It started when Luella Davis thought to inquire into her son's life a little more—the other son.

Gene was jovial and open, recounting the brighter orphanage stories whenever she showed even a little interest. He was a brilliant speaker, for someone so young, and they spent a few warm afternoons in the kitchen that way.

On the other hand, Noll limited his interactions to muted thank yous and good mornings and the book I am reading is about ghost ships, if she was lucky. He avoided Luella and her husband, and he frowned nigh-exclusively. His intermittent smiles were thin, short, and sardonic, saved for when Gene managed to coax them out somehow—when they argued and made fun of each other especially, Luella noticed. She was a Cambridge psychologist, and she knew it was a sign of closeness.

She brought it up with Gene one morning. His face fell at the worry in her voice, but he remained firmly optimistic. "Noll's just that way," he explained, with a trace of apology but not quite shame. "Give it time." Regardless of the twins' issues, Luella was charmed and impressed by their sage-like moments, of which there were many. The boys really had seen more than their years' share. She could see it in his eyes and the way Oliver held himself, and it disheartened her but made her love him all the more.

So one day, she started to ask him questions, first, about his thoughts on England, and then, about Gene, then about the orphanage. He answered, briefly and dutifully, or at times side-eyed her and dodged the question, or made it clear he was answering out of courtesy and thought small talk was stupid. Luella was not aggressive, but she let her motherly desires get ahold of her when she told him that she just wanted to get to know him better. He acquiesced, sullenly.

And that's when the furniture started to fly.

Luella gasped—she had been warned about Noll's novice psychic ability and its lack of restraint, but this was the first time she'd seen him cause something of this level. The chairs were rocking, tottering until they clattered to the floor, then clattering more; the faucet turned off and on, and the cupboards slammed open and shut. Noll seemed to jolt when he noticed, but his frown only deepened as he stood in the midst of all the motion, staring off somewhere. Luella fended off the notion that he was doing it on purpose.

"Noll," she said sharply, two steps from a scolding. "Stop it."

"I can't," he said, calm, and the cupboards slammed louder, almost violently. Luella jumped, horrified as the dishes began to clamor, threatening to spill onto the floor.

"Stop it!"

He regarded her almost blankly, and she realized he really could not—she hurried to his side and guided him towards the kitchen door with a slight push of the shoulder, just as Gene came running in. He halted on his heels and looked at Noll, breath hitching in his throat.

"You're slow," Noll said, nearly a hiss. Luella was always surprised by how much more expressive he could be as soon as it involved Gene. Ignoring him, Gene marched right up to his brother and clasped his shoulders, his gorgeous, childish face twisted with concern.

Luella watched as Gene closed the distance and tilted his forehead in against Noll's—the younger twin flinched and looked annoyed, and his teacup broke on the floor, shattering with an ear-shocking crash. Another cup met the same fate. Luella moved to take the boys from the room, feeling as though the quaking room might collapse on them entirely, but the two boys remained still, locked together, speaking in swift, quiet Japanese.

"Stop it," Gene said after the third cup broke. He closed his eyes. "Stop."

"I told you, I can't," Noll insisted, even as the quaking began to slow. His shoulders shook, now, just minutely; his lack of control was hard to face. He even rose his voice. "I can't. I can't, you idiot."

"Yes, you can, Noll."

Luella could not understand a word, but she found herself enraptured by the scene—Gene, holding a Noll who shuddered fiercely, a paranormal flurry of movement whirling around them, in her very own kitchen. She felt a pang of guilt, too, taking the majority of the responsibility upon herself for somehow provoking her newly adopted son without thought; she fervently wished she could help, but saw at once that only Gene could make the poltergeisting subside, and he was having a hard time of it.

But the cupboards gradually stopped flapping, and the fallen chairs came to a still, and the rapid on-and-off faucet flow slowed to its normal drip-drop, and Noll breathed heavily, and he was still, too, for a moment. Then he ripped himself away from Gene.

And without another word, he went upstairs.

Gene exchanged a glance with Luella, asked if she was alright, and upon receiving a shaky affirmation, he smiled his lovely smile and excused himself, a perfect child giving chase to his demon-spawned twin.

Gene stood in Noll's doorway and fixed him with a reproachful stare, not angry but chiding. Eye contact didn't bother either brother; Noll gazed back, impassive, with an open book limp in his hands.

"You're being difficult," Gene said. "Don't you like being here?"

"Professor Davis does have an impressive array of paranormal resources," Noll responded thoughtfully, turning his focus back to the book—Gene's breezy scoldings were hardly worth his whole attention. They were mild and similar, nothing all that demanding. "I also like the fact that we have separate rooms now."

He flicked a page over, hardly noticing when Gene entered his room and yanked the book from his hands. He did not make a habit of being so assertive, Noll reflected, so maybe this particular discussion was meant to be a little more pressing. All the same, Noll just stared at his older brother, and stubbornly held his hand out. Gene tucked the book behind his back, but remained in place, quiet for a moment.

"If you keep throwing tantrums, they might send us away," he said, serious. Noll contracted his brow and frowned.

"Firstly, they're not tantrums."

"They only happen when you're being moody and you know it," Gene said, brushing aside a stack of books and seating himself on Noll's desk. "You gotta stop."

"What do you know? It's not that easy. Besides, you and I are invaluable research subjects for Martin." He crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat—for a nine year old in a sweater vest, Oliver could be quite genteel by nature. "He wouldn't send us away."

"It's not—about—being—research subjects." Gene sighed, really sighed, like he was mourning the normalcy that they never had. Noll found it annoying when he did that, but had long learned to ignore it. If his brother was disappointed with him, so be it.

As expected, Noll didn't bother to respond, so Gene went on, bringing the book in front of him to settle on his lap. "Do you really think he couldn't just send us to live somewhere else and come test on us when he wanted the data? Like guinea pigs? Oh, I bet you'd love to live in a lab."

"Labs generally have less books." Noll said curtly, unsure of Gene's point and sour for it. Gene looked down at the volume in his hands—The Development of Latent Psychic Abilities in Youth, by Professor R. Stepford—and then he seemed to understand. At least he could do that much, Noll supposed, anyone else wouldn't understand at all. But it only made Gene sigh again, a sound that was becoming increasingly grating to Noll's ears as of late.

"Maybe you could just apologize." Gene said, waggling the book back and forth in the air.

"Apologize for something that I can't control yet?"

"It would be the nice thing to do. Or, maybe you could just ask him to help you. Like you said, I'm sure he'd be delighted with an opportunity to gather data." He was smiling, then, but it had no effect on Oliver. His smile was tired, and Noll was rankled by the thought of being his brother's burden, of being something he had to apologize for, of being something that stood in the way of his perfect family fantasy. "Or maybe delighted with the idea of helping out his son?"

Nevermind, that kind of musing was all dead-end rotten.

"Do you really think that Luella and Martin adopted us because of our personalities? Because they thought we would make stellar children? No. Martin Davis is a parapsychological researcher, Gene."

"Luella wanted kids," Gene stuck out, gripping the book in his hands tighter. To Noll, it seemed that Gene didn't like having his family fantasy assaulted by hard truths, but to Gene, it was only the recurring, momentary wish that Noll would understand goodness, and people, and family, and love. He was not frustrated with Noll, he was sad for Noll, frustrated with his inability to connect.

"Well, now she has one." He said simply. "Everyone gets what they want. Everyone is happy."

Gene frowned. He didn't believe that for a second. It was one thing when Noll was detached, but in their new setting, half the time he seemed on the brink of misery. "Noll, you—"

"I'm not unhappy." Noll said slowly. "Except when you do this to me."

"Do what?"

Noll paused. He did not want to go into that. He merely gave Gene a cool stare, mouth pressed into a thin line. The temperature in the room dropped, and continued to drop as he spoke. "Give me the book back. And stop fussing about me ruining everything for you. I am going to teach myself how to control the poltergeists, so you have no need to worry. If the Davises become fed up—which they won't- "

"It's still inconsiderate—"

"They will send the troublesome one back, and you can stay here as long as you'd like. You don't need to follow me." He sounded bored and indifferent, a tone that had been trained into his voice, but Gene caught the edge. He knew it would always be there, just under his veneer of stability, something shaky and vulnerable. If nobody else could understand, Gene could.

"I do have to follow you." Gene said steadily, placing the book on the desk in front of Noll. Noll stared at it.

"We're not a two-for-one deal."

"No, we're brothers." He dropped off the desk surface, smiling for real now—Noll didn't bother to look, he was reaching for the book. "If you prefer, partners."

"If you want to put that kind of spin on it," Noll said, leafing through the pages to find his place. Gene's heartfelt claims of attachment weren't appealing to Noll, but he didn't mind if Gene wanted to stay and carry on babbling, he supposed, as long as Noll could maintain some degree of productivity at the same time.

Vaguely aware of Gene falling into another seat and picking up another volume on child psychics, Noll loosened up and refocused on reading the chapter on poltergeists. The information was sparse, and had little to do with Noll's personal problem with control or energy excess, but the case studies were…

"Noll," Gene said, very quietly.

"What?" He didn't draw his eyes up just yet.

"You're making the desk rock."