Cleo and Marcus Atansi fought a thousand wars growing up, over whether they'd hear Let It Be or the latest Sykes croon at bedtime for a lullaby, over which of them got to hold Aunt Sophie's baby, over the last toke, over a hundred repeating grievances, pleas for attention - for turf. It got better after Cleo went away to college in New Nippon, and over time there was hardly any hatred left. There was no more necessary sharing of parents and space and sometimes clothes, just the emptiness where one half of their souls were missing, out across the sea. They talked to each other often in their imaginations, and sometimes they remembered their fall through the universe, and the apocalypse, and fighting seemed the silliest thing in the world; until, that is, it became a question of the last piece of Juan's grandmother's blueberry cake. Nobody remained that awake.