But years had passed since then, and he… didn’t think he could do it anymore. It grated on him, pretending to be something he wasn’t, even with the person he was closest to. In the safety of doors behind closed doors he could admit to himself that he wasn’t a woman, but even at home, he’d kept up the ruse.

 

Irma was tired. He didn’t want to hide anymore, not from Emma-- but more than even that, he didn’t want to hurt her. There were nights he went back and forth on it ceaselessly, could he hold out just a little while longer, long enough to come up with a more elegant explanation? He’d already spent this long trying to articulate his feelings on the matter, so was there any amount of time that could help in that regard?

 

Would she be upset with him?

 

At a certain point, he wound himself into so many tight coils that it was easier to step back and let them unravel. He knew his sister; no matter what anyone said about her, she was a logical, understanding, loving person. While their image as identical twins was important to her, he knew her heart would be in the right place.

 

Part of Irma said he’d waited this long, what was just a little longer, to be entirely sure?

 

Another part said that he’d waited this long already; it was time to get it over with, to finally share this with someone.

 

He found her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as she peeled an orange, playing dumb about the aspear Archeops was begging for. Garbodor helpfully blocked most of the kitchen entryway, coveting the growing pile of pith, and he had to coax her out of the way to gain access.

 

“I know,” He told her, indulgent as she crooned the saddest cry he’d heard since she’d caught sight of their still-full styrofoam cups last week, “We’ll ask if she won’t share with such a good girl.”

 

“I make no promises.” Emma said, smiling idly at her slow progress.

 

In lieu of a response, he gave a loud, fond sigh and crossed the space between them, taking up his spot at her side. Giving up on its trainer for the time being, Archeops turned its eyes toward him instead.

 

His sister shot him a preemptive warning glance. “Do not.”

 

Just to prove his innocence, Irma held his hands up, demonstrating that they were empty. Unconvinced, she eyed him up and down, but did eventually return to her crusade against pith.

 

“You are quiet.” She said after a moment, peeling another strand away, “Did someone tell you to smile again? I will make them stop.”

 

“No, and even if one of today’s passengers had, I wouldn’t tell you which one for that precise reason.”

 

“Boo,” She scoffed and split the orange down the center, neatly extracting the core. “Then what is it?”

 

“I’m not entirely sure where to begin.”

 

“Then start with the facts.”

 

He hesitated.

 

“...Irma?”

 

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” He admitted after a long gap, and she eased back.

 

“Oh. That. Having your soul fed on is close enough to being sick. It counts for leave.”

 

The station might not see it the same way, but it was nice to know she was on his side in that regard. Still, it left him in an awkward position, and he wasn’t sure how to regroup.

 

“...not that?” Emma asked after a beat, sheepish in spite of the flat intonation.

 

“Not that.”

 

“Then what?”

 

He took a deep breath, trying to organize the maelstrom of thoughts that had ducked in and out of focus since he’d truly started questioning himself; his identity as an individual, his identity as a twin, and how to reconcile the both of them.  

 

“This isn’t a statement on you or our relation to one another,” He started tentatively, “And I hope I doesn’t come across as such. We’re twins, of course, but the last thing I want is to impress my… situation onto you."

 

Emma cocked her head, smile taking a turn for ‘trying not to look concerned’ and he forced himself to go on, to keep her from worrying over nothing,

 

“I simply wanted to tell you that I-- I would greatly appreciate it if you would consider me your brother, going onward, instead of...”

 

He suddenly found his hands full of the orange, which was somewhat less distracting than the fact that Emma was holding him by both sides of the face, eyes alight.

 

“You’re telling me that you are a man.”

 

“...yes.”

 

Even though it was said in complete seriousness, there was a gleeful note in, “I wanted to match. So I stayed quiet.”

 

It only took a second to process.

 

“Oh, Emm--” Irma stopped abruptly, changing course, “Matching one another isn’t more important than your well being; I wish you would have said something sooner.”

 

“I told you.” His twin argued, giving either side of his face a delighted pat; he was going to smell like oranges all night. “Just verrry recently. You had to go first. It’s tradition.”

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Irma told him, prying one hand away to tuck the well-peeled orange back where it belonged. His twin promptly tore the halves away from each other so they were fully separate, and shoved one at him.

 

“It is my job to be ridiculous. As your younger brother.” He said, sounding immensely proud of himself.

 

Taken slightly aback, Irma gave a bark of laughter-- louder than he’d intended, as always-- and shook his head.

 

“I suppose it is.”