A/N: Hey everyone! I am a loyal fan to Tegan and Sara so I decided to put some creative writing ideas and some fun stuff into making a series of T&S full-length online bookie-thingy… This will be updated every Tegan Tuesday and every Sara Sunday, so please be sure to favorite this story so you can be notified of when a new chapter is up! Reviews are greatly appreciated!

PRESENT DAY

TEGAN'S POV

I don't think that there was ever a time that I didn't love my twin. Sure, we got in the occasional fist-fight over the little things: how one of us didn't sound good in the studio, choosing the name of an album, and more. We got along more than we fought, which has benefited us more than I care to admit. But, we're not like all the other singers out there… We're queer, we're twins, we've been in this music business together for fifteen years, and we're in love.

For you to understand more about it all, telling you when I first fell in love is where we should start off.

SARA'S POV

Being thirty-three years old and just finishing with the US/Canadian tour of Heartthrob has made me look back on all of the moments that's lead up to where Tee and I are now. Without each other's support we wouldn't have made it as far as we have. It isn't all fun and games when you have this lifestyle as your career – a lot of different things go into play that our management groups take care of, but everything is decided by us: where we tour, what festivals we play, what undiscovered groups we bring with us, and who we fall in love with.

Tegan can vouch for me and say I fell in love at sixteen years old, and she is absolutely, without a doubt, completely correct.

TEGAN AND SARA, COMBINED POV'S

This is the story of how we fell in love with one another.

SIXTEEN YEAR OLD TEGAN'S POV

Ever since I was eight I knew I was gay, but my small brain didn't know what the word 'gay' meant at that time. All I knew was that I was very in to girls and that guys, other than my father, frightened me. But being a gay eight year old, well, nobody knows what they are at that age.

Sara and I stand in the small kitchen putting dirty dishes into the dishwasher after dinner. Mom's out, working late tonight, so she told me that she wanted to try and make something different for the two of us. So, she made crepes with strawberry and custard filling, and surprisingly, it was delicious.

"If marrying food was allowed, I would have married that crepe in a heartbeat," I tell her, running my finger over the light dusting of confectioner's sugar left on my plate.

Sara laughs, reaching across the counter to grab the spoon she used to dish out the strawberries, then throws it into the dishwasher. "That's good to know. So, I should make them again?"

"Uh, yeah," I chuckle, handing Sara spoons and butter-knives to put in the dishwasher.

A few moments pass until Sara closes the piece of machinery and turns to me. "What are you going to do for the rest of the night?" She asks, interested but not really.

I think about it for a second. I could do a lot of things: smoke weed, write some lyrics out, take a shower, watch a movie, sleep. "I don't know," I say, making up my mind. "What about you?"

Sara shrugs, scratching the back of her neck. "Probably read,"

I admire Sara's independence and I wish I was more like her instead of being so crazy at night and always feeling like I need a group of people to hang out with every Friday night. We start walking up the stairs together while I search for conversation. "What book are you reading anyway?"

"The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald," she tells me, stopping in front of her door, which is before my room. "It's decent enough," she smiles warmly, giving me a funny feeling in my chest.

"Well, if you get bored of it, you know where I am," I say, walking past her and into my room, shutting and locking the door behind me.

Sara and I have a normal relationship for being twins – we've already come out to each other as gay, Sara before me, so we usually sit down on the couch and just vent when we need to. That's something I'm thankful for – her being so attentive and a great listener when it's my turn to talk about whatever is on my mind. Lately, she's been the center of attention in my brain, which surprised me as soon as it started happening six months ago. I dismissed the thoughts for a few months, blaming puberty for making me think of my sister as anything more than that, but it just kept slapping me in the face, harder than before. Eventually, I became fed up with my feelings and we sat down to talk it out. Basically, long story short, I told her that I have a big crush on a girl named Lindsey from our school when in reality, it's been Sara that I've talked about the whole time. I want to tell Sara I've got feelings for her – frankly I need to – because I don't know how much longer I can bottle it inside until I've had enough. But, if I tell her, I know she'll freak out, she won't treat me as her sister, her twin – Tegan – she'll look at me entirely different. And I think my heart would shatter if she looked at me in disgust.

I sit down in the spinny chair at my desk and open up the top drawer, taking out a small bag of weed. Slowly and calmly I take out a joint-paper and start to go through the all too familiar motions of making a joint: fold the paper slightly, put the weed in, wrap it up tight, tap down at the base so its level, twist the excess paper on top, and then light up. Quickly, my room fills up with the stench and smoke, and I know I've forgotten to put the blanket underneath my door and open up the window.

There's a loud bang on my wall and suddenly a voice. "Tegan! Fucking open a window, will you? I can smell the pot from in here!" Sara shouts.

"Sorry, Sar!" I shout back, tugging open the window next to my desk, sending a spray of paint chips and rust onto some of my song sheets.

I groan, opening the window-panel up to toss the debris out the window. The cool breeze from outside makes me want to keep my head hanging out but I know that it will ruin my joint slightly, so I pop back in and sit atop my desk. Hugging my knees to my chest, taking the occasional long hit and coughing after blowing out, I think to myself that I want more than this in my life – something that's worth waking up for every morning. Music is that for me but I don't know a single thing about making demos or even how to start recording, so I'd have to find somebody who knows about that to help me learn. I've written lyrics ever since I was nine, a lot of the songs are shit about ponies and puppies so I won't ever get those produced, but the ones I've written since I've hit puberty and had a couple girlfriends, they're more realistic and true.

Off in the distance I can hear the home phone ringing. There's the soft click of a door opening, then closing, and careful footsteps descending the stairs to get it. I know that's Sara but I don't have the slightest idea on who would be calling now.

Eventually, I take one long last hit and discard the filter into my trash. I sigh, getting off my desk and fall onto my bed, face down, thinking.

I don't remember drifting off but a round of sharp knocks from my door make me look up. "What?"

"Tee, that was mom calling. She said she won't be home tonight,"

"Okay,"

There's a slight pause, then Sara says, "I'm going to get to bed. Sleep well,"

"You too," I grumble, kicking off my shoes to the floor.

The next few minutes I start taking off my clothes and throw them into the hamper next to my door so I can collect them for tomorrow's laundry day. I land on my bed, face up, with just a bra and boy shorts on. I reach over and shut off my lamp and close my eyes, letting sleep come to me easily.