The living room is filled with the glow of the television and the quick sounds of the game. You and Renzey are sunk into the couch, controllers in hand, completely locked into the match.

He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, focused, only glancing over when he throws a quick comment your way.

“You’re playing too safe,” he says with a grin, eyes still on the screen. “Man up and push already.”

From the kitchen, the soft clatter of plates and the smell of warm food drift into the room. A few moments later, Lisa appears in the doorway carrying a tray. Her long brown hair is loosely tied over one shoulder, and the fitted blouse she’s wearing hugs her chest a little too well as she walks in.

“You two have been glued to that screen all afternoon,” she says, her voice carrying that familiar maternal warmth. “I figured you’d forget to eat if I didn’t bring something.”

She sets the tray down on the table beside the couch and starts arranging the plates. As she leans forward to place a drink closer to Renzey, her arm nearly brushes his shoulder.

She notices the closeness a second too late and pulls back slightly, a faint flush rising to her cheeks.

Renzey looks up at her with an easy smile. “You’re seriously the best. I wish my place had food service like this.”

Lisa lets out a soft, almost nervous laugh and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t get used to it. I only spoil you because you’re always here.”

Her eyes flick toward you after she says it, as if checking your reaction, before she gives a small smile and takes a step back from the couch.

“Well… eat before it gets cold. And try not to yell at the screen too much, alright?”

Even as she turns to head back toward the kitchen, she glances over her shoulder once more — not exactly at the game, but at the two of you sitting there together.

The match ends with Renzey barely scraping out the win. He lets out a short laugh and drops back against the couch, one arm stretched along the top of the cushions while the other rests the controller on his lap.

“That’s how it’s done,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. “You’re getting better though. I’ll give you that.”

Lisa is still in the room, quietly collecting the empty plates from the table. As she reaches across to grab the glass near Renzey, he doesn’t shift his arm out of the way. The space between them becomes suddenly narrow.

For a brief moment, her chest is close to his shoulder, close enough that she freezes mid-motion.

A small breath catches in her throat before she carefully pulls back, the tips of her ears turning red.

“You could make a little space, you know,” she mutters, trying to sound scolding, though her voice comes out softer than intended.

Renzey only chuckles, unbothered. “My bad. Didn’t notice.”

Lisa straightens up and holds the plates against her chest, composing herself with a quick breath. When she looks at you, her expression softens back into that familiar caring warmth — the same look she’s always given you.

“Don’t let him push you around too much,” she says lightly. “You’re the one who lives here, after all.”

She tries to smile like everything is normal, but there’s a lingering tension in the way she stands, in the way her eyes briefly flick back to Renzey before she finally turns toward the kitchen.

The sound of the game’s menu screen plays quietly in the background, filling the silence she leaves behind.

It’s already past midnight when you step out of your room.

The rest of the house is dark, but a low light is still on in the living room. The quiet murmur of voices reaches you before you fully turn the corner.

Renzey is still there.

He’s sitting on the couch, one arm resting along the back cushions, looking far too comfortable for how late it is. Lisa sits nearby, closer than she probably realizes, her long brown hair loose around her shoulders. She’s wearing a light house blouse, the fabric soft and slightly loose, though it still does little to hide her figure in the dim light.

Whatever they were talking about has them both leaning in just slightly. Lisa lets out a quiet laugh — softer than her usual one before she notices you standing there.

She straightens almost immediately.

“Oh… you’re still awake?” Her voice is calm, but there’s a faint trace of surprise in it. “Renzey was just about to leave. We lost track of time.”

Renzey looks over at you with an easy, unbothered smile, making no move to stand up right away. “Yeah. My bad. We started talking and it just got late.”

Lisa brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes flicking briefly toward him before returning to you. There’s a faint flush on her cheeks that the dim lighting doesn’t fully hide.

“I didn’t want to be rude and kick him out,” she says softly. “But it’s late. He really should get going…”

Even as she says it, she doesn’t move away from where she’s sitting. The space between them on the couch still feels too small for the hour, and the silence that follows is just a little too heavy.

The front door opens later than usual, and for once it isn’t Renzey walking in.

It’s your dad.

He drops his bag near the entrance with a tired sigh, glancing around the living room like he’s expecting someone to be there.

“I’m home,” he calls out, loosening his watch. “Where’s Lisa? She didn’t message me back.”

The house is quiet. No sound from the kitchen. No soft footsteps upstairs. Her bag is gone. So are her shoes by the door.

Your dad frowns slightly and checks his phone again. “She said she was going out to buy a few things earlier… that was hours ago.”

He sets the phone down and rubs the back of his neck, more confused than worried. “Maybe she ran into someone and lost track of time.”

Outside, the street is calm. Inside, the absence feels heavier than it should.

Because if she really was just shopping… the question still lingers.

With who?

You push the front door open, expecting the usual quiet of the house.

Instead, a muffled moan reaches you from down the hallway.

At first it doesn’t register. Then another sound follows — sharper, broken, unmistakably her voice.

“Ahh… mmh… slower—”

You step closer.

The living room is empty. The noise is coming from deeper inside. Your parents’ bedroom door is cracked open just enough.

Through the gap, you see them.

Lisa is on the bed, her long brown hair spilled across the sheets, blouse pushed up to her neck. Renzey is between her legs, hips driving into her with steady, heavy thrusts. Her massive breasts move with every impact as she clutches at the sheets, mouth open, face flushed with raw pleasure.

“F-fuck… Renzey— ahh…!”

She moans his name without restraint, legs wrapped around his waist as he pushes deeper. The wet sound of skin against skin fills the room. She arches up to meet him, completely lost in it, her maternal composure long gone.

Renzey grips her thigh harder, thrusting faster, and she cries out again — loud, shameless, nothing like the careful woman who usually greets you at the door.

Neither of them notices you standing there.

Not yet.