The late afternoon sun, a weak, diluted gold, spilled through the window of their shared living room, painting long, distorted shadows across the worn rug. Seventeen years, and not a single one had passed without Jordan and Amy breathing the same air, sharing the same space. State College, Pennsylvania, was a quiet town, its rhythm dictated by the university, but their small, two-story house on Elm Street felt like a world unto itself, a bubble where the ordinary hum of life outside often faded into background noise.

Jordan sat on the floor, legs splayed, a textbook balanced precariously on his knees. His dark hair, usually messy from practice, fell across his brow, catching the light. He traced a finger along a diagram, but his gaze kept drifting, snagging on his twin sister Amy. She sat across from him, perched on the edge of the sofa, a sketchpad in her lap. Her own dark hair, a mirror of his, cascaded over her shoulders, shimmering. She had a way of biting her lower lip when she concentrated, a habit he’d known since before memory. Today, though, her concentration seemed fractured. Her eyes, the same color as his, a deep, unsettling hazel, flickered toward him, then away, then back again. He shifted, the textbook sliding. “Still trying to nail that perspective?” His voice was a low rumble, a familiar sound.

Amy’s hand froze, charcoal poised above the page. “Something like that.” Her voice, a softer echo of his, held a tremor he hadn’t heard before. She didn’t look at him directly, instead focusing on a smudge on her thumb. The silence that followed stretched, thick and humid, like the air before a summer storm. It wasn’t the comfortable silence they usually shared, the unspoken understanding that had always existed between them, a bond forged in the womb. This was something new, something charged.

It had been building for weeks, maybe months, a subtle shift in the gravitational pull between them. A brush of hands lingered too long. A shared glance held an unfamiliar intensity. A sudden, inexplicable flush when one caught the other in a moment of undress. He cleared his throat, the sound rough. “You’ve been ... quiet lately.” He watched her, waiting.

She finally met his gaze, and the electric current that arced between them was almost visible. Her cheeks flushed a delicate rose. “So have you.” Her eyes, wide and searching, held a question he couldn’t quite decipher, but felt deep in his bones.

The air thrummed. He felt a strange heat bloom in his chest, then spread, a blush climbing his own neck. He looked away, focusing on a dust mote dancing in a sunbeam. “Just ... school, I guess. Practice.”

“Right.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She closed her sketchpad with a soft thud, the sound amplified in the quiet room. She stood, moving toward the window, her back to him. The light silhouetted her form, long and slender. He found his eyes tracing the curve of her hip, the line of her spine, a possessive ache he instantly recoiled from. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, a desperate attempt to push the thoughts away. This was Amy. His twin. His sister. The very idea was a betrayal, a perversion that clawed at his gut. Yet, the thoughts persisted, insidious and unwelcome, blossoming into images he couldn’t control. He stood up, the textbook forgotten on the floor.

He walked to the kitchen, needing distance, needing a cold glass of water to quench the sudden thirst in his throat. He filled a glass, the ice clinking loudly. When he turned, Amy stood in the doorway, her presence filling the frame. “Jordan.” Her voice was soft, hesitant.

He gripped the glass, knuckles white. “Yeah?” He kept his gaze fixed on the condensation beading on the glass.

“Are we ... okay?” She stepped further into the kitchen, her scent, a light floral mixed with something uniquely her, drifting toward him. It was a scent he’d always associated with home, with comfort. Now, it was intoxicating.

He forced himself to look at her, to meet her eyes. Her brow was furrowed, a delicate crease between her dark eyebrows. “Of course, Amy. Why wouldn’t we be?” The lie felt like sandpaper on his tongue.

A small, sad smile touched her lips. “I don’t know. It feels ... different.” She took a step closer, then another.

He felt the warmth radiating from her, a magnetic pull he fought against with every fiber of his being. “Different how?” His voice was hoarse.

She reached out, her fingers hovering, then gently touched his arm. Her touch was light, feather-soft, but it sent a jolt through him, a searing current that travelled straight to his core. He flinched, pulling back slightly, and her hand dropped. “Like we’re strangers. Or like ... like something’s wrong with me.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

The sight of her pain twisted his insides. He hated that he was the cause. He hated himself for the thoughts that plagued him, the desires that simmered beneath his skin. He wanted to tell her everything, to confess the terrifying, exhilarating truth that had taken root in his heart, but the words felt too monstrous, too forbidden. “Nothing’s wrong with you, Amy.” His voice was rough, a desperate plea. He took a step toward her, then stopped himself. The proximity was dangerous.

She shook her head, “Then what is it? You avoid my eyes. You flinch when I touch you. We don’t talk lately, not like we used to.” Her gaze was intense, piercing, demanding an answer.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. “It’s ... it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Her voice rose, a hint of frustration lacing her words. “We’re twins, Jordan. We’ve always told each other everything. And now ... now you’re shutting me out.”

He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to bridge the distance between them, to pull her into his arms and confess, to drown in the impossible truth. But the moral compass, drilled into him since childhood, spun wildly and cried out. ‘No. This is wrong. This is family. This is forbidden,’ it said. “I can’t.” His voice was barely a whisper. He turned away, walking back towards the living room, needing to escape the suffocating intensity of her gaze.

She followed him, her footsteps soft on the wooden floor. “Can’t what? Can’t talk to me? Can’t tell me what’s happening?” She stood directly behind him. He could feel her breath on the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

He closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. “I just ... I can’t.”

“Is it me?” Her voice was small, vulnerable. “Did I do something?”

He spun around, the desperation evident in his eyes. “No! God, no, Amy. It’s not you. It’s me.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. “It’s ... it’s everything.”

Her eyes searched his, a silent plea. “Tell me, Jordan. Please.” He looked at her, truly looked at her, and the dam he had built around his emotions began to crack. Her beauty, a familiar landscape he’d always taken for granted, now struck him with the force of a revelation. Her tall, graceful frame, the way her lips curved, the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. It wasn’t just a sister he saw any more. It was a woman, captivating and alluring. And the forbidden desire, long suppressed, surged forward, demanding recognition. “Amy...” His voice was rough, laced with a plea of his own.