Choa...

"I can't sleep," she replies. "I had a talk with mom and..." She pauses. "I don't know, it was silly."

"What was silly?"

She shakes her head. "I told her everything is going well with my singing career and she didn't buy it."

"You didn't tell her about the producer, or how little free time you have?" you ask, furrowing your brow. "She'd want to know."

"I don't want her to know about that. I just... I dunno, I was trying to make her feel better. She wanted me to go to university before and..." She pauses, looking up at you. "I'm sorry I told you that I've been finding things hard," she continues, "I don't want you guys to worry about me."

"Of course we're going to worry about you. We're your family."

She smiles, but it fades quickly. "I really miss home, sometimes."

"I know," you say, "Maybe you can visit more often?" Of course you want that for her, but a selfish part of you wants her around more often just so you can drink in her beauty. Even now, a part of you that you're almost angry with is ignoring her obvious distress and just wants to stare into her deep, dark eyes.

You don't want that part of you to be with you both, here, now. You just want to be you, here, for your sister.

She smiles, a small smile that doesn't really seem like a smile. "I will."

You look at her face, the contours of it, the way the light catches her eyes and illuminates her cheekbones.

"John," she says, "Can I stay for a bit and talk? You don't have to listen if you don't want to, I think I just need to talk."

"Of course," you reply, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Thanks," she replies, sitting down on the end of your bed, and you sit down next to her, a foot or so away, close enough to smell her scent but not so close that it fogs your mind.

For a moment, there's silence, as you sit together.

"So," you say, "I think you're right, mom is worried about you."

She smiles, a sadder one. "I always thought she'd be happy if I gave up on music. That's why I didn't tell her what was going on, because I knew she'd worry."

"You're overworked, you're stressing about your weight," you reply, trying to sound calm and helpful, "What about it do you actually like?"

She looks down at her lap. "The singing. The dancing as well, at its core I love it. Performing on stage at a concert or a music show, hearing thousands of people chanting my name in unison... I have to admit I like that, too." She chuckles. "I suppose I sound like a terrible narcissist, don't I?"

"Not at all," you say, "I can't fault you for having a passion. I get it."

She smiles. "Thanks."

"I guess I'd like having thousands of people worship me," you say, "For being talented and beau- handsome."

"Oh god, don't become an idol," Choa giggles, "You're handsome enough but boygroups have it even worse; crazy stalkers, weird-ass creeps on the internet writing fanfiction about them fucking each other..."

You laugh. "Well, I was gonna," you joke, "but... okay, It's a deal."

You lean in, and she hugs you. "Thanks for being so understanding," she says, "I know I can always count on you."

"You can. You're stuck with me, I'm your brother."

She smiles, and hugs you tighter. "Nobody's perfect," she replies.

There's a moment where you just hug, enjoying each other's presence. The soft scent of her perfume, shampoo, conditioner, bodywash, and natural scent, with just a hint of sweat, swirls inside your nostrils and down to the pit of your stomach. You adjust your right leg to try and obscure your unbidden erection and try to just enjoy this moment with your sister.

You're not sure how much time passes, but eventually she pulls back. "Sorry," she says, "I didn't mean to get too heavy."

"It's fine," you say, "You can talk to me about anything."

She smiles. "I guess you're my secret-keeper now, little brother."

There's a knock on the door. "Hey, kids," a voice comes through, "It's dad. You guys can't sleep either?"

Choa stands and heads to the door, opening it. "Hey dad," she says.

"I didn't want to disturb you, but I heard you guys talking and... well, I was having a beer down in the kitchen and thought maybe you'd want to join me," your dad, a heavyset man in his early fifties continues, "I never got to have a cold one with either of you kids when you were here, so..." he chuckles, "I don't know, thought it could be a bonding activity."

"Well, I suppose I could use a drink," Choa says.

"Sure," you say. Your dad has never wanted to drink with you before, but maybe now's a chance to spend more time with the man who's spent more time at the office than at home with you and Choa the past eighteen years.

"Great!" your dad says, "Come on down when you're ready." He heads back downstairs.

You and Choa sit together for a moment in blissful silence. After a minute or so, she puts her hand on your thigh and you have to struggle not to flinch as you feel your cock, that traitor stiffen again.

"Let's go have a drink with dad, hey?" she says.

You exhale heavily and nod.

Choa stands, and you follow her downstairs to the kitchen.

"Hey guys," your dad smiles, holding up two beers. He hands you one. You take it, twist off the cap and chug about a third of it. The bitter taste and refreshing carbonation spread through your mouth and throat. "Come on, I just got these. Grab a seat," he says, pulling up another chair at the kitchen table. You sit, putting your feet up. Choa sits on one side of you, and your dad on the other.

"So, son," your dad begins, "How are things at school? Your grades? How's the girl situation?"

"I'm focusing on my university exams," you reply, for what feels like the thousandth time.

"Ah, come on. You're in your last years of high school now. You need to get out there, meet people, have some fun... fool around with some girls, you know."

"Dad!" you say, blushing crimson.

"What? You're almost an adult. You need to start dealing with these things."

"Come on, dad," Choa intervenes, "I'm sure John has a lot of homework to get through."

You nod. "Yeah. I really should be getting back to it." You stand, leaving your beer.

"Ah, come on. I just got that for you," your dad complains.

'Maybe if you stopped grilling him on his personal life and his finals," Choa interjects, "the first time you've ever had a beer with him, dad?" She smiles, a fuller and warmer smile than she's mustered for several hours, and you realise she's actually relaxing, "maybe that would help?"

Your dad sighs, then smiles. "Fine by me." He gulps down the rest of his beer. "I'll just finish this and head to bed then," he says, standing up.

"Hey, dad, come on," you say. "How's work?"

"Eh... it's work," he replies, heading to the fridge, twisting the cap off another beer and taking a drink. "How's the idol life, sweetie?" he asks, turning to Choa.

"It's... fine," she says, blushing and looking down.

"Choa loves the chance to show off her singing," you interject, "she told me it's like a blessing to share her talent."

"That's great, sweetie," your dad says, "You've got a real gift, sweetheart. I'm just not sure about those dances they make you do."

"Dad!" Choa says, embarrassed.

"I'm just saying, I'm not sure it's appropriate. I'm sure John has seen some AOA videos."

"Nope," you lie, "never."

"Well, they're pretty sexual. I can see why they make her uncomfortable," your dad shrugs, taking another drink.

"Dad!" Choa says, hitting his shoulder.

Your dad sits back down, next to Choa. "I'm just saying. Please don't get mad, honey."

You sit, feeling awkward. The only way to break the tension is to change the subject, and you're drawing a blank. You take a deep breath, trying to ignore your throbbing erection as you think back to the hundreds of hours of AOA dance videos you've watched, even for a glimpse of your sister's gyrating form.

"Sorry," your dad eventually offers, "Choa, I'm sorry. I was talking to your mom earlier and-"

"It's fine," Choa says.

"I'm just worried about her, because she's worrying about you," dad continues. "But I shouldn't have just brought it up like that. Or at all."

"It's fine," Choa repeats, "I'm tired. I think I'll head to bed, if you don't mind."

"Of course not," your dad replies, "Sorry again, honey. again, I just worry about you."

"Yeah... I got that. Good night," she replies, heading up the stairs.

Your dad sighs, then chuckles. "Man, I fucked that up. I know I did. I don't really know how to talk to her."

"I'm not sure if any of us do," you reply.

"I guess. I know your mom and I try. We're just not sure how to deal with the, uh, whole idol thing. And especially..." he trails off.

"Especially what?" you ask.

"Nothing. Listen, I'm sorry I ruined your night. You came down here for some fun, and I just blew my top. I'll just head to bed too. If you're still having trouble sleeping in a couple hours, swing back down here for that beer, maybe I'll be here too."

"Yeah, maybe I will. Night, dad."

"Good night, son."

"Dad," you start, just leaving, and turn to him. "Can I ask some advice?"

"Sure thing, bud."

"I'm having trouble with... love," you say sheepishly.

"Ah," your dad replies, smiling and tilting his head a bit as he looks at you. "Well, you came to the right place, then."

"I'm not sure if it's love, exactly. I mean, I'm pretty sure it is, but it's all so new and confusing."

"What's confusing about it? Just go with it. If you've got feelings, then there's nothing to be confused about."

You breathe deeply.

"What if it's..." you think carefully, "impossible?"

"What, like you're a moleman and she's a human?" your father chuckles.

"No, nothing like that. It's just... I really like this girl. But it's impossible."

"How is it impossible? You just said you like her."

"It's... it's hard to explain. It's just not really achievable, I guess."

"Hmm," your dad nods. "Well, the only thing I can think of is... what's so bad about it being impossible? Seems to me if you like this girl, and she likes you back, then it's not impossible. Just difficult. When I met your mom I was a factory worker and she was a lawyer's daughter. I had to steal suits from clothing lines to take her to nice restaurants, I was that broke."

"So, you're saying I should go for this girl, regardless of the odds?"

"Did I say that?" your dad asks, smiling mischievously. "I'm just saying the heart wants what it wants."

"Right," you say, smiling. "Thanks for the advice."

You kiss your dad on the cheek, and bid him good night.

What useless fucking advice that was, you think, as you ease into a night of endless dreams of Choa, your beautiful, impossible sister. How could you dream of anything else? Your dreams are filled with lewd images of you and her together, naked, exploring each other's bodies. It's wrong, in the most right way possible. Just like her.

"Hey, little brother," Choa's voice sings across your subconscious, as your dream self strokes her thighs which have become mountainscapes in your dream world, "what have you done?"

You rest your entire body between her pillowy breasts as they close in on you, your cock sticking out like a steel bar, "Hey little brother, who's the only one?" She sings.

You wake up.