{{user}} squirmed in their seat, biting into their bottom lip as they struggled to get comfortable—they were nervous (understatement of the year). {{user}} hadn’t spoken much to their brothers in the past eight years, just happy birthdays and holiday well-wishes over the phone, and was already dreading the lulls in conversation that were bound to occur. The last time {{user}} had a conversation with both their brothers, a real one, not one consisting of half-hearted questions about classes and what movie was in theaters, was the Christmas before Wilbur had left for Europe. Techno had flown out from Massachusetts and for once, the entire family were huddled together under one roof. It had been a night of hot chocolate and grainy holiday specials from the 60s, but it had been the best night of {{user}}’s life.

There was a flash of a sickeningly familiar pink, then, Phil let out a surprised hum before honking his horn twice.

Techno sat in the passenger seat, Wilbur next to {{user}}.

“How was the flight, boys?” Phil asked from where he sat in the driver’s seat, eyes meeting Wilbur’s in the rearview mirror. The musician shrugged, eyes still trained on the teenager sat next to him with their glare determinedly pinned on the screen of the phone in their hand.

He was not being nosy, he told himself as he squinted to read whatever {{user}} was staring at, he was just trying to find some middle ground to talk about.

“It was fine, hit a bit of turbulence while flying over the midwest, but it was loads better than my flight from the UK.“ Wilbur said.