The grapevine

The dull clatter of the vacuum cleaner in the living room had long since died down, yet Arisa’s dry swat felt like it was still stinging my skin.

I sat on the edge of my desk chair, resting my elbows on my knees, and let out a heavy breath. My room was darkened; the heavy curtains shut out the afternoon light, leaving only the LED strip behind my monitor casting a faint, bluish glow against the wall. Right now, I needed exactly one thing: absolute peace and quiet. No smells of citrus cleaner, no sweet rose perfume from Emma, no insinuations about tissues, and above all, no rules. Just putting on the headset, switching off my brain, and losing myself for two hours in some virtual battle where problems could be solved with a click.

The familiar metallic pop of Discord snapped me out of my thoughts. In the bottom right corner, Timo’s name flashed, and before I could even settle into my seat, his deep voice crackled through the earpiece.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up. I thought you’d gone completely MIA today.”

A quiet clank accompanied his words—he was just setting a dumbbell aside. Typical Timo. Even while hanging out in the server, he had to squeeze in some reps between rounds.

“Not a chance,” I replied flatly, adjusting my mic as I launched the game. “I’ve been cleaning the house all damn afternoon. Let’s just start, alright? I really just need a distraction today.”

“Yeah, right, ‘cleaning,’” Timo chuckled dryly, that familiar irritated edge creeping into his tone whenever the conversation turned to home. “Bro, you really don’t have to feed me fairy tales. I saw the photo that came from your phone last night.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine, and my stomach instantly twisted into knots. *The photo.*

Loona. Of course it was Loona. She had found my unlocked phone on the nightstand, leaned over me while I was half-asleep, and snapped the picture: her bare collarbone just above the blanket, her face close to mine, my arm draped around her as if I had just taken her. Completely harmless by any filter's standards, but to someone like Timo, it was pure provocation.

“Timo, I’ve told you a thousand times there’s nothing going on—,” I started, but he cut me off immediately.

“Just shut the fuck up, John. Like I’m blind or something.” His voice edged into jealousy. “She’s your stepsister, there’s zero blood relation, so don’t act so holy. Loona is a solid ten. God knows I’ve got plenty of girls lined up here, but I’d hop on a train for her in a heartbeat. And you’re the one sitting under the same roof with her every day, getting all of that, and acting like an innocent lamb. You’re such a fucking hypocrite, man.”

I stared at the loading screen, my fingers frozen on the WASD keys. The irony made my throat tighten. Of all people, Timo was envying me. He thought I was the ruthless stud taking whatever I wanted at night—when the reality was that I hadn’t been allowed to lay a single finger on myself for days, simply because she had forbidden it. She was deliberately feeding Timo these pictures to keep up appearances with him, while at home she was training me with a single gesture.

“Can we just play now?” I forced out. My character spawned on the map, but I missed the first step, ran blindly into a crate, and took hits right off the bat.

“Dude, John, get your shit together! You’re aiming like you're blind,” Timo complained, annoyed. “Are you that worn out from fucking or what? Save some juice for later.”

His laughter rang in my ears, eating away at my concentration like poison. There was no escape here. Not from the game, not from Timo, and certainly not from Loona.

At that moment, the bedroom door creaked softly behind me. No knock. Just the familiar, soundless turn of the handle.

I froze. Over the edge of the monitor, in the dim hallway light, I caught Loona’s silhouette. She was wearing a simple, oversized shirt, her hair casually pinned up, looking down at me with that cool, commanding gaze that pulled the rug out from under me every single time.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked softly into the room—just loud enough for my sensitive mic to pick up crystal clear. Her voice sounded husky, almost sleepy, as if she had just gotten out of bed.

In the headset, Timo’s laughter cut out instantly. Dead silence. Then a raspy, stunned whisper: “Is… is that her?”

Loona stepped silently behind my chair, not sparing the screen a glance, and lightly rested her fingertips on my shoulder. The touch burned through the thin fabric of my T-shirt. My body tensed, and deep inside the snug pajama pants, the throbbing pressure stirred again—completely indifferent to my desperate attempt to just be normal.

She leaned forward slightly, her cheek almost brushing my temple, casting a casual glance at the glowing voice icon on my monitor. She knew exactly who was on the other end of the line.

A barely perceptible smile played on her lips before she spoke—with a velvety, drawn-out languor calculated to drive Timo out of his mind:

“Turn off the computer, John,” she breathed close to my ear, yet perfectly within range of the mic. “You still have something to finish for me in the other room. And I don’t feel like waiting on you all day.”

Her fingernails dug warningly into my collarbone for a fraction of a second—an unmistakable order to fall in line, report for duty, and work through her to-do list. But to Timo, it sounded like pure, insatiable demand.

“Fuck, man…” Timo groaned over the line, totally stunned. “Just go. Go right now.”

Loona stroked the back of my neck one last time, deliberately slow, then turned around without another word and strolled out of the room. I sat there paralyzed, pulling off the headset with trembling fingers, feeling the noose around my neck tighten just a little bit more.