“When we are alone, we go mad. When we are together, we go mad for each other.” — Charles Bukowski

Noises. That was the only right word to describe your home. Your family had always been loud—but loving. Your twin brother, Mack, had played hockey his entire life, and it was crystal clear the moment you stepped inside. Photos on the walls, medals, and golden trophies everywhere. And of course—his best friend, Will.

Those two were so close you were practically convinced they shared one brain cell. (Because most of the time it looked like they didn’t have any others, and the last one was fighting for its life.) Will was at your house so often it almost felt like he lived there too.