He woke up slowly, the way you do when your brain hasn’t caught up to your body yet.

The first thing he noticed was the softness. Too soft. The mattress dipped under him like it was trying to swallow him whole, nothing like the firm, half-dead slab he was used to sleeping on. He shifted, frowning, and the sheets whispered against his skin—smooth, cool, almost silky.

Then the smell hit him. Not stale air. Not dust. Something sweet. Clean. Faintly floral.

His eyes cracked open. Pink. Pink everywhere.

The walls were a soft pastel, catching the early light and turning it warm. Curtains, actual curtains, not blackout junk, fluttered slightly near the window. A string of tiny lights ran along the headboard, still glowing faintly, like they’d been left on overnight.

His heart kicked up a notch. This wasn’t his room.

His gaze flicked around faster now. The desk by the wall with neatly stacked notebooks. The mirror with photos tucked into the corner of the frame. A familiar hoodie draped over the back of the chair, her hoodie. Well, it was his hoodie, but she’d stolen it a year ago and hadn’t given it back. The realization settled in, heavy and undeniable.

This was his sister’s room.

He was still trying to work out how or why he’d ended up here when the mattress dipped next to him. A soft sigh, barely audible, and then a shift in the covers. He froze.

Something warm pressed against his side. He felt an arm drape across his stomach, lightly, like she was just rolling over in her sleep. And then, a weight settled gently against his shoulder. Her head, her hair tickling his neck, the faint smell of her shampoo drifting up to his nose.

His whole body tensed, awkward and motionless, as if moving would make the moment weirder than it already was. His sister breathed evenly, clearly still deep in sleep. He heard her mumble something unintelligible, nestling closer the way she probably did with her mountain of stuffed animals. The string lights on the headboard glowed, casting a warm, gentle light across her face.

Then he noticed the contact. The direct, uninterrupted skin-to-skin contact. Her arm, resting right against his stomach. No shirt in the way. He could feel her warmth, the slow rise and fall of her chest. Her breasts were pressed lightly against his ribs, indicating she was also topless. She shifted again, the soft, smooth skin dragging ever so slightly against his.

He couldn’t help it, his body responded. Blood rushed south. His breathing quickened. His mind tried to fill in the blanks. Why was he naked in her room? His memory was spotty, and his thoughts sluggish, like they were swimming through syrup.

He felt himself harden, his cock growing thicker and heavier under the sheets. There was no pressure against his boxers as there normally was when he woke up with morning wood. He was bare. His eyes closed, and his head tipped back against the pillow. Fuck.

Her leg came up and draped across his thighs, trapping him. He could feel all of her warmth, her skin so soft against his own. She pressed in a bit tighter, enough for him to feel the warmth between her legs resting on his leg. The smoothness. That was all it took to confirm what he already suspected. She was also completely naked. Her breasts were pressing lightly into his side. Her arm rested across his stomach, her hand coming to a stop on his other side.

It was too much. Too close. His heart was racing now, pounding in his ears. He needed to get out. To get away. To...

“Your heart is pounding,” she murmured sleepily, her breath warm against his shoulder.

He jolted, his eyes snapping open.

“I...”

She moved her head back, tilting her chin up to look at him. Her hair was tousled, framing her face in a way that made her seem softer, younger. Her eyes were half-lidded, still heavy with sleep, but there was a glint in them that he couldn’t quite place. The string lights cast a soft, warm glow across her face, making her skin seem to almost glow.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Her voice was laced with concern, genuine and gentle, and it only added to his growing discomfort.

“I’m ... I’m fine,” he managed to say, his voice tight and strained. “I just...” He trailed off, unable to find the words to explain the mix of emotions swirling inside him.

“Are you sure? You look ... scared.” Her brow furrowed, and she shifted, propping herself up on her elbow.

The sheet that was covering her body slid down, revealing the swell of her breasts. They were small, just like the rest of her, but they were perky and perfectly formed. The dim light from the string lights made her skin look so soft, and the sight of them made his breath hitch. He immediately looked away, feeling his cheeks flush with heat.

“Hey?” Her hand reached up, fingertips lightly touching his jaw. Her palm was warm and soft against his skin. She guided his face towards her. There was a tenderness in her touch that made him feel even more confused, more vulnerable. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I, uh ... I don’t remember how I got here. I don’t remember...” He gestured vaguely at their situation, not wanting to say the words aloud. Not wanting to make it any more real than it already was. “Any of this.”

“Really?” She blinked, surprised. “You don’t remember last night?” Her voice had an edge to it, something sharp and almost hurt.

“No, I—”

“Oh,” she said flatly, her hand retreating. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “That’s just great. Just freaking great.” She huffed out a breath, frustration and sadness mixing in her tone. Her hand came up, and she rubbed her face. “I can’t believe I thought...” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“Uh ... Did we...?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. It seemed impossible, but the evidence was hard to ignore.

“So many times.” She laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Over and over again. I lost track. And you’re really telling me you don’t remember?”

“I...” His mind reeled. He tried to remember, grasping at the fuzzy edges of the previous night’s memories. But everything was blurred, indistinct, like trying to grasp smoke. He could remember leaving his friend’s house, stumbling out into the cold air, his head spinning. But after that, it was just ... blank. “I drank a lot,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember. I don’t even remember getting home.”

She didn’t respond at first, the room filled with the sound of their breathing, and the rustle of the sheets as she shifted beside him. Then, she sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist. His eyes were drawn to her, unable to stop himself. The way the dim, warm light played across her skin, accentuating every curve, every dip. He could see the faint outline of her ribs, the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts. Her nipples were hard, and he found himself staring, transfixed. She was beautiful. And his sister.