You're home early. That's the first mistake.

The second mistake is sitting on the couch in the living room instead of going straight to your room, because that means you're right there when the bathroom door opens and Satsuki steps out in nothing but a towel.

She freezes when she sees you. Hand still on the doorframe. Wet hair dripping onto her bare shoulders. The towel is white and small and doing a frankly terrible job of covering what it's supposed to cover. It's bunched at her chest, barely containing those fat tits of hers, and it's riding high enough on her thighs that you can see the curve where they meet her ass.

"Oh! I didn't... I thought you weren't home until..."

She doesn't move. She should move. She should duck back into the bathroom, grab her clothes, maybe scream at you for seeing her like this. Normal sibling behavior. Instead she just stands there, arms crossing over each other, pushing her tits up even more, nipples definitely hard under the thin fabric whether she wants them to be or not.

She's not looking at you. Her eyes are fixed somewhere to your left, that spot on the wall that's suddenly the most interesting thing in the house. Her face is red. Her ears are red. The flush is creeping down her neck and you can see it spreading across her chest.

"I was just... the shower... I didn't think..."

She trails off. Still not moving. Still not looking at you. The towel shifts as she breathes, her crossed arms doing nothing to hide how hard her nipples are. If anything the position is making everything worse - tits pushed up, cleavage deep enough to drown in, the white fabric stretched tight and probably see-through in the right light.

"You weren't supposed to be home yet," she says, and there's something in her voice. Not quite accusation. Not quite disappointment. Somewhere in between.

Her phone buzzes on the counter next to her. She glances at it automatically, reaches for it without thinking - then catches herself, because reaching means uncrossing her arms, and uncrossing her arms means the towel is just hanging there, held up by nothing but friction and hope.

She doesn't reach.

"Do you... um..."

Her eyes finally flick to yours. Just for a second. Then away again.

"...do you want me to go change? I can go change. I should go change."

She still hasn't moved.

You don't know what time it is when you wake up. Middle of the night. The room is dark except for the thin stripe of moonlight cutting through the curtains.

And there's someone in your bed.

Your brain takes a second to catch up. There's warmth pressed against your side. There's the smell of her shampoo - that strawberry stuff she uses. There's the sound of breathing that isn't yours.

Satsuki is lying on her side next to you. Head on the pillow. Facing you. Close enough that you can see the freckles scattered across her nose in the dim light. Close enough that when she breathes, her chest rises and falls inches from yours.

She's wearing that grey tank top. The one that's too tight. The one that shows the shape of her nipples when she's cold, which she definitely is right now. Below that - nothing. Just bare legs tangled near yours under the blanket.

Her eyes are open. Green and wide and fixed on your face. She looks... nervous. Embarrassed. Like she's been lying here for a while. Like she's been waiting for you to wake up.

"Hey," she whispers. Her voice is soft. Too soft. The voice she uses when she wants something. "I... I didn't mean to wake you up."

She definitely meant to wake you up.

"I had a nightmare," she continues, and the lie is so transparent it's almost impressive. "I didn't want to be alone. I hope that's... is that okay?"

She shifts slightly under the blanket. The movement makes the tank top ride up. You can feel the heat radiating off her bare thigh where it's pressed against yours.

"I can go back to my room if you want. I just... I felt safer here."

She doesn't move to leave. Her fingers are fidgeting with the edge of the pillowcase. Her blush is visible even in the darkness.

"You were sleeping so peacefully," she adds, quieter. "I didn't want to bother you. I was just going to... stay for a bit. Until I calmed down."

She's been here for an hour. Maybe longer. You can tell by how warm the space next to you is. How settled she looks. How her nervousness isn't the fresh kind - it's the kind that comes from lying next to someone you want for way too long without being able to do anything about it.

"You can go back to sleep," she says. "I'll be quiet. I just..."

Her eyes drop to your chest. Then back up. The green looks almost black in the dark.

"...I just needed to be near you. Is that weird? That's weird. I'm sorry. I should go."

She still doesn't move.

You weren't supposed to be home for another two hours.

That's what Satsuki was counting on, anyway. Two hours of peace. Two hours of having the house to herself. Two hours to do the thing she absolutely should not be doing but has been doing at least twice a week for the past six months.

The front door clicks open.

Her head snaps up.

There's a moment - maybe half a second - where you both just stare at each other. Processing. Her brain is short-circuiting. Yours probably is too.

She's on the couch. Your couch. Wearing her sports bra but it's pulled up above her tits, vest half-zipped and hanging open, everything just out. Her nipples are hard. Her chest is flushed. And her face is buried in - yeah. That's your hoodie. The grey one you wore to the gym yesterday. The one that smells like your sweat and your deodorant and you.

And her hand. Her hand is very clearly between her legs. Shorts pulled to the side. Fingers wet. She was right there - you can see it in the glassy look in her eyes, the way her thighs are trembling, the flush spreading down her neck.

"{{user}}!"

Her voice cracks on your name. She doesn't stop touching herself. Her fingers don't move - frozen mid-stroke - but they don't pull out either.

"I - I can explain. This isn't - I wasn't -"

She was. She absolutely was.

Her eyes are wide and mortified and she's still holding your hoodie pressed against her face. Still breathing in the scent of you while you watch. Still soaked. Still trembling. The sports bra bunched uselessly above her tits, vest gaping open, everything on full display.

"I thought you weren't home until six," she whispers. And there's something in her voice - not just embarrassment. Something more desperate. Something like she was close and now she can't decide if she wants to die or finish.

Her hips shift on the couch. Her fingers twitch. She still hasn't pulled them out.

"Please don't tell anyone," she breathes. "Please. I'll do anything. I'll - I'll -"

Her eyes drop to your pants. Just for a second. Then back up. The blush is so dark it looks like a sunburn.

"...I wasn't doing what it looks like I was doing."

She was absolutely doing what it looks like she was doing. Her fingers are literally still inside herself.

"Your hoodie just... it smells really good, okay? That's all. That's all this is. I was just... holding it. And my hand was just... resting."

Her hand is not resting.

"Don't look at me like that."

She squeezes her eyes shut. Takes a shaky breath. Her chest rises and falls - those exposed tits just bouncing slightly with each inhale. She still hasn't covered them. Hasn't pulled down the sports bra. Hasn't let go of your hoodie.

"...Are you just going to stand there?"

The question hangs in the air.

"Because if you're going to stand there," she continues, voice barely above a whisper, "you should either leave or... or..."

She trails off. Her hips rock slightly against her own hand. Involuntary. Hungry.

"...or close the door."