I'm in love with my sister.
And the worst part? She has absolutely no idea.
The first time I realized it wasn't just brotherly affection was back in junior high. That summer, I'd gone away to music camp. I came back expecting the same old Faye—messy hair, small frame, glasses the size of Texas, oversized T-shirts, my annoying but familiar sister.
But she wasn't the same.
She opened the door that day wearing her favorite jean shorts and a tank top, casual as ever. Yet somehow, she looked… different. Beautiful. Radiant, even.
My eyes caught details I'd never noticed before—the smooth curve of her legs, the way her body had begun to take shape, her lips, the effortless way she carried herself.
When she smiled at me, my chest tightened. My heartbeat jumped, my lungs forgot how to work, and my face burned hot. Something sharp and electric stirred inside me, something I knew I shouldn't be feeling.
That was the moment I knew.
I wasn't supposed to, but I was falling for my sister.
"Harry, hurry up. I'm hungry!" Faye's voice rang out from the living room, impatient as always.
I groaned, dragging myself out of bed. Mornings weren't my thing. I was a night owl. Most nights, I lost track of time in my little home studio, writing lyrics that never saw daylight. Sleep came late, and mornings hit me like a truck.
But ever since Faye moved in two days ago, things had changed. Suddenly, I was waking up early, stumbling into the kitchen, frying bacon and eggs like some domesticated older brother. My nineteen-year-old kid sister had somehow turned me into her personal chef.
When I carried the plates out to the living room, I nearly dropped them.
Faye was sprawled across the couch, scrolling through her phone, wearing a see-through top that clung to every curve of her body. The outline of her breasts was right there, unmissable, framed by the thin fabric.
My stomach clenched. Heat crawled up the back of my neck.
Don't look. Don't you dare look.
I forced my eyes back to the food in my hands, setting the plates down on the coffee table with the kind of concentration usually reserved for bomb disposal.
"Faye," I muttered, trying to sound casual, calm, sane. "Didn't I tell you not to wear stuff like that around the house?"
She glanced up, completely unfazed. "Relax. It's not like I wore it outside." She shrugged, stabbing a piece of bacon off her plate like this was the most normal conversation in the world.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose, fighting the urge to groan. "That's not the point. You can't just—"
"I don't even have boobs, Harry," she cut me off, her tone flat, dismissive. "Seriously, stop reminding me of my tragic lack of development. It's depressing enough without you nagging me about it."
I froze. My jaw nearly hit the floor.
Did she just—
She sighed dramatically, flopping back against the couch cushions. "I'm nineteen and still look like a middle schooler. Trust me, nobody's looking. Chill."
Nobody's looking? I was looking. Too much.
I cleared my throat, reaching for my own plate as if breakfast could save me from this nightmare. My hand shook slightly as I picked up my fork. "Just… wear something else next time, alright?"
She snorted. "Yes, Dad."
Faye chewed noisily on a strip of bacon, scrolling on her phone with one hand. Her hair was a messy tangle, eyes still heavy with sleep, yet she looked so comfortable it was unfair. She belonged in my apartment like she'd always been here, while I still felt like I was playing catch-up.
I sipped my coffee, studying her. "So… when are you going back home?"
Her smile vanished, just like that. She set her phone down and stabbed at her eggs without looking at me. "Never. Not unless you're coming with me."
The words sank into me like a weight.
I knew what she meant.
Our parents had made it crystal clear, music wasn't a future, it was a waste of time. They wanted a son who'd become a lawyer, a doctor, an engineer—anything but what I was. And maybe, just maybe, it was because I wasn't really their blood. Being adopted always made me wonder if that was why they treated me differently, like I was disposable.
So I left. I had to. Even though walking out that door meant listening to my sister cry until her voice broke.
She didn't want me to leave. She clung to me like her whole world was ending. And maybe, for both of us, it did.
The first chance she got, she ran away. Straight to my house.
"Faye," I started carefully, "you know they're worried about you. They're still your parents, and—"
"My parents? Not ours?"
Guilt stabbed through me.
"I mean—"
"Just drop it." She cut me off, eyes flashing with a spark of anger before softening again. "I'm not going back. I'm staying here. With you."
Her conviction shook me. She didn't even hesitate.
"What about school?" I tried to sound casual, like I wasn't secretly hoping she'd decide to go back, give me some distance. "You've got your college entrance exams coming up."
She smirked, but it wasn't playful this time. It was defiant. "Already handled. I applied to your college. Wherever my brother goes, I'll go. That's final."
Inside, I laughed bitterly. Yeah. Brother. That's all I am.
I pushed my plate away before my thoughts got darker. "Fine," I said at last, gathering the dishes. "But that means you're stuck following my schedule."
"Got it, sir." She grinned, saluting me with her fork. "So what's the plan for today?"
"I have a class. I should be back by twelve."
"Wait… you don't mean I should stay home alone till you get back, do you?" She pouted, lips sticking out like she was auditioning for some cheesy drama.
"You can watch TV."
"Can't I come with you? Please…"
"To school?" I blinked at her.
"Consider it a preview. I'm gonna go there in a few months anyway. At least this way I can get familiar with the place."
I knew my sister. This was a bad idea through and through.
Faye had always been… Faye. Spoiled rotten by our parents, and spoiled even more by me. She was outgoing, outspoken, the kind of girl who refused to lose or settle for less. Naive in ways that scared me—too trusting, too soft, like she hadn't yet realized how wicked the world could be. Our parents had wrapped her in cotton, shielding her from every sharp edge, and now she walked around like nothing could touch her.
Which was why the thought of dragging her into my world—into college, with all its chaos—made my stomach twist.
But then she looked at me, eyes wide, lashes fluttering as her hand slipped into mine. Her pout deepened, her lips trembling with just the right amount of fake sadness.
"Harry… pretty please?" she whispered, squeezing my hand.
I sighed. I hated how easily she could do this to me. How impossible it was for me to say no when it came to her.
Against every ounce of better judgment I had left, I nodded. "Fine. Get dressed. You're coming with me."
Faye's face lit up instantly, her pout vanishing like it had never existed. "Yes! You won't regret this!" she chirped, darting off toward her room.
I already regretted it.