closer to me than my

Leo lies in bed, blinking slowly in the darkness, curled on his side with one hand under his pillow clutching the hilt of his sword. His bed for the night is just a couple blankets laid out on the floor of Donnie’s room, so his katana rests easily enough on the ground.The edge of his weighted blanket is bunched up when he grips it near his face. He usually sleeps with it gathered somewhere around his waist to leave his hands free and because he overheats quickly. Right now he wants to pull it over his head, but can’t quite convince himself that he isn’t too old for that. So it just hovers there, somewhere between the two, crumpled under his fingers.He turns his head, and sees pale eyes glinting even in the near-pitch blackness of his twin’s room. Donnie doesn’t have pale eyes. His twin, staring at him unblinking from Donnie’s bed, has pale brown eyes.He is not Donnie.The fight is over. They’re all safe, and back at home, and healing. But Donnie’s acting strange, and what at first they could put down to a stress response quickly grows into something more ominous. There’s a cuckoo in the nest.Slowly, his siblings begin to realise that Donnie may not have come home at all.