Chronolust Temptation [18+] High S*xual Content
Ch. 4 Close Kin

After a dull day at school and a tedious round of homework, Hayao now sat slouched on the sagging couch in the living room, its faded blue fabric worn thin by the passage of years. The room’s air conditioning had broken, and a cheap oscillating fan whirred on the coffee table, its feeble breeze doing little to dispel the sticky heat that clung to his skin. The clock on the wall—a tacky, plastic thing shaped like a cat—ticked past a bit past 11:30 PM, each second marked by the faint twitch of its tail. Outside, the night was alive with the relentless drone of cicadas, their chorus weaving through the distant hum of traffic and the occasional clatter of a late-night train rattling along its tracks.

Hayao shifted uncomfortably, his T-shirt sticking to his back as he waited for his older sister, Yumi. She’d left hours earlier, buzzing with excitement about some colleague’s party, her laughter echoing down the hallway as she’d promised not to be out too late. Now, with midnight looming, a knot of worry tightened in his chest. Yumi was no stranger to late nights, but something about the stillness of the evening felt off, like the air itself was holding its breath.

The sound of stumbling footsteps outside the door jolted him from his thoughts. Keys clinked and scraped against the lock, accompanied by a slurred, “Dammit, stupid thing…” before the door flew open with a bang. Yumi staggered inside, a disheveled whirlwind of chaos. Her dyed brown hair, usually sleek and styled, was a tangled nest, strands plastered to her sweat-damp forehead. Her hazel eyes, glassy and unfocused, roamed the room without settling. The black party dress she wore was crumpled, one thin strap dangling off her shoulder to expose the sharp line of her collarbone, and the hem was skewed, as if she’d caught it on something and hadn’t cared to fix it. The sharp scent of sake hit Hayao like a wave, mingling with the musk of sweat and a faint trace of her floral perfume—a jarring cocktail that made his nose wrinkle.

“Men are the worst,” Yumi declared, her voice thick and wobbly as she kicked off her heels. One shoe sailed across the room, smacking into the baseboard with a dull thud, while the other stayed stubbornly tangled around her ankle. She didn’t seem to notice, swaying dangerously as she clutched the edge of the doorframe. “All of ‘em. Jerks. Every last one.”

Hayao leapt to his feet, his frown deepening. “Yumi, are you okay? What happened?”

She blinked at him, as if registering his presence for the first time, then let out a harsh, bitter laugh that ricocheted off the walls. “Okay? Oh, I’m fantastic. Just peachy.” She waved a hand dismissively, nearly toppling over in the process. “You know how it is—guys at the party acting like they’re God’s gift to the world. This one creep wouldn’t leave me alone. Kept shoving drinks in my face, all ‘Oh, Yumi, you’re so pretty, let me take care of you.’ Like, ugh, get a grip. And when I told him to shove off? He flipped out—called me a tease, a stuck-up bitch, the works. Can you believe that?”

Hayao’s stomach twisted, a mix of sympathy and secondhand embarrassment washing over him. “That’s awful. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

Yumi snorted, pushing off the doorframe with a lurch. “Yeah, well, screw him. Screw all of ‘em. I’m done.” Her bravado faltered as she took a step forward, her legs buckling beneath her like a newborn foal’s. 

She pitched toward the floor with a startled yelp.

The young man lunged forward, catching her arm just in time. “Whoa, easy, sis! You’re gonna hurt yourself. Come on, let’s get you to your room.”

She sagged against him, her weight heavy and uncooperative as he looped an arm around her waist. “My hero,” she mumbled, her tone dripping with sarcasm, though a ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. 

Up close, she was a mess of contradictions: her skin was warm and clammy, her breath sour with alcohol, yet there was something disarming about the way she leaned into him, trusting him to keep her upright.

The journey down the narrow hallway was a clumsy dance. Yumi’s steps were erratic, her bare feet slapping against the worn linoleum as she swayed and stumbled. Hayao tightened his grip, hyper-aware of every point of contact: the curve of her hip pressing into his side, the brush of her arm against his chest, the tickle of her hair against his neck. Her dress clung to her figure, accentuating the lines of her body in a way that made his pulse quicken despite himself. 

He tried to focus on the task—get her to bed, let her sleep it off—but the intimacy of the moment crept under his skin, unbidden and unsettling.

At the threshold of her room, she tripped over the edge of the rug, her body pitching forward with a gasp. Hayao reacted instinctively, pulling her closer to steady her. His hand slid up her side in the scramble, fingers grazing the soft swell of her breast before he could stop himself. The contact was fleeting, a mere heartbeat, but it seared through him like a lightning strike. His breath hitched, and he froze, his face flushing a deep, mortified red.

Yumi’s head snapped up, her bleary eyes locking onto his. For a moment, she just stared, and then a slow, wicked smirk curled her lips. “Hayao, you perv,” she slurred, her voice thick with amusement. “What’s this? Little brother copping a feel? Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“It wasn’t—I didn’t mean to!” he sputtered, jerking his hand away as if it had been scalded. His words tumbled over each other, frantic and defensive. “I was just trying to keep you from falling, I swear!”

She laughed, a deep, throaty sound that vibrated through the air and sent a shiver down his spine. “Sure, sure, whatever you say.” She swatted at his arm, her aim sloppy but playful. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. God, your face—priceless.” Her gaze lingered, heavy and teasing, her half-lidded eyes glinting with something he couldn’t quite read. 

The moment stretched, charged with an awkward, electric tension that made his skin prickle.

With a groan, she broke away from him, stumbling toward her bed. The mattress creaked as she collapsed onto it, sprawling across the rumpled sheets. Her skirt rode up slightly, exposing the pale expanse of her thighs, and she didn’t bother to adjust it. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling with a dramatic sigh, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. The room smelled faintly of lavender from the candle she’d left burning earlier, now reduced to a puddle of wax on her nightstand, its flickering light casting soft shadows across her face.

Hayao lingered in the doorway, one hand gripping the knob as if it were a lifeline. His heart still raced from the accidental touch, the memory of it looping in his mind like a broken reel. He should leave, he told himself—shut the door, retreat to the safety of the living room, and pretend this whole night was just a bizarre blip. But before he could move, Yumi’s voice cut through the haze.

“Hey, Hayao,” she called, her tone slurred yet edged with that familiar, playful lilt that always set him on edge. She propped herself up on her elbows, her head tilting to fix him with a lopsided grin. “You still there, or did I scare you off already?”

He swallowed, his throat dry as sandpaper. “Yeah, I’m here,” he said, his voice quieter than he’d intended.

Her smile widened, lazy and mischievous, as she flopped back onto the bed and stretched her arms above her head. The motion pulled her dress tighter across her chest, the fabric straining against her curves in a way that made Hayao’s gaze flicker involuntarily before he forced it back to her face. “Good,” she murmured. “’Cause I was thinking… maybe you could help me out of this dress.” She tugged at the hem with clumsy fingers, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated. “It’s so damn tight, and I’m too drunk to deal with it. Feels like it’s choking me.”

Hayao’s breath caught, his mind grinding to a halt. The words hung in the air, heavy and surreal, like something out of a fever dream. Was she joking? She had to be—right? Yumi loved to push his buttons, to watch him squirm under her teasing. But there was a weight to her voice, a drunken sincerity that blurred the line between jest and genuine request. His face burned, a fresh wave of heat creeping up his neck as he struggled to process her words.

“Uh, Yumi, I—I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he stammered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You’re really drunk. You should just… sleep or something.”

She pouted, her lower lip jutting out in a way that was both petulant and oddly endearing. Rolling onto her side, she propped her head on one hand and fixed him with a mock glare. 

“Oh, come on. Don’t be such a prude, Hayao. It’s not like I’m asking you to strip me naked and ravish me.” She snorted at her own exaggeration, then waved a hand toward her back. “Just the zipper. This thing’s digging into me, and I can’t reach it. Be a good little brother for once, yeah?”

Hayao’s eyes darted to the zipper in question, a thin silver line running down the length of her spine. The fabric did look uncomfortably snug, bunching around her ribs and leaving faint red marks where it pressed into her skin. A small, rational part of him whispered that helping wouldn’t be that big a deal—just a quick tug, a practical favor, nothing more. But the rest of him recoiled, a tangle of nerves and guilt twisting in his gut. She was his sister, for God’s sake, and she was drunk—too drunk to know what she was asking, maybe. The accidental touch earlier still lingered in his memory, a ghost of sensation that made his fingers twitch.

He took a hesitant step into the room, the floorboards creaking under his weight, then stopped short. “Maybe you should just sleep in it,” he offered, his voice thin and unconvincing. “Or I could grab you a T-shirt or a blanket or—something. You don’t need to mess with it now.”

Yumi groaned, flopping back onto the mattress with an exaggerated huff. “Ugh, you’re no fun. Fine, whatever, I’ll do it myself.” She reached behind her, fumbling with the zipper in a series of awkward, ineffective tugs. Her fingers slipped, and she muttered a string of curses under her breath, her frustration mounting. “Stupid thing… why’d I even wear this?”

Hayao watched, torn. She looked ridiculous, wrestling with the dress like it was a personal enemy, but there was something vulnerable about it too—her usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion and alcohol. A pang of guilt gnawed at him. Maybe he should help, just enough to get her comfortable. It wouldn’t mean anything, right? She’d probably forget the whole thing by morning, chalk it up to a hazy, drunken blur. But the thought of touching her again, even innocently, sent a shiver of unease—and something darker—through him.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing. Memories flickered unbidden: Yumi ruffling his hair when they were kids, her teasing him mercilessly about his first crush, the way she’d always been the bold one, dragging him into her orbit whether he liked it or not. Their relationship had shifted over the years, stretched thin by adulthood and distance, but this—this was new territory, a line he’d never imagined crossing. What if he helped, and she didn’t forget? What if it changed something between them, something he couldn’t undo?

Yumi glanced up at him again, her eyes narrowing as she caught his indecision. “Well?” she pressed, her voice a slurred challenge. “You gonna help or what? I’m not gonna bite, you know.”

The room seemed to close in around him, the air thick with heat and tension. His pulse hammered in his ears, a frantic rhythm that drowned out the cicadas outside. He stood at a crossroads, the weight of her question pinning him in place. He could feel the pull of obligation, the instinct to look out for her, warring with the instinct to flee, to preserve the fragile normalcy they’d always known. Whatever he chose, there’d be no going back—not entirely.

But then again, it was also an opportunity to test out the power of the stopwatch…

Option 1: Hayao decides to help Yumi out of her dress, rationalizing that it’s just a small favor and she’ll probably forget about it by morning.

Option 2: Hayao laughs it off, telling Yumi she’s on her own, and heads back to his room, trying to shake off the awkwardness.