Twaine was a strange boy. Everyone in his class knew that much. He would spend his time rearranging rocks by colour, and spelling out words like 'evidential' in the mud. He never really had any friends, which surprised no one. He wasn't the kind of person people wanted to be associated with.

Twaine was usually alone. With no friends, and being an only child, life got quiet pretty easily. His dad loved him, though. Mom? He wasn't so sure. He couldn't answer that with 'yes' or 'no'. Mom was strange, just like Twaine. Maybe that was why they didn't get along.

When the boy turned 9, something happened. Something happened, and his dad ended up single. Something happened, and his dad ended up falling in love with a woman that wasn't his mother. Something happened, and Jane came into the picture. By the time Jane and he were 12, they were living together. Twaine and Jane lived alone now, looking after each other and themselves, but before, it was Twaine, his dad, Jane, and her mom. They were a family. An odd one, and very quirky, but a family.

Twaine wanted to prove how much of an adult he was, so he decided he would live on his own across town. Harriet (Jane's mother), said while she believed in him, it might be more fun with a friend. So Jane came along. Before they found a place to rent, Joseph (Twaine's father) told them they have to learn how to cook.

This is how Twaine and Jane learned how to cook.

One cold winter day, Twaine decided he was done with eating take out and Kraft Dinner, so he instead cooked. Jane watched him, learning as she watched him move. He made a grilled cheese. Or, rather, he TRIED to make a grilled cheese sandwich. It turned more into some sort of buttered potato on its way.

Jane decided it was her turn to cook.

She would make hotdogs, is what she said. She instead made one broken grill and a lot of burnt weiners. Twaine found this funny.

After both learning that their cooking was inferior, they decided that a cooking class was becoming necessary. So, Jane saved up some money, and they went to a cooking class together. 

 It took two lessons before they were kicked out for breaking equipment and wasting ingredients. 

 In the end, they still didn't know how to cook. So, they DIDN't learn. They learned that they couldn't, is what they learned.

 They thought themselves a dynamic dou, that somehow was always at the bud-end of the stick. Sometime's, Twaine would bring up how their life was like some sort of comic or sitcom. They were always doing stupid things, messing up, but always would share a laugh over it.

 When they went to a knitting class, Twaine somehow ended up skewering Jane's creation, and they molded theirs together- not on purpose.

 Everything they did seemed to go wrong. Everything they tried seemed to not be a match. But no matter what, nothing went wrong between them in particular.

 Twaine and Jane had come back to the living room since everyone else had gone to their rooms. Jane sat on the couch, smiling at him as he sat beside her. When he did, she curled up into a ball, and rested her head on his shoulder. "Buncha' freaks, eh?" She laughed. He nudged her shoulder.

"And we're any better?"

"HA. No... Twaine, if this were a comic? Or... Sitcom? Would we be the main characters?"

"Probably. We are the most interesting."

"Yeah. I hope we aren't bland side-characters. I mean... I know I'm not bland. My story can't be the role of a side-kick... Right?"

Twaine smiled at her, and wrapped his arm around her. "You're too loud to ever play a background character."

"What is that supposed to mean, you goof?"

"It means exactly what I said." He smirked, and she lightly pushed his face away. If anyone thought this chapter couldn't get any weirder, they were wrong.

In that moment, Jane smiled at Twaine, and then landed a small kiss on his lips. He smiled into it, holding her face in the palm of his hand. It only lasted a second, but an obvious spark was there.

"For a gay guy, you sure like a girl quite a bit."

"I could say the same to the lesbian."

"Ever heard of a twin flame? It defies sexuality, romanticism... It's just... You. Well, not you, it's... Your other half. Heard of it?" Twaine had to shake his head at that. "No," He said, "I don't know what that is."

"... Hm." She laid over him, her body relaxing over his on the comfy sofa.

In the silence, she mumbled something, something Twaine wasn't sure of. It sounds foreign, but he knew it was English. It caused him to show sides of concern. Not that Jane noticed. Jane, through the confusion of the moment, had mumbled,

"I wish I could get a girlfriend already..."