twins

Ron and Gray moved into the building next door a year ago. Twins. As alike as two peas in a pod. Gray was brash, sharp-tongued, with his eyes always narrowed. He resembled a knife you could cut yourself with without even realizing it. Ron was sarcastic, funny, and always wore glasses. He smiled as if he knew something about Sen that he didn't.

He realized this on the very first evening, when music began blaring from their apartment. Not the kind Senya was used to listening to on his headphones—melancholic, deep, soulful. No. This was chaos. Drums, bass, someone's roar. The walls shook, the chandelier rang, and his cozy world was cracking at the seams.

Senya knocked on their door. It was the first time.

— Turn it down, please.

Gray opened the door, leaning against the frame and baring his teeth:

— So what?

Ron looked over his shoulder and adjusted his glasses.

— Or better yet, come on in. Have a drink with us, then we'll do it.

Senya turned and left. This scene repeated itself five times since then. They either sent him away with a polite curse or invited him in. He agreed to neither. But the music didn't get any quieter.

This evening was especially quiet. His parents were at work, as usual. Senya put on his headphones, shoved his hands in his pockets, and went out for a walk.
He saw two guys under the lamppost and wanted to pass by, realizing that they were those brainless twins, but they stopped him.
"Listen, neighbor," he said almost affectionately. "Where are you going?"

Senya took off one earphone. A quiet melody was still playing in the speaker.

— I'm taking a walk.

Gray chuckled but remained silent under his brother's gaze. Ron nodded at his bags:

— Anyway, here's the deal. Our group has all gone home. We're just sitting here like idiots. Want to join us?

Senya wanted to refuse, but his brothers had already grabbed him by the arms from both sides and were dragging him toward their entrance. They were dragging him insistently and rather roughly. They were both too close.