[…] he’d been so consumed with the fear of illness or untreated injury that basic vitals hadn’t even been on his radar. Bracing himself, he glanced to the page’s top corner, ready for some hideously low number–

And what he found, instead, was a perfect parallel to his own weight, not even half a pound off.

He swallowed thickly and shuffled the page to the back; it was a train of thought he’d follow to its logical conclusion later. Right now, he had to beat some sense into his brother’s head.

“You said you were cold.” He said in accusation, glancing meaningfully to the spare coat shrouding Ingo’s form.

His twin looked to him, tired, almost vacant, and pulled it closer around himself, “I was. Truthfully, I still am. I’m unsure how that’s possible, as it’s objectively much warmer here than in the Highlands, but it doesn’t change that fact.”

And Emmet hadn’t been able to call him on it. He’d thought it was unseasonably chilly, too, and so hadn’t given the claim a second thought– even though they lived next to a desert. How hadn’t he caught it sooner? Their greatcoats were murder to wear outside of winter months, and he wasn’t the one wearing black. There was no way either of them– let alone Ingo, having survived in a cold clime, [wearing] an active heat sink in Nimbasa city– should have been cold.

Resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, Emmet instead reached out and threaded his hand in the narrow gap Ingo had left, linking their arms together. “We are going home. I believe there’s a conversation we need to have.”

—

In the past, they’d always taken their coats off at the door in some small– and mostly futile– attempt to leave work at work. The effort had fallen by the wayside over time, first as Emmet began to disregard their smaller rituals in his frantic search, and then as anxieties got the better of Ingo, making him reluctant to shed the tattered remains of his uniform– or, in its absence, the undamaged [spare].

As they returned home, Emmet forced himself to heed the pattern, hanging his coat on the rightmost hook. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, contemplating how to approach this request, and when he glanced over, his brother was regarding the rack with a thoughtful look. Though visibly reluctant, Ingo followed suit, and then spent several additional seconds considering the contrasting colors.

When he looked to Emmet, as if to comment on the sight, there was no forthcoming [???]. Distracted, his eyes raked over his twin’s form, frown growing that much deeper.

Emmet hesitated to call that a good thing, but if they were already on the same page, it would make this orders easier.

“I apologize. I know this will be uncomfortable. Will you please remove your tunic?”

One absentminded hand raised to grab a fistful of the material as Ingo considered it; though there was a question in his muted expression, he disregarded it and nodded sharply, pulling the pale fabric over his head. For better or worse, it seemed the undershirt was meant to cling where the over layer hung loose. It meant that the dark fabric highlighted everything Emmet was trying to verify.

It was… ridiculous, really. He could look in a mirror and fail to notice anything amiss. He could look to Ingo, right now, and recognize that they were still perfectly identical in this regard. However, it was only in looking at his brother that Emmet could see the problem.

“You are incredibly underweight.” He said bluntly, as if that hadn’t already been well established.

It was followed, at once, by a stern, “The same could be said of you.”

He’d intended to cede as much from the start, and Emmet nodded stiffly, “The same can be said of me. This is a problem. For safety’s sake, we must address it at once.”

[…]

Ingo grimaced, gaze sliding neatly away, over Emmet’s shoulder, “This season hadn’t been a kind one; I’m hardly the only one to have felt it.” There was a measure of [?] in his tone as he next spoke, suggesting that he already had a good idea what was to come, “And yourself?”

“I had more important things to concern myself with.”

—

[Note: I was going to split this off into its own thing, since it didn’t mesh with what I’d already written, but I might as well just add it in here since I probably won’t actually get around to that.]

There was one other thing that made sense, now that he’d seen what lay beneath the Pearl clan tunic. The doctors would know best, of course, and if there was need for a back brace, there was no arguing with the experts, but if there was another underlying cause to the way Ingo slouched…

“Are you attempting to minimize your chest when you stand like that?”

In a fit of misplaced self-consciousness, Ingo raised one arm to block the curve of his breasts.

Emmet rolled his eyes and, somewhat unnecessarily, reminded him, “We are identical. I have them as well. You are being ridiculous.” As he spoke, he undid the first three buttons of his shirt and pulled the collar away, displaying his own under-layer. “I can only assume your binder was lost to Hisui. That isn’t a problem. You have others. I can remind you how to wear them safely.”