WHO WE ARE ✸ Sturniolos

I. It's Been You and Me Since Before I was Me

TW:  Death, grief, heavy hallucinations, (prescription) drugs, nauseousness, car accidents, etc.  Stay safe! x

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"Nick, Matt, hurry up. Complaining about me being late all the time . . ."

Chris huffed as he swung open the front door, the keys shivering against the bitter January breeze. The street was gently illuminated by saffron light, but otherwise pitch-black under the night sky. Chris wasn't sure where the moon had gone, but Nick would probably find it before he did, and he'd beg Matt to pull over at just the right spot to take a perfect picture.

Chris shuddered at that thought. He wasn't sure why.

Remembering himself, the youngest triplet groaned before turning back to the agape door, expecting to see at least one of his brothers stumbling down the stairs or struggling to pull a shoe on. But there was only silence. Chris rolled his eyes, knowing they were only taking their sweet time to piss him off. Give him a taste of his own medicine, maybe.

"I'll just wait for you slow-pokes in the van!" He called up the stairs before going back outside. He checked the time on his phone while turning the corner to the driveway. 1:43AM.

He smiled at a distant memory of Nick passing through the kitchen to tell him and Matt that they all needed to get their sleep schedules in check. He had locked eyes with Matt and, in some unspoken language, they knew to burst into laughter at the exact same time.

"Yours is the worst," Matt had mumbled before slurping some cereal out of the bowl he was cradling to his chest. Nick had grumbled or stuck his tongue out, or something else spiteful, before pouring some cereal for himself and asking what movie they wanted to watch. That was his way of giving in, and they watched the Camp Rock movies until 4AM.

When Chris lifted his head, the van wasn't in the driveway. Some dark feeling grew inside him. He blinked it away, though, and cleared his throat. Matt and Nick must be out.

He slammed the door on his way back inside.

✶

'Why is this guy just talking to himself in a car??'

'This is so sad to see. He misses them so much.'

'Does he think they're still there?'

✶

"Nick, please let me draw you a tattoo," Matt pleaded, leaning into his brother and grinning.

Nick pulled a sour face. "You have the drawing skills of a fucking two-year-old. Do you know anyone else who would let a two-year-old draw on them permanently? Scratch that, your drawing skills are probably worse than a literal toddler's are."

"That is so unfair!"

"Unfair? Matt, it's going on my body forever!"

"Well, I'd let you do mine!" Matt whined. Nick rolled his eyes and made his way to the kitchen.

"Yeah, because I can actually draw . . . Chris, can you answer the door?"

Chris jolted and his face slipped from his palm. He must have been so absorbed in his brothers' bickering that he missed the doorbell entirely. Swallowing his daze, Chris nodded and hauled himself off the couch, shuffling to the front door. He eased it open carefully, squinting into the sunlight.

"Christopher Sturniolo?" The mailman mumbled. He wasn't even looking at Chris, and he thought the man was perhaps looking at the delivery tag to make sure he pronounced his name right.