I could've—" Malique reached for the towel, pat his hands dry and neatly folded it over the rail.
He turned and addressed Peter, "Done it yourself?" And Peter could've sworn that he'd scoffed.
"Of course I could have…"
"BOYS!"
Peter leapt to his feet, his hands fidgeting, he glanced at his cheap wrist watch and grimaced.
"We are so gonna have to chase the bus, you up for a morning jog Mal—" He turned around and caught sight of his brother halfway through the door.
'C'mon man, it's not fair getting a headstart.'
Peter raced after him, socks sliding across the polished wooden floor. He nearly slipped but caught himself against the wall, letting out a sharp sigh. He glanced expectantly, imagining Malique laughing at him — but all he saw was his brother's back. Had he really gone unnoticed? The glint in Peter's eye dimmed as Malique drifted farther away, leaving only the faint echo of a laugh that wasn't there.
°°° ••• °°° ••••
"Wait, what you're saying is…little Q made breakfast all by himself?"
The man's booming voice carried a quiver, betraying his disbelief, as Peter stepped forward.
"I know how you feel, Uncle Ben. Maly just woke up and made breakfast like in the movies."
The man in question turned at Peter's voice, a wide mug of steaming coffee in one hand and a chunk of cake stuffed into his mouth. Benjamin Parker was tall, with a robust frame that filled the sleeves of his navy-blue flannel shirt streaked with maroon accents. Like the two boys, his complexion leaned toward the shade of trees, and his eyes were bright, full of life – an intense grey edging on white, almost like a blind man's.
"No way! This can't be real! I thought May was messing with me, and I kept thinking, 'April Fools isn't even today…'"
To that, Peter smirked, his eyes effortlessly spotted Malique with his arms crossed beside the counter. Peter opened his mouth – wanting to talk about his brother's strange behaviours more – but he met Malique's steady eye, and like before, his words clumped in his throat.
"Wow! You're growing into a responsible young man, Q."
Malique took the compliment in stride, letting it settle without a word, his expression was measured, an unreadable canvas. When the silence grew suffocating, Aunt May pulled out a pair of food containers from under the counter and placed them on the table.
"Ok boys, that should cover lunch. Now, chop chop!"
Peter zipped up his hoodie and jogged after Malique. Once outside the small but cozy home, he shivered when the cold smacked him across the face.
"Brrrrr~ It's freezing out here!"
He glanced at Malique and realized that he had shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
'Huh, at least he still feels the cold.'
The sidewalk was riddled with puddles and Peter splashed through them with a chuckle, recalling their fun childhood, he tried his best to not soak his shoes though. Soggy socks were disgusting. He found himself glancing towards Malique – he'd been doing that a lot lately, more than usual – and realized that, unlike him, his brother took extra care in avoiding the patches of water.
Malique leapt smoothly over an enormous puddle, landing lightly on the balls of his feet with arms outstretched. When his balance wavered, he spun with precision, readjusting his stance as if it were second nature. Like a performer, he flicked the flaps of his jacket with a sharp, effortless motion and moved on to the next puddle, every movement perfectly choreographed.
"Wait, wait, wait! How did you do that?!"
Peter sprinted after him, abandoning any thoughts of wet shoes. He splashed straight into the puddle, water soaking up to his ankles as he grimaced and let out a frustrated laugh.
'Dang it! My hand–me–down shoes!'
"Have you been secretly taking skating classes? No wait, we can't afford those. You joined the cheerleading club or something?"
Malique stayed silent, but Peter wasn't about to let it go. He fired off question after question, often answering for both of them in his own nervous, excited way. Finally, his brother relented—just enough to satisfy him, and no more.
Holbrook, their distant neighbor, was out on his porch, nursing a mug of coffee while basking in the early morning sun. He'd read in some article that the sun provided some form of vitamin D…or was it BK?
'Meh! To hell with all this useless science, if nothing works, I can just score a good tan like the Parke— speak of the devils.'
He chuckled softly to himself, watching with unbridled curiosity as the Parker twins strolled past his house, completely absorbed in one of their nerdy debates. Deciding to challenge himself, Holbrook tried to tell one from the other — a task far trickier than he'd expected.
He soon gave up. Unless you spoke to them at the same time, distinguishing one from the other was nearly impossible. When they drew closer, he raised a skeptical brow, still trying in vain to tell them apart.
"Hey there, Parker boys!" He waved at them and the moment the pair faced him, he finally knew who was who.
Peter instantly beamed when he registered the old familiar face. Mr. Holbrook was one of his favourite neighbors, he had known them ever since they were kids. He waved at him fervently.
"Mr Brook! What a lovely morning, right? Can you imagine that Maly made breakfast today? A whole American film type of breakfast! Well…not as extravagant, but still. And he woke up the earliest too. Oh! How's your knee holding up? You scared us the other day when you fell from that treehouse you were building for lil Mark, and how is he? And the missus? Luckily, Maly was close by and you hadn't fractured a bone—"
Holbrook burst into hearty laughter, his bare belly wiggling from the effort. Peter tilted his head and Malique raised a brow.
"Oh, don't mind me boys. I just thought about how easy it is to differentiate you guys from the other, once you start talking," Peter scratched his cheek sheepishly and Malique nodded, approvingly?
"Huh? Are you two rocking a new hairstyle?" Holbrook set his mug by the windowsill and gazed at the two, noting the new add–ons.
"Really now? Q, you bought new clothes?"
Malique had dressed with careful precision: slim-fit black trousers, a light beige T-shirt neatly tucked in, and a deep maroon jacket that made him stand out without trying too hard. His dark brown shoes were polished, completing a look that was effortlessly sharp, understated yet commanding.
While he had opted for an effortless and sharp style, Peter tried to keep up in a tucked gray sweatshirt, black pants, and scuffed sneakers—awkwardly close, but still unmistakably himself.
"You guys outdid yourselves. Did…did you two score a date at the same time? Wait—don't tell me…are they twins too?" Holbrook erupted into another fit of laughter, and Peter couldn't help but join in, his chuckle shaky and half-embarrassed.
They excused themselves and Holbrook waved them off, his day having been made better. Malique offered a curt nod his way while Peter returned the farewell with a vibrant wave of his own.
A comfortable silence settled between them, and almost without thinking, they slipped into perfect synchronization, like a bolt finding its nut. Peter's left step echoed Malique's. Malique's slight turn of the head was mirrored instantly by Peter, each movement flowing as if choreographed by some unseen hand.
The neighborhood had long grown used to their unison. More often than not, people swore the twins shared one mind, just living in two bodies. And, oh, how grateful everyone was that they had grown up under the Parkers' roof, turning out well-mannered…though, of course, the two had their own brand of mischief.
"Oh, wow! Is that you Peter, Malique?"
A hoarse voice cut through the air, and in a single, fluid motion, their heads turned — right, left, then up — so perfectly in step it was as if one mind controlled two bodies. Nothing moved. Nothing stirred. Their eyes met, and without a word, their shoulders lifted together in a synchronized shrug, a private dance only twins could perform.
"Oh come now, why would you look up?" There was a friendly bark from behind them, and Peter recognized the owner before they fully turned.
"Miss Jeana?"
"Reporting for duty, Capn'."
Before them stood a seemingly beautiful older woman—in Malique's eyes, at least—with almond-shaped eyes and a slender, athletic build. She wore form-fitting short jeans and a punk-style crop top that showcased just enough of her toned midriff to catch the eye.
Malique licked his suddenly dry lips. Jeana winked at him playfully, expecting the usual teenage fluster, but he held her gaze instead. When she felt her cheeks heat up, he finally broke eye contact — slowly, letting his gaze touch every inch of her curve — and crouched down to the eager golden retriever, whose tail wagged wildly at his pats.
Peter, completely oblivious as usual, babbled on without a care, unaware of the subtle tension brewing beside him. The brunette's eyes kept slipping toward his brother, each glance lingering just a beat too long. Sparks of curiosity — and something warmer — flickered in her gaze, a teasing glint that made her lips curl ever so slightly. She shifted subtly, the movement smooth and measured, like she was testing the air around him. Yet Peter remained lost in his own world, speaking with earnest enthusiasm, utterly blind to the undercurrent that hummed between her and Malique. Every flicker of her attention, every brush of her hand against her jeans, seemed amplified in Malique's presence, though she hadn't yet realized how keenly he noticed.