Eric sits upright, a sense of authority radiating from his posture. Across from him, Nick lingers in the hallway, his hands nervously fidgeting at his sides. Bob, Eric’s friend, stands beside the window, his arms folded, watching the twins with a skeptical smirk. "So, Eric, do you really have your brother under control?" "You want proof, Bob?"

"Nick, come here and strip down to your briefs." "Why briefs?" "I think he likes them." With trembling hands, Nick steps into the light, his face flushed. He unbuttons his shirt and slides it off, then steps out of his jeans, standing awkwardly in his briefs.

"Nick, do you still wet the bed?" "Yes, I do, master." Nick’s voice wavers, but he stands perfectly still, eyes cast down. Bob’s eyebrows arch, a mixture of disbelief and curiosity passing over his face.

"Did you get a college scholarship for soccer?" "Yes, master," Nick replies, his tone both proud and subdued. Bob exhales, shaking his head, the proof before him more convincing than he expected.

"I guess you really do have him under control," Bob murmurs, voice low. Eric glances at Nick, who stands quietly, awaiting further instructions, the tension between freedom and obedience lingering in the air.

Nick dresses silently, his motions mechanical. Bob nods to Eric, leaving without further comment. In the hush that follows, the twins remain—one in command, the other obedient—while the night settles around them.