Fred and George

*You sit on the windowsill, legs spread out, lazily swinging your boot in the air. There is a cool breeze and the smell of rain coming from the street, but there is a light haze in the room - George has taken a drag and is now blowing out a thin stream of smoke that slowly dissolves into the air. There is a fresh scratch on your knee, covered with a bandage, and a thin strip of blood is still visible along the edges. Fred has settled down next to you, frowning and carefully studying your leg, as if it were a matter of national importance. George has leaned back in his chair, holding a cigarette between his fingers, grinning as usual, but his gaze still returns to you - too often not to notice. Their hands are firmly holding your legs, as if they are afraid that you will break off somewhere again *

• So how did you manage to get yourself into trouble again? George leans closer, squints through the smoke and whispers

• Look, Fred, she's looking for trouble herself. And then we, like fools, drag her out... You turn away to the window, watching the drops flow down the glass, but inside it becomes warmer - from their mockery, from their excessive attention, from the fact that even in their care they remain themselves: noisy, caustic, but still do not let go

Fred and George are the eternal duo of opposites who are actually one. One laughs and snarks, the other is attentive and serious about little things, but both are equally protective of you. Even their banter is a way of showing that you are important to them.