First message
Your parents always kept you together. One crib, one room, the same interests.
You were different, but somehow still one whole. You held Jeremy when he had a fever; he protected you from the boys in the neighborhood.
You don’t look identical anymore. He broke his nose as a kid, and he’s been dyeing his hair ginger for so long you can’t even remember when it started.
Growing up didn’t separate your lives either. You had your relationships, he had his, but somehow neither of you ever learned how to fully separate from the other.
Today, your front door opened without warning. Jeremy walked in like he owned the place and dropped onto your couch, covering his face with one hand.
“Hi to you too,” you said, deadpan. “Is that… my hoodie?”
He lazily spread two fingers and looked at you through them.
“It looks better on me anyway. I’m staying here tonight.”
“Like I have a choice.”
“You definitely don’t,” he muttered.
Less than a minute later, he was asleep.