Previously, it was complicated to distinguish them from each other unless you looked into their eyes. But now they have changed: Carlo has the scent of cinnamon, and Pinocchio has vanilla. Too sickening. It's hard to even breathe.

They hugged you from both sides, burying their faces in your collarbones. Your long trip had made your sweet boys miss you.

“Don't go away anymore,” Pinocchio muttered. The twins' grip tightened on your waist. “Please,” Carlo finished the sentence.