ALTHOUGH I HAVE little to no culinary skill, I decide to--as an act of kindness to Jagger and a sign of truce to Sommer--attempt to create breakfast using the supplies available in the kitchen. I realize upon looking in the refrigerator that this may be a nearly impossible task. I continue regardless, hopeful that the mere thought will be appreciated. I study the contents of the refrigerator.

     Leftover fried flour mixture with foul sausages? Not appetizing.

     Flakes of ground corn coated with high-fructose corn syrup? Preferably not.

     Frozen flaky pastry dusted with sugar and filled with artificial fruit flavouring? Highly uncultured.

     Milk, dried fruit, and rolled oats. Doable. Now to cook it so that it is, at the least, edible.

     To cook the oats I need water. Must I boil it before mixing the two? Replacing water with milk may increase flavour. I will mix in the dried fruit with the oats after cooking. The water is not boiling; the stove must be out of order. Or possibly because I turned on the wrong burner. Foolish. Perhaps it would be logical to gather measuring devices. 1/4 cup. 1/3 cup. 1/2 teaspoon. Where have I placed the wooden spoon? I have dropped it. I must rinse it before it makes contact with the food. The instructions on the bag state that one cup of oats with two cups of water will produce two servings...

     "Metro."

     Startled, I drop the cup of water, splattering it across the floor. I fail to pay immediate attention to the mess, shocked at the appearance of Titus at the entry of the kitchen. He reaches for a roll of paper towel, handing me a piece apologetically. I take it, realizing I am gaping at him, and begin to dry the floor.

     "Didn't mean to scare you," he speaks softly, kneeling beside the puddle of water. "What you doing?" He glances at me suspiciously.

     "I--em," I stutter. "I thought it would be cordial to prepare a morning meal for Jagger and Sommer...because of all the ruckus I have caused."

     "Nice of you," he says casually.

     I glance at him curiously.

     "You are welcome to join us if you wish," I state.

     He returns the glance. Although he speaks in a friendly manner, his face remains painted with hurt. I sense a slight anxiousness in his body language.

     "Metro? Are you cooking?" Jagger's footsteps bounce down the staircase. "Did something break--" He stops in the entry, Sommer directly behind him. Titus and I rise.

     "Titus. Hey." He walks toward us. "Everything okay?" he asks softly.

     "Yeah." Titus twists his hands. "I did some thinking and I...I realize it's not Metro's fault." He shuffles nervously. The rest of us listen to him, eager for his explanation.

     "I just..." he trails off. "Do you really not know who I am?" He faces me, spreading his arms.

     "I do not believe so," I respond cautiously. "I did not recognize your name."

     "You don't even have a remote idea of who I could be?"

     "I do not believe so?" I speak, lacking confidence in my words. I look to Jagger for assistance. He offers me nothing, appearing just as confused as I.

     "Come here."

     We follow Titus upstairs to the washroom. He stands in front of the mirror, studying his reflection, glancing at each one of us before inhaling deeply. Jagger runs his hand down Titus' arm. Titus smiles lightly, returning a short nod. He quickly turns to me.

     "Where'd you get such pretty eyes, Metro?" His question takes me off guard.

     "They are inherited." I watch him curiously. "from my mother's genes."

     He nods solemnly, keeping my eye contact. I do not understand his implication, and neither, it appears, does Jagger or Sommer. His eyes are dark, nearly black. But at a closer glance, I notice a very minute ring of transparency outlining the iris.

     "They make me wear these."

     He leans forward, using both hands to spread his eyelid and pinch the surface of his cornea. He removes the dark cosmetic contacts from both eyes, placing them on the counter.

     His natural eyes are coloured exactly like mine, and my mother's, and her father's, and his mother's.

     I realize at this moment that I am staring at the reflection of my brother.