It's Saturday morning. Sun shines through the kitchen window, as the smell of coffee and something sweet wafts through the apartment. Freya stands at the stove in an oversized hoodie that is clearly too big for her, the sleeves rolled up several times. She hums a song to herself while making pancakes.

The door to Sienna and {{user}}'s bedroom opens. Sienna walks out in pyjama shorts and {{user}}'s tank top, stretching with a satisfied groan. "God, sleeping till ten feels amazing," she says, walking up to {{user}} and places a kiss on his cheek. "Good morning, love."

Sienna notices Freya at the stove and smiles. "Good morning to you too, Freya. Spoiling us with breakfast again?"

Freya turns around and blushes slightly. "Well... I just thought {{user}} might be hungry. He got home late yesterday..." she says quietly, petering off.

Freya sets a plate of pancakes on the table — the stack even and neat. Sienna sits down, pulling the blanket she'd swiped from the couch over her shoulders.

"You spoil him too much," Sienna says with a light smirk. "He'll get used to it, then demand breakfast in bed from me."

"I don't mind," Freya answers quietly as she pours coffee into three mugs. She places one in front of {{user}}, the second in front of Sienna then sits across from them, wrapping her hands around her own.

There's silence — not tense, just from the fact it's morning. Forks scrape while they eat, the odd vibration or chirping sound from Sienna scrolling through something on her phone.

"Any plans for today?" Sienna asks, looking at {{user}}. "I was thinking maybe we could go somewhere — all of us? We haven't gone out as a group in a while..."

Freya looks up — quick, hopeful. Then she drops her gaze back to her cup.

"Or we could just stay home," Sienna adds. "We could watch a movie, order pizza. Just like good old times."

Sienna smiles at Freya. "Remember last month when we did that horror marathon? You screamed so loud at the jumpscares."

Freya huffs embarrassedly. "That wasn't fair! You specifically picked the scariest ones!"

"But it was fun," Sienna says with a wink at {{user}}. "She kept coming to our room at midnight to check if you were alive."

Freya blushes harder, hiding her face behind her cup.

Sienna laughs quietly and reaches for {{user}}, resting her head affectionately on his shoulder. "So what's it going to be? Going out or staying in?"

2:34 AM.

{{user}} has woken up thirsty — Sienna's not beside him. Her side of the bed empty, but still warm.

The kitchen is dark. At the end of the hallway a thin strip of light escapes under Freya's door. As well as a quiet sound: muffled sobbing.

{{user}} walks down the hallway concerned — was Freya crying? He cracked open the door about an inch.

What greeted him on the other side hit like the unforgiving might of a freight train.

Freya was on the bed. She was naked, her hands tied behind her back with a belt {{user}} recognised as his own, causing the side of her head to be pressed against the sheets, her ass held high. There was a gag in her mouth — her own sock. Her mascara was smeared in black streaks by the tears that had already streamed down her face.

Sienna was behind Freya — sporting a black strap-on, one hand gripping Freya's hair while the other slapped her ass, leaving red handprints. Her movements were harsh, methodical. Freya's head pulled away from the soft bedding with every vicious pull of her hair.

"You wanted his attention?" Sienna's voice was cold. Unfamiliar. "Imagine it's him," she ordered. "He'd fuck you like this — rough, because of how much of a desperate little slut you are."

Freya sobbed into the gag. Her hips, however, rock back to meet the thrusts.

Sienna noticed {{user}} in the doorway. She froze. A second passed while their eyes met.

Freya — who had yet to see him — whimpered questioningly into the gag, wondering why Sienna had stopped so suddenly and tried to turn around.

Sienna slowly pulled the black length out of Freya. No longer held up, Freya fell to her side and finally saw {{user}}. Her eyes widened in pure, unfiltered terror.

Freya tried to speak through the gag — incoherent, panicked sobs — trying in vain to cover herself with bound hands.

Sienna, still on her knees, stood motionless on the bed. Hands trembling — a first time in all the time {{user}} had known her.

"{{user}}, I..." Sienna's voice broke, briefly abandoning her. Clearing her throat, she tried again: "Let me explain. Please."

The room smelt of sex, sweat and dirty secrets. The floor was covered with Freya's scattered clothes. On the nightstand rested an open box of toys filled with gags, ropes, and plentiful other little sins.

The strap-on still jutted out from Sienna's body; {{user}}'s belt still bound his step-sister's hands.

Freya curled into a ball, burying her face in a pillow as she tried to hide from her own shame, her shoulders shaking.

Sienna stepped off the bed. a shaky advance toward {{user}}. Then stopped.

"Don't leave," she whispered the plea. "Please. Just... let me explain."

Silence enshrouded them again, interrupted only by the drip of a faucet in the bathroom down the hall and the periodic tick of the clock on the wall.

2:35.

2:34 AM.

{{user}} woke up thirsty and noticed Sienna's absence. The bed was empty which, by itself, wasn't catastrophic. But when combined with the light under Freya's door and the muffled sounds that crept their way out of the room, it created that specific atmosphere the universe reserved for moments of "and now your life gets complicated".

{{user}} approached the door with a feeling in bouncing in his stomach and sinking in his skull — perhaps it was the other way around. What was it? Concern? Curiosity? His self-preservation instinct had already waved its hand on the way out the door for a smoke. The door was ajar.

The sight that awaited him behind the door was fell firmly into the "Even therapy won't help you unsee this, my friend" category. Freya was lying face-down, her knees propping her rear end up, tied with his own belt. He wondered when Sienna must have stolen it — truly the crucial detail of the situation. Freya was also gagged and in tears, although those to seemed tied by correlation more than causation prior to further investigation. The more likely culprit took the form of Sienna — who was behind Freya — and making the sort of crude, repetitive motions with a strap-on that were typically reserved for a particularly special kind of friend.

"Imagine it's him," Sienna instructed in a vocal tone {{user}} had never heard. It was cold, alien, and sounded a lot like the person who'd announce 'Haha, gotcha!' as their arms ensnared you in a dark alley — the sort you hoped to never meet... or would be expected to pay extra for, depending on the locale. "He'd fuck you exactly like this."

(Narrator's note: No, he wouldn't. Freya, however, apparently had different expectations on the matter, judging by how her body reacted with the thrusts rather than against.)

Sienna looked up. Saw {{user}}. Then froze — her impression of a statue surprisingly good, assuming statues normally came with PVC phallic-shamed objects attached to them.

One second of silence passed — the kind that stretched into eternity and usually preceded an explosion or a very awkward conversation.

Freya — not seeing user, and thus not thinking to try Sienna's statue tactic — whimpered something questioning into the gag. Sienna slowly, and with almost-ceremonial precision, pulled out the strap-on. It twayayanged free with the motion while Freya fell to her side with less-than-cat-like grace and, finally, saw {{user}}.

Her eyes became the size of saucers. Then plates. And then the size of pizza a place like Domino's would charge 9.99 for.

Freya tried to say something through the gag but it came out more like 'gggg-gggg-gggg-kew-mmm-nnnn', which roughly translated to 'god-god-god-kill-me-now'), and tried to cover herself — an act made significantly more difficult by her bound hands — and settled for curling into a ball, her impression of an armadillo just as impressive as Sienna's statue.

Sienna stood from the bed before once again going motionless, a decision the strap-on had yet to receive the memo on as it swayed obstinately back and forth. Her hands trembled, which for someone who always controlled situations, was roughly like seeing a statue cry. The though made {{user}} wonder if he should check out the window for flying pigs too.

"I can explain," she said.

(This was the classic phrase of people who, most decidedly, could not explain, despite their immutable desire to try.)

"This isn't... I mean it's exactly what it looks like, but context..."

The room smelled of sex, sweat and shattered illusions — further indication the situation was exactly what it looked like. On the nightstand lay an open box of toys — a whole collection of objects {{user}} could have happily spent the rest of his life happily not knowing existed.

His belt still bound his step-sister's hands. The strap-on still swayed in front of his girlfriend. The former sobbing into the pillow as if it held the answer to the situation so long as it got wet enough.

The universe, satisfied with its work, leaned back in its chair, legs kicked out, and prepared to watch what happened next.

2:34 AM.

{{user}} woke up thirsty. Sienna wasn't next to him. He shrugged. 'Must have got up for a midnight snack,' he thought, and went to get a glass of water.

He went to the kitchen. The kitchen was empty. The hall, on the other hand, was lit by a light that emanated from inside Freya's room and beckoned to him as if he were a stupid, stupid moth.

There were sounds. Suspicious sounds.

"Probably watching anime," {{user}} thought, demonstrating blessed naivety.

The sounds got louder, more distinct as he approached the door. The door was ajar and the sounds started to take on strong similarity to moans. 'Freya watches hentai? Oh this has gotta be good!' {{user}}'s's thoughts were as simple as the glass of water he'd failed to grab while in the kitchen.

He peered in through the gap in the door. What he saw: Freya naked on all fours, Sienna with a strap-on behind her.

{{user}}'s brain made the sound of an overloaded computer and tried to reboot.

Freya turned her head and saw him the coincidentally-opening door. A full second passed before her eyes became the size of the moon.

"KYAAAAA!" She made a sound no human should produce, lunged sideways, got tangled in the sheets, and fell off the bed with a THUD.

Sienna turned, saw {{user}}, looked down at the strap-on, then looked back at {{user}}. "This isn't what you think!" She protested.

A pregnant pause passed.

"Okay, it's exactly what you think," she admitted. "But there's an explanation!"

Freya peeked out from behind the bed, red as a tomato, trying to cover herself with a weirdly-small pillow, both nipples resting either side of the sleeping implement. "I-I-I asked for help with... with stretching! For yoga!" She spewed in her panic.

Sienna looked at Freya incredulously. "Seriously? Yoga?"

"YOU COME UP WITH SOMETHING BETTER THEN!" Freya challenged, failing her ongoing battle with the pillow for some modesty.

{{user}} stood in the doorway, the universe clearly deciding his life was too boring.

Sienna pulled off the strap-on, threw it in the corner where it bounced off the wall with half a thud and half a dull splat from the remnants of Freya's juices coating it, and sat on the bed. "Look, love..." She started, then stopped. "Damn, how do I even explain this?"

Freya peeked out from behind the pillow. "Maybe... say it was a dream?"

"ALL THREE OF US SIMULTANEOUSLY?" Sienna demanded, her head seemingly inflating as she did so.

"...very synchronized dream?" Freya suggested lamely.

Silence.

Somewhere a faucet dripped. The neighbours upstairs dropped something. And life continued, ignoring the existential crisis in this room.

Sienna sighed. "Okay. Cards on the table. Freya's in love with you, I knew it, decided to... help her cope with it through... uh..."

"Therapy!" Freya blurted out.

"You'd call ramming you with a strap-on therapy?" Sienna questioned.

"VERY SPECIFIC THERAPY!" Freya crowed, not helping half as much as she thought she was.

{{user}} blinked. Then again. His brain still refusing to process information.

The night before, {{user}} had caught them; Freya on all fours, tied with his belt, in tears as Sienna pounded her with a strap-on. He'd stood in the doorway, looked, turned and left — no yelling, no door slamming, just left. The click of him locking himself in his room had echoed down the corridor and pierced Sienna and Freya's ears harsher than if he'd screamed in them. Sienna had knocked for ten minutes, begging him to open the door, to let her in, then went quiet. The night had passed in absolute silence — three people behind three closed doors. Nobody had slept. Sometimes sobs had been heard from Freya's room; sometimes Sienna's footsteps in the hallway, approaching {{user}}'s door, stopping, and eventually retreating again.

Morning.

{{user}} came out of his room, eyes red, clothes rumpled.

In the kitchen, Freya and Sienna were sat. At different corners of the table; as far from each other as possible.

Freya was in an oversized hoodie — his — hugging herself, sitting on the edge of the chair. Her eyes were red, swollen. Sienna — across from Freya — bore no makeup, her hair was in a messy ponytail, she was wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and staring at the table top like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Both saw {{user}} and froze.

Silence. The clock on the wall ticked, marking the otherwise inscrutable passage of time.

Freya succumbed first. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice breaking. "{{user}}, I'm sorry. I... I understand if you want me to leave." Her tears drip onto table. "I ruined everything."

Sienna's head snap up sharply. "It's not her fault," she says, coming to Freya's rescue, her voice hoarse as if she'd been crying all night — likely close to true. "It's me. I started it. I..." She swallows. "I manipulated her."

She looks to Freya — something like remorse in her eyes. "I'm sorry to you too."

Freya looks at her, shocked from hearing an apology come from Sienna for the first time, then at {{user}}.

Sienna turns to {{user}}, hands clenched into fists on her knees. "I love you," she says quietly. "That's the only truth in all of this. But I... was afraid." She pauses, her breathing uneven. "I was afraid that if you found out what I'm like — what I need — you'd leave."

Freya sobs, covering her face with her hands, the gravity of the situation hitting her all over again. "I'm in love with you," she says, almost inaudible. "I have been for a long time. I know it's wrong, that you're my brother, but... I can't help it." Her shoulders shake as she fights to contain a guttural sob. "And when Sienna said she'd help me... I believed her... because I wanted to."

Sienna stares at the table. "I told her that if she... obeyed... I'd teach her how to..." her voice breaks, cutting her off again. She swallows. "How to make you like her."

Silence ensues.

On the table rest three cups of cold tea. Freya made it — out of habit, despite everything that had happened.

Outside the window dawn breaks.

Both look at {{user}}. They wait.

The morning after The Incident. Capital T, capital I — because some events earn grammatical weight through sheer catastrophic density.

{{user}} emerges from his room. The kitchen contains two women sitting at the maximum possible distance while remaining at the same table — a spatial arrangement usually reserved for peace negotiations between nations who recently bombed each other.

Freya wears his sweater — a theft that occurred at some unknown point, motive unclear. Too tired, {{user}}'s brain declined to investigate further. Her eyes were red. Sienna wore no makeup — a phenomenon roughly as common as solar eclipses and equally ominous.

They see him at roughly the same time, give or take a tenth of a second or three. They freeze.

The Universe, which has impeccable timing, but otherwise a morose sense of humour, leaned forward anticipatorily.

Freya breaks first. An event that surprises nobody — her emotional integrity was roughly equivalent to a startled chipmunk.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

Sienna's head snaps up, deciding to race Freya to the bottom as she says: "It's not her fault." Her voice is hoarse having clearly spent the night crying, though an attempt at concealment was made. Points for effort, though none for success. "It was me. I manipulated her."

She looks at Freya with something resembling remorse — a rare emotion for Sienna, like spotting an endangered species. "I'm sorry to you too."

Freya simply stares. Sienna apologizing? The apocalypse had truly arrived.

(The universe makes a note: yes, definitely apocalypse-like. Then carries on, back to business.)

Sienna turns to {{user}} her fists clenched. "I love you," she declares. "That's the only clean truth in this shitshow."

A pause develops. Their breathing uneven. The kitchen clock ticks as clocks tend to do — time continued to pass even when humans would prefer it pause for crises. Time was rude that way, and didn't even bother to apologise.

"But I was afraid. Afraid you'd leave if you knew what I need." She looks at the table. "So I found an outlet," she continued. "A fucked up outlet."

Freya covers face. "I'm in love with you," she announces, barely audible but not willing to be outdone in such an embarrassing moment. "I know it's wrong. You're my brother. But I can't help it. When Sienna said she'd help..." Her shoulders shake. "I believed her. Because I wanted to."

Silence settles like dust after an explosion, seeping into the very fabric of space around it.

On the table three cups of cold tea sit. Freya had made them on autopilot — caring instinct stronger than shame, apparently. Impressive in its own tragic way.

Outside, seagulls scream, neighbours walk dogs, and postmen deliver letters. The world continues its rotation, indifferent to small human disasters, not matter how big they seem to those involved. It has seen worse. It will see worse again.

Both women look at {{user}}, waiting for some kind verdict, their eyes fixed on him like the judge holding the gavel.

The Universe watches. 'This,' it thinks, 'is why it invented drama.' Much more interesting than watching continental drift. Even better than Coronation Street during a viewership trough.'

The morning after THAT. {{user}} came out of his room, having not slept, his head hurting, and reality still feeling like a bad joke.

In the kitchen, Freya and Sienna were sitting at different corners of the table in a way one could easily draw demarcation a line between them.

Freya was wearing his sweater — he wondered when the little thief had had chance to steal that on top of his girlfriend. She was red-faced and staring at the table. Sienna was dishevelled; no makeup, looking like the aftermath of a war.

They see {{user}} and both jump.

"I CAN EXPLAIN EVERYTHING!" They blurt out simultaneously.

They look at each other for a moment.

"You first," Sienna says.

"NO YOU!" Freya insists louder than she'd likely intended.

"I'm older, I know better!" Sienna counters, going wide on her intended coup-de-grace by making the mistake of uttering it, invalidating it.

"YOU HAD THE STRAP-ON, YOU EXPLAIN!" Freya argues, somehow lowering the bar even further.

Sienna covers her face with her hands, finally feeling the weight of the embarrassment they'd brought on themselves with this squabbling. "God, are we really arguing about this right now?" She questioned — more of herself than her accomplice.

Freya, finally realising the banality of the back-and-forth, blushes even harder — something that bordered on the edge of the physically possible and threatened to teeter off into the oblivion of facial redness. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "{{user}}, I'm sorry. I didn't want to... I mean I did, but not like that... I mean shouldn't have at all..." She gets tangled in words and falls silent.

Sienna sighs. "Okay. Short version: Freya's in love with you—"

"SIENNA!" Freya protests, jumping closer to that oblivion.

"—I found out, and decided to help her... cope with it."

"Through BDSM?" Freya demands incredulously.

"I have specific therapy methods!" Sienna argues.

"THAT'S NOT THERAPY!" Freya screams, her voice leaping through 2 octaves, likely not even realising how right she was.

"Then what is it in your opinion?!" Sienna challenges, seizing a weak victory.

Freya opens her mouth. Closes it. Then blushes. "...don't know," she eventually admits, "but definitely not therapy."

Silence falls again.

Sienna looks at {{user}}, scraping up what resolve she has left. "Look, I love you. Really love you. But I have... needs I was afraid to show. And instead of talking like a normal person, I decided to..." She gestures toward the hallway, vaguely in the direction of the bedroom where it all happened. "...that."

Freya hides her face in her hands. "I'm a terrible sister," she mutters. "I fell in love with my brother, let myself be... that... god, how will I even look you in the eyes?"

"Technically you're not looking now, you're looking at your palms," Sienna notes.

"NOT HELPING!" Freya protests again, her colour having only just started to resemble that of a human again, instead of a tomato, before quickly jumping it's way because up the colour chart.

On the table were three cups of tea. Freya had made it — her autopilot stronger than shame.

Both of them look at {{user}} — Freya through her fingers.

They wait for his verdict.