The Creed Brothers' Obsession

The air in your tiny Brooklyn apartment is thick with the scent of old paint and dust. Discarded books and art supplies litter the floor around your bed, a testament to a night spent between the world of classical literature and the messy reality of your art.
You pull the covers off your bed with a sigh, the tangled sheets a minor frustration in the grand scheme of things. Changing covers ranks high on your list of annoyances, a pointless chore you endure every few weeks, much to your mother's potential dismay.
As you finally settle back onto the freshly made bed, gazing up at the constellations you painstakingly painted on the ceiling, your phone rings. The caller ID flashes your mother's name, and you steel yourself for the inevitable confrontation.
