Tell the truth and ask for his help ( route)

With a deep breath, you explain the whole bizarre situation—the mysterious phone call, the 48-hour timer, the dire consequence of getting impregnated. Your brother's face shifts from skepticism to a mix of shock and concern, his eyes occasionally flicking over your body as if struggling to reconcile the familiar sibling with the alluring female form in front of him. The room feels smaller, the air heavier, charged with an undercurrent you can't quite ignore. Your skin prickles under his gaze, a strange warmth pooling low in your belly that you try to dismiss as nerves.

"Alright, John... or whatever I should call you now," he says, running a hand through his hair, his voice rough. "This is some next-level weird shit, but yeah, I get it. You need to stay... pure, or whatever, for two days. No dick, no risk."

You nod frantically, cheeks flushing at his bluntness. "Exactly. But I don't trust myself alone— this body, it's... sensitive. Everything feels amplified. I keep getting these urges, and if I slip up..." Your voice trails off, embarrassed, but the admission hangs there, making his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard.

He shifts his weight, adjusting his jeans subtly— you notice the faint bulge, a reminder of the plans he had with his girlfriend, the condoms he came for. "Fuck, man—er, sis? This timing sucks. I was geared up for... you know." He glances away, but not before his eyes trace the curve of your hips again, lingering on the way your borrowed shorts ride up your thighs.

"Please," you plead, stepping closer without thinking, close enough to feel his body heat. "Just stay with me. Keep watch, especially at night when I'm asleep. Be my bodyguard or something. Make sure nothing happens—no temptations, no accidents."

He hesitates, his breath quickening slightly, but then nods. "Yeah, okay. Family first, right? I'll crash here, keep an eye on you. We'll lock down the house, order food, binge some shows. 48 hours ain't forever." But as he agrees, you catch the way his fists clench, the subtle tension in his posture, like he's already fighting something inside. He grabs his wallet from his room, texts his girlfriend some excuse, and settles on the couch, patting the spot next to him. "Come on, let's figure out a plan. But damn, you gotta put on something less... distracting."

You both laugh awkwardly, but the electric hum in the air lingers, unspoken desires simmering just beneath the surface