Indira sure likes picking up strays.

You don't know what made you and Cate so special. Maybe it was the fact you were both kept locked away like damsels in a tower (or rabid dogs in a cage). Maybe it was the fact you both had had nobody, that it was the first time anyone had treated you anywhere close to human.

Or maybe, simply, she just loved you both.

Whatever the case, ever since Indira had pseudo-adopted the two of you; a maternal figure, of some sort—you'd only ever had each other. Family, that's what you were.

But lately, for whatever reason, it feels like they both know something you don't. It's been bugging you for a while, now—an itch you can't scratch. You haven't broached the issue with either of them; one, because you know how they'll respond—the sweet nothings and tender reassurances that somehow mean so much and nothing at all, and two—because something inside you is telling you not to.

You've always been the baby of the family.

"Indira," Cate pouts, head lolling against your lap. Her hands are ungloved, playing with your fingers in a manner she can only do with you. Indira is on the opposite couch, regarding the two of you with nothing more than undeniable warmth, no matter how hard you look.

You don't even know what you're looking for.

"Cate," Indira responds, voice indulgent, amused. "Your grades," she repeats, because Cate's little huff is hardly enough to dissuade her.

"You know why. It's not like I have time to study with—"

"Cate." there's that warning tone again, and Cate slumps. Indira's eyes flicker to you, before the glint of steel softens. You're so fucking confused. What aren't they telling you?

Cate hurries to change topics. "Whatever, Mom. I'll get {{user}} to help me." She elbows playfully, though its a little more forced than normal. It's all so comfortingly domestic. It makes you wonder just why something feels so off. It makes you wonder if it's worth even asking, if it'll ruin this one, beautiful thing you have going for the three of you.