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“—and I’m not a child anymore — WE’RE not children anymore—”

“You are FIFTEEN years old! You are a child — your sister is a child — but more than that you are MY child, as is she, and for so long as you are my child living under my roof and under my protection you will abide by MY rules, or so help me you will not set foot out of the mountains again until you are twenty-five summers of age—”

Ataya sat with his knees tucked to his chest. Feet bare. Toes curled over the lip of the mattress beneath him. And clothed in a loose nightgown, his hair loose and dark in a fan about him. He was in the guest bedroom of his uncles’ house wherein he and his sister shared space whenever they visited, his arms folded and brow furrowed in thought. Their parents had not been pleased with them, of course, but that was an understatement.

Both their parents had been worried and angry, but his father, he knew, was specifically furious with him. For leading the endeavor — for of course, he always did, so Father assumed it whether it was said or not — for endangering his sister, for his carelessness and recklessness. For his ‘blatant disregard’ for both of their safety. His own arguments had been ignored, as they always were, and Ataya felt all the more certain in his growing convictions that one day — as soon as he was sure he could handle it — he was leaving.

He did not want to live ‘under his father’s roof’ and in his protection by his rules for any longer than absolutely necessary, and that sentiment grew with each conflict of this sort that they had. The time was coming closer, though, or so Ataya felt. He was fifteen, nearly sixteen, a capable mage, and learning more by the day. In a year, perhaps. Two at most, he should be capable of managing without his father’s aid. Or his rules.

He shifted his weight, twisting and then leaning to rest his back against the headboard as he glanced over to the opposite bed where his sister was. As his thoughts shifted away from his father, though, and over to the events before that confrontation — particularly those involving his sister and Nesrinn — an amused glint sparked in the corner of his eye and he hummed.

“So, dearest sister mine…you kissed,” he said. “Do tell.”

Ataya shrugged at the first question. “How would I know what there might be to tell? I’ve never been kissed, and…” He frowned, pursing his lips and then sinking back a fraction against the headboard. “And I may well never be kissed. Or, er…” He thought about it, squinting, “…kiss anyone, I suppose. I doubt there are many who’d want me to, is my—” He huffed. “You know what I mean, so…” He shook his head. “I don’t suppose you were stupid unless you regret doing it now. It…must be nice…to have someone interested in you?”

He eyed her.

“You’re…sure you couldn’t tell me what it was like? Was it boring or exciting or…were his lips nice or cold or…?” Brow pinching uncertainly, he turned his gaze back towards the window. “Perhaps it is stupid to ask, sorry.”

Ataya flushed at the first description, trying in spite of himself to imagine it. Somewhere — anywhere — shared privately with someone else. Hopefully not a public street in front of his sister and uncle, though he supposed even that wouldn’t be so bad provided it simply happened. But that still begged the question: Who would? What girl would let him get that close? What boy would want anything to do with him? Would their lips be soft and warm against his or pushy and insistent or—

Dysarrin.

He cough-choked on a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Oh, yes,” he responded, eyes darting her way. “That would be endlessly romantic. Or have you forgotten the part where he smells like a week old carcass marinated lovingly in hastar piss and rotting fish? He’s my friend, a good friend, and a loyal one for all his many oddities, but we’ve known each other since I was seven. I’ll be the first to admit, vast as my knowledge is on a great many subjects, romance is not my strong point, but even I am fairly certain you’re not supposed to kiss persons you’ve been friends with for your entire life. Not to mention, even if he did, he’d—”

Ataya paused, stalling on the thought. What would that even be like? It really wasn’t anything he’d given any thought before, and it seemed fairly bizarre to contemplate.

“Well. I can’t imagine he’d be gentle, in any case…or have soft anything. Probably shove me against a wall and…ah…grunt, and…” Ataya’s brow furrowed, a heady flush climbing into his cheeks despite all his best efforts, because a mental image of having his friend of eight years, a foot taller than him and several hundred pounds heavier, shoving him against anything and grinding their mouths together, probably biting at his lips and shoving his tongue between them, was not supposed to be even remotely appealing. He cleared his throat, curling his toes and shifting the positioning of his legs. “It’d be fairly disgusting, I think. And even if he did shave, and wash, and present himself, I’ve no reason to believe he’s the least bit interested in males. I’ve only ever seen him with a girl once, but…he seems quite ‘interested’ in them and their various bits. That, and…”

Ataya hesitated. Again. At length, he pursed his lips.

“That, and all else aside, if he’d wanted to I’m sure he would have at least tried already. Dysarrin has all the patience that can be expected of something with a three second attention span at best, and when he wants something, he goes for it. So…if he was interested in me, it would have happened already.”

The thought had no right to be the faintest bit disappointing.

And yet.

Ataya blinked. “Ah…” He considered it, brow furrowing — this time more in thought than anything else. “I suppose that’s the case. I think I prefer girls, for the most part…a good deal more of them are attractive than men, but…” He shrugged. “Some males are appealing? It’s…not terribly difficult imagining myself with either.” ‘Other than the difficulty I have imagining anyone with me to begin with.’

He sank a fraction in the bed against the mattress and sent his sister a fleeting look. “Father will be so pleased, mm? On top of everything else I’ve done wrong…” He summoned a miniature rising snowball, half the size of a clenched fist or smaller, levitating it high with magic and then swatting roughly at it with the back of his hand when it fell back within range, a violent enough hit to send it careening across the room and into the opposite wall with a smack. “I’m also bent. How glorious. The child of his dreams.”

“I don’t care if you tell,” Ataya snapped. “I don’t care if anyone tells, I don’t care if he knows, I don’t care what he thinks, I—”

But the words came out shaken as they were sharp and unconvincing, and when his sister’s weight dipped into the mattress and she leaned over, tugging him in, he sank into the embrace, shuddering in spite of himself.

“I don’t care,” he whispered again, swallowing when the words came out whined and hoarse. “I don’t…” Eyes stinging at the corners, he squeezed them shut and reached out despite his best efforts to maintain a visage of calm. His fingers, by the time they reached his sister’s hips to cling, were trembling, and he wasn’t crying. He wasn’t and he wouldn’t. “I’m sorry…I drag you into everything,” he mumbled. “Father’s right. You wouldn’t do these things if it weren’t for me. I get you into trouble, and I do foolish things, and I put you in danger, and then you pull me out and I…I—I never thank you properly, I just do it again, and again…the gods gave you a terrible and wicked minded brother, I am sorry…”

Ataya swallowed, damp lashes flitting shut again with a pinched frown when his sister’s fingers brushed the wet from his cheek; he hadn’t meant to make a fool of himself. But he supposed, if anyone were to see him upset, perhaps it was best it be his other half. Akara. With whom he had shared his woes and his adventures with since the womb. The corner of his lips edged up crookedly, and his lashes lifted.

“I will make every effort to be available to pull you out, too, sister…even — or perhaps especially — when it is I who put you in trouble in the first place. Thank you, though, regardless…I…” His gaze dipped low again, brow furrowing as he thought on the evening’s events. “I would not be here if not for you…and I know that. So…” He caught her fingers in his, holding them between them and keeping his eyes low as he thumbed over her knuckles and finally squeezed lightly. “I owe you more gratitude than I can put in words. I am blessed to have a twin.”

Ataya watched his sister flop out, and then flushed at her first question, but relaxed a fraction nonetheless, relieved to see the topic moving on from ‘emotional and serious’ and back to the previous, more lighthearted subject of interest: boys. He hummed. “I do suppose he is vaguely appealing, at least in parts. I quite like his stomach,” Ataya admitted. “It’s well-muscled and looks especially flattering when he dances. I think, though, purely so far as appearances go, I tend to prefer taller…and broader in general. More bulk.”

He paused.

“Not in comparison to myself, obviously, since that is most every man alive, but in comparison to Nesrinn and on the whole: the larger the better. So that when you reach out, or when he’s kissing you, no matter where your fingertips land, they’re on muscle.” After a moment’s thought, he stole a shrewd glance in his sister’s direction. “So, you know, perhaps you are right after all. If he shaved and washed, learned to stand upright and speak the common tongue with competency passing that of a six-year-old, perhaps Dysarrin would have some potential. It’d be like kissing a mountain…”

And so the night went, trickled with easy conversation after that point, back and forth about preferences and potential. Eventually, though neither were particularly tired at first after having slept the greater portion of the day away, the events of the past several days caught up with them, splicing yawns between their words, and they crawled onto their separate mattresses, settling in for sleep. Ataya, though he still had much to grapple with mentally, felt decidedly better, and was pleased to have at least shared his thoughts with his sister, if no one else — yet.