26. Russell meticulously gathered the scattered notes,

Russell meticulously gathered the scattered notes, each piece a fragment of Ted’s intricate world, a world he couldn’t entirely grasp. Twisted balls of discarded ideas lay in trays, silent witnesses to Ted’s relentless pursuit of something monumental. To Russell, they were just scraps of paper. To Ted, they might as well have been constellations charting the map of his mind, each scribble a star burning with its own gravity. Yet, this wasn’t Russell’s galaxy—it wasn’t his place to navigate it.

As Russell worked, he began to hum softly. "Mountain mama, take me home," his voice carrying a bittersweet ache, as if calling for something lost, or perhaps never found. Ted’s ears perked up, and he turned toward the melody, pausing in his own thoughts. For a moment, he watched Russell, noting the way his movements seemed almost choreographed to the tune—a quiet rhythm in the chaos.

Without a word, Ted reached under the bed and pulled out his guitar, its strings long untouched but still familiar under his fingers. He began to strum, matching Russell’s humming, weaving notes into his brother’s song. The room, once a battlefield of ideas, began to shift. The tension dissolved, replaced by a fragile harmony that neither of them dared to break.

Russell stopped mid-hum, looking up in surprise. "Didn’t know you still played," he said, his voice soft, almost reverent.

Ted offered a small smile, the kind that carried more than words ever could. "Some things, you don’t forget. Especially when you need them most."

Russell leaned against the desk, his cleaning forgotten. "Funny, isn’t it? How music can make all this," he gestured to the mess, the chaos, "feel... lighter. Like it’s all going to be okay."

Ted’s strumming slowed, his gaze fixed on the strings. "Maybe it’s because music speaks when words fail. And sometimes, it’s the only thing that makes sense."

For a moment, neither spoke. The guitar filled the silence, its notes delicate but resolute, carrying emotions too heavy to name.

"You know," Russell said quietly, his voice almost breaking, "I don’t always get what you’re trying to do, Ted. But I see it. I feel it. And I’m proud of you, even if I don’t understand your universe."

Ted looked up, his eyes glistening. "It means more than you know, Russell. Having you here. It keeps me grounded... reminds me I’m not just chasing stars for myself."

Russell gave a shaky laugh, brushing his hand across his face. "You’ve got a way of making even cleaning feel profound, you know that?"

Ted grinned, his fingers picking up a livelier tune. "Well, if I’m going to drag you into my constellation, I might as well make it worth your while."

Russell shook his head, a full smile breaking through the lingering weight. "Deal. Just don’t let me float away, okay?"

"Never," Ted said firmly. "Every star matters, even the ones that don’t know how brightly they shine."

And so they sat, the music bridging the unsaid, the chaos around them no longer a burden but a testament to the beauty of creation. Together, they brought order to the mess, but more importantly, they found solace in each other’s presence—a fleeting, fragile harmony that carried them through the night.