He didn't sleep. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his brain replaying the night on a loop—the taste of her, the sound of her moans, the way she'd looked at him when Jeff walked in. Three times. He'd come inside her three times, and now she was pregnant, and the whole world had tilted sideways.
When the sun finally came up, he was still awake. His eyes were gritty, his mouth tasted like stale pizza and regret, and he felt like he'd been hit by a truck.
He got up anyway. He showered. He put on his glasses. And he told himself that today would be different, that he'd figure out how to be normal again, that he'd find some way to carry the secret without it crushing him.
He was still telling himself that when his phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Akiko: *you awake*
Steve stared at the message for a long moment. Akiko Yoshida. His on-and-off friend, the transfer student with the sharp eyes and the sharper tongue, the one person who could always see through his bullshit. He hadn't talked to her in weeks—not since she'd called him out for rambling about the mating habits of deep-sea anglerfish at a party and he'd gotten defensive and they'd stopped texting.
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. He should say no. He should tell her he was busy, that he had summer school stuff, that he'd talk to her later. He should not, under any circumstances, tell her what had happened last night.
But the words were already forming in his head, the whole impossible, insane story, and he couldn't stop them.
Steve: *yeah*
Steve: *you won't believe what happened last night*
The reply came almost instantly.
Akiko: *try me*
Steve stared at the screen, his heart hammering. He could lie. He could make something up, some boring story about a flat tire or a fight with his parents. But Akiko would see through it. She always did.
And maybe that was why he typed it. Maybe that was why he told her the whole thing—the joint, the couch, the way Hailey had looked at him, the three times, Jeff walking in, the pregnancy, the lie. All of it. Every sordid detail, spelled out in a text so long it took three messages to fit.
When he hit send, his hands were shaking.
The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Akiko: *you're serious*
Steve: *dead serious*
Akiko: *holy shit*
Steve: *yeah*
Akiko: *okay*
Akiko: *coffee shop on 5th. 30 minutes. you're going to tell me this in person because i refuse to process this over text*
Steve blinked at the screen. He should say no. He should stay home, lie in bed, and try to figure out how to exist in a world where he'd gotten his sister pregnant. But Akiko was already gone, her little green dot faded to gray, and he knew from experience that when she made up her mind, there was no changing it.
He sighed and grabbed his keys.
The coffee shop was a small, cluttered place called The Daily Grind, all mismatched furniture and exposed brick and a chalkboard menu that changed daily. Steve found Akiko at a table in the back corner, her black hair pulled back in its usual practical ponytail, a cup of green tea steaming in front of her.
She looked up when he walked in, and her dark eyes swept over him—the rumpled shirt, the dark circles under his glasses, the way he was holding his own cup of coffee like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
"You look like shit," she said.
"Thanks." Steve slid into the chair across from her. "Nice to see you too."
Akiko didn't smile. She just studied him for a long moment, her fingers wrapped around her tea, and then she said, "So. Your sister."
Steve winced. "You couldn't let me ease into it?"
"You texted me a novel at seven in the morning. Easing into it went out the window." She took a sip of her tea. "Start from the beginning."
So he did. He told her about the joint Hailey had offered him, about how high she'd gotten, about the way she'd looked at him on the couch—not like a sister, but like something else entirely. He told her about the first time, how she'd unzipped his jeans and taken him in her mouth, and how he'd come so fast he was embarrassed. He told her about the second time, and the third, and how Hailey had ridden him on that worn floral couch like she'd been waiting for it her whole life.
Akiko listened without interrupting. Her face gave nothing away—that was her way, the cool, analytical mask she wore like armor. But Steve saw the way her fingers tightened around her cup when he got to the part about Jeff walking in.
"And he just... believed it?" she said when he finished. "He just assumed the baby was his?"
"He never even asked. He saw her stomach and jumped to conclusions." Steve shook his head. "She didn't correct him. She just let him think it."
"And you didn't say anything."
"What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, sorry, I'm the father'?" Steve laughed, a hollow, humorless sound. "Jeff would've killed me. Or worse, he would've told my parents, and then my mom would've—" He stopped, the thought too horrible to finish.
Akiko was quiet for a long moment. Then she set down her tea and leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her dark eyes boring into his.
"Do you regret it?" she asked.
The question hit him like a punch to the chest. Did he regret it? He'd spent the whole night telling himself he did, telling himself it was a mistake, a terrible, irreversible mistake that had ruined his family. But when he thought about Hailey's hands on him, her mouth, the sound she'd made when he pushed inside her—
"No," he heard himself say. "That's the worst part. I don't."
Akiko's expression didn't change, but something shifted in her eyes. "Interesting."
"What's interesting about it?"
"You just slept with your sister. Three times. You got her pregnant. And you don't regret it." She tilted her head. "That's not nothing, Steve."
"I know it's not nothing. That's the problem." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "I'm supposed to feel guilty. I'm supposed to hate myself. But every time I close my eyes, I just—I see her. And I want to do it again."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and raw. Steve felt his face flush, and he looked down at his coffee, suddenly unable to meet Akiko's gaze.
"Sorry," he muttered. "That's—that's way too much information."
"It's fine." Akiko's voice was calm, measured. "I asked."
They sat in silence for a moment, the sounds of the coffee shop washing over them—the hiss of the espresso machine, the murmur of other conversations, the soft jazz playing from a speaker in the corner.
"So," Akiko said finally, and there was a note in her voice that Steve hadn't heard before—something curious, almost speculative. "You're not a virgin anymore."
Steve blinked. "I mean—technically, no. Why?"
Akiko shrugged, a small, deliberate motion. "Just trying to figure out what that means."
"What do you mean, what that means?"
"You spent eighteen years being the most inexperienced person I've ever met. You used to lecture me about anglerfish mating rituals because you couldn't think of anything else to talk about." A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "And now you're sitting across from me, telling me you had sex with your sister three times in one night. That's a pretty big change."
Steve shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. "I don't know if it's a change. I'm still the same person. I'm still—" He gestured vaguely. "Me."
"Are you?" Akiko leaned back, her arms crossing over her chest. "Because the Steve I knew wouldn't have been able to look me in the eye and say 'I want to do it again' about anyone, let alone his sister. The Steve I knew would've been a nervous wreck."
"I am a nervous wreck."
"You're hiding it better."
Steve opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat. Because she was right. He was different. He'd felt it this morning, when he'd looked in the mirror and seen someone he barely recognized—someone who'd done something unforgivable and wasn't sorry for it.
"I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I don't know how to be around her. I don't know how to be around Jeff. I don't know how to be around anyone."
Akiko was quiet for a long moment. Then she reached across the table and took his hand.
Her fingers were cool, her grip firm. Steve looked down at their joined hands, surprised by the gesture—Akiko wasn't exactly the touchy-feely type.
"You're not alone in this," she said. "You know that, right? Whatever happens, you've got someone you can talk to."
Steve swallowed hard. "You mean you?"
"I mean me." She squeezed his hand once, then let go. "I'm not going anywhere, Steve. Even if you are a disaster."
For the first time since last night, Steve felt something loosen in his chest. It wasn't relief, exactly—that was too strong a word. But it was something. Something that felt like maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as alone as he thought.
"Thanks," he said, and his voice was rough. "That means a lot."
Akiko nodded, and then she picked up her tea and took a sip, her mask sliding back into place. "So," she said, "what are you going to do about Hailey?"
Steve stared at his coffee. "I don't know."
"You're going to have to figure it out eventually."
"I know." He sighed. "But right now, I just—I can't think about it. I can't think about any of it."
Akiko studied him for a moment, and then she set down her cup and stood up. "Come on."
"What? Where are we going?"
"My place." She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "You need to get out of your head, and I'm not letting you sit here and spiral into a caffeine-fueled existential crisis."
Steve blinked. "Your place?"
"Unless you've got a better idea." She raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"
Steve thought about his empty apartment, about the ceiling he'd stared at all night, about the way his brain kept replaying the same images over and over. He thought about Hailey, and Jeff, and the lie that was already settling into the cracks of their family like dust.
"No," he said, standing up. "I don't have a better idea."
Akiko nodded, satisfied. "Good. Let's go."
She turned and walked toward the door, and Steve followed, his coffee forgotten on the table. He didn't know what was going to happen. He didn't know what this was—a friend helping a friend, or something more, something he wasn't ready to name.
But for the first time all night, the weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter.
The walk to Akiko's place was short—a few blocks past the Laundromat with the flickering sign, past the corner store where the owner always sat on a milk crate out front. Steve kept his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, watching his sneakers hit the cracked sidewalk. The evening air was thick and warm, carrying the smell of somebody's barbecue and the distant sound of a dog barking.
Akiko walked beside him in silence, her ponytail swinging with each step. She didn't look at him, didn't try to fill the space between them with small talk. Steve found himself grateful for that. He wasn't sure he had any words left that didn't sound like a confession.
Her building was a squat, pale-yellow walk-up with a dead potted plant on the stoop and a buzzer that crackled when she pressed it. She held the door for him, and he stepped into a narrow hallway that smelled like old carpet and somebody's curry dinner.
"Third floor," she said, already heading for the stairs.
Steve followed, his legs still a little shaky from the coffee and the confession and the way her hand had felt around his. The stairs creaked under his weight. At the top, she unlocked a door painted the color of a faded bruise and pushed it open.
Her apartment was small and neat in a way that surprised him. A single window looked out over the street, the sill lined with succulents in mismatched pots. A futon against one wall, a low coffee table with a half-finished mug of tea on it, a bookshelf crammed with paperbacks and a few textbooks. The air smelled like green tea and something floral—maybe the candle on the kitchen counter, unlit but still fragrant.
"Sit," Akiko said, gesturing at the futon. She kicked off her shoes and padded to the kitchen, where she started filling a kettle.
Steve sat. The futon was firmer than it looked, the fabric worn soft in the middle. He ran his palm over it, feeling the give of the cushion, the slight dip where she usually sat. The thought made his face warm, and he looked away, at the bookshelf, at the succulents, at anything that wasn't the shape of her body in his peripheral vision.
The kettle clicked on. Water began to heat.
Akiko leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him with those dark, perceptive eyes. "You're still doing it."
"Doing what?"
"Thinking too loud." She uncrossed her arms and walked over, stopping in front of him. She looked down at him for a long moment, and Steve felt the weight of her gaze like a hand on his chest. "You came here to get out of your head, remember?"
"I remember." He swallowed. "I just—I don't know how to stop."
She tilted her head, considering. Then she sat down beside him, close enough that her knee brushed his. The contact was small, but it sent a jolt through him, electric and sudden.
"You don't have to stop," she said. "You just have to think about something else."
"Like what?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she reached out and took his hand again, her fingers cool and sure, and she turned it over, palm up, and traced the lines there with her thumb. The touch was light, almost clinical, but Steve felt his breath catch in his throat.
"You told me you learned some things," she said, her voice low, measured. "From Hailey."
Steve's pulse jumped. "I—yeah. I mean, I guess."
"Show me."
The words landed like a stone in still water. Steve stared at her, his mouth suddenly dry. "Show you what?"
"What she taught you." Akiko's gaze was steady, unblinking. "I want to see."
"Akiko, I—" He laughed, nervous, high. "That's not really—I mean, that's kind of—"
"You said you wanted to do it again." Her voice was calm, almost clinical. "With anyone. You said that."
"I said I wanted to do it again with—" He stopped, the words dying in his throat.
"With anyone," she repeated. "I'm anyone."
Steve's heart was hammering now, loud enough that he was sure she could hear it. "Akiko, I don't—this isn't—you don't have to do this just because you feel bad for me."
"I don't feel bad for you." She said it flatly, without a trace of pity. "I'm curious. You went from the most awkward person I know to someone who—" She paused, searching for the word. "—knows things. I want to see what that looks like."
Steve stared at her. Her face was unreadable, but her hand was still on his, her thumb still tracing slow circles on his palm. The touch was grounding, real, pulling him out of the spiral of his own thoughts.
"You're serious," he said.
"I don't joke about sex, Steve."
He let out a shaky breath. "Okay. Okay, um—" He looked around the room, suddenly aware of how small the space was, how close she was sitting. "What do you want me to—I mean, how do you want me to—"
"Just show me," she said. "Start with what you know."
Steve's mind raced. Everything Hailey had done to him, every touch, every sound, every slick, desperate moment—it was all there, burned into his memory. But translating that into action, into something he could do to Akiko, felt like trying to explain color to someone who'd only ever seen in black and white.
"Okay," he said, and his voice came out steadier than he felt. "Okay."
He turned to face her fully, his knee pressing against hers. She didn't pull away. He reached up, slowly, giving her time to stop him, and brushed a strand of hair from her face. Her skin was warm under his fingers. She didn't flinch.
"This is what she did," he said, and he leaned in and kissed her.
It was a clumsy kiss at first, his lips pressing against hers with too much force, his angle slightly off. But Akiko didn't pull back. She leaned into him, her mouth softening, her hand coming up to rest on his jaw. The touch steadied him, guided him, and he found the rhythm—slow, then deeper, his tongue tracing her lower lip before she opened for him.
She tasted like tea, faintly, and something else—something clean and warm. Steve's hand slid from her face to the back of her neck, fingers threading into the hair at her nape. She made a small sound, low in her throat, and it sent a spike of heat straight through him.
He pulled back, breathing hard. Her eyes were dark, her lips slightly parted, a faint flush creeping up her neck.
"That's—" she started, and her voice was a little rougher than before. "That's not bad."
Steve laughed, nervous and giddy. "That's not the part I learned."
"No?"
"No." He shook his head, and then, before he could overthink it, he leaned in again, but this time he didn't kiss her. He pressed his lips to her jaw instead, then lower, along the line of her throat. She tilted her head back, giving him access, and he felt her pulse fluttering under his mouth.
"She liked this," he murmured against her skin, and he wasn't sure if he was talking to Akiko or to himself. "She liked when I—" He found the spot where her neck met her shoulder and pressed his lips there, then his tongue, tasting salt and warmth. Akiko's breath hitched.
"That's—" She paused, and her voice was strained. "That's a good spot."
"Yeah?" Steve did it again, slower, and she made a sound that was almost a whimper. The sound went straight to his cock, which was already half-hard, pressing against the fly of his jeans.
He pulled back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were half-lidded, her breathing uneven. She looked different—less composed, more open. The sight of it made him bold.
"Can I—" He hesitated, his hand hovering near the hem of her shirt. "Can I touch you?"
Akiko met his gaze. For a long moment, she didn't say anything. Then she reached down, took his hand, and pressed it flat against her chest, over her heart.
"Yes," she said.
Steve's hand was shaking. He could feel the soft swell of her breast under his palm, the warmth of her through the thin cotton of her shirt. He didn't move at first, just let himself feel it—the weight, the give, the steady thump of her heart against his fingers.
Then he started to move, his thumb finding her nipple through the fabric, circling it slowly. Akiko's breath caught, and her hand tightened on his wrist.
"Like this?" he asked, his voice rough.
"Yes." The word came out barely a whisper. "Keep going."
He did. He pressed his palm against her, feeling the shape of her breast, the firmness beneath the softness. He remembered how Hailey had done it—how she'd guided his hands, how she'd moaned when he'd found the right pressure. He tried to replicate that, his thumb rubbing in slow circles, his other hand coming up to cup her other breast.
Akiko's head fell back, her eyes closing. Her lips were parted, and she was breathing through her mouth, small, quick breaths that made her chest rise and fall under his hands.
"That's—" She paused, swallowed. "That's definitely not something you learned from a textbook."
Steve laughed, a little breathless. "Hailey was a good teacher."
"Apparently." Akiko opened her eyes, and there was something in them he hadn't seen before—something hungry, speculative. "What else did she teach you?"
Steve's mouth went dry. He thought about the taste of Hailey on his tongue, the way she'd moaned when he'd gone down on her, the slick, salty heat of her. He thought about the sound she'd made when he'd pushed inside her, the way she'd gripped his shoulders, the way she'd begged.
"I can show you," he said, and his voice was lower than he expected, rougher. "If you want."
Akiko's gaze held his. Then, slowly, she reached down and pulled her shirt over her head.
Steve's breath left him in a rush. She wasn't wearing a bra—just a thin, gray tank top that clung to her small, compact breasts. Her nipples were visible through the fabric, dark and hard, and Steve could see the outline of her ribs as she breathed.
"Show me," she said.
Steve reached for her, his hands shaking, and pushed the tank top up. She raised her arms, letting him pull it over her head, and then she was bare in front of him—her breasts small and round, her nipples a deep rose against the pale brown of her skin.
He stared. He couldn't help it. She was nothing like Hailey—Hailey was curvy, soft, generous. Akiko was lean, compact, every line of her body sharp and deliberate. But she was beautiful in her own way, and the sight of her made his cock ache.
"You're staring," she said, and there was a hint of a smile in her voice.
"Sorry," he managed. "You're just—" He shook his head, at a loss for words. "You're really pretty."
The smile flickered, and something in her eyes softened. "Show me what she taught you," she said again, and this time it wasn't a demand—it was an invitation.
Steve leaned in and took her nipple in his mouth.
Akiko gasped, her hand flying to the back of his head. He licked her, slow and deliberate, remembering the way Hailey had arched into his mouth, the sounds she'd made. He sucked gently, then harder, and Akiko's gasp turned into a low moan.
"That's—" She broke off, her fingers tightening in his hair. "That's good."
Steve switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his hand coming up to knead the one he'd just left. He remembered the way Hailey had moaned when he'd done this, the way she'd pushed her chest into his face, asking for more. He tried to give Akiko the same, his tongue and lips working until she was arching into him, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"Steve," she said, and her voice was strained, almost desperate. "Steve, I—"
He pulled back, looking at her. Her face was flushed, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling quickly. Her nipples were wet from his mouth, glistening in the lamplight.
"What?" he asked.
"I want to see the rest." She reached down, her hand brushing over his jeans, over the hard line of his cock. He hissed, his hips bucking involuntarily. "I want to see everything."
Steve's heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure." She unbuckled his belt, her fingers working the leather free, then the button, then the zipper. She pushed his jeans down, and his cock sprang free, hard and leaking, the head already slick with pre-cum.
Akiko looked at it, then at him. "This is what she taught you?"
"Part of it."
She wrapped her hand around him, and Steve's vision went white for a second. Her grip was firm, cool, and she stroked him slowly, experimentally, like she was testing the weight of it.
"Show me," she said, and she lowered her head.
Steve's breath caught in his throat. "Akiko, you don't have to—"
"I want to." She ran her tongue along the underside of his cock, from base to tip, and Steve's knees nearly buckled. "Show me what she taught you."
And then she took him in her mouth.
Steve's hand flew to her hair, gripping it, holding on. She was awkward at first, her movements uncertain, her teeth grazing him once in a way that made him flinch. But she learned fast, her mouth hot and wet, her tongue tracing the vein on the underside, her hand working the base in rhythm with her lips.
"Fuck," Steve breathed, and the word came out strangled. "Fuck, Akiko."
She looked up at him, her dark eyes meeting his, and the sight of her—her lips stretched around his cock, her cheeks hollowed, her gaze steady—sent a jolt of heat through him that was almost too much to bear.
He remembered what Hailey had done, how she'd taken him deep, all the way to the base, her throat opening for him. He wanted to tell Akiko, wanted to guide her, but the words wouldn't come. All he could do was hold her hair and watch, his hips moving in small, helpless thrusts as she worked him.
"Like that," he managed, his voice ragged. "Just like that."
She hummed around him, and the vibration nearly undid him. He could feel the pressure building, the familiar tightening in his balls, the desperate urge to push deeper.
"I'm close," he gasped. "Akiko, I'm gonna—"
She didn't pull away. She took him deeper, her hand moving faster, and when he came, it was with a strangled cry, his hips bucking as he spilled into her mouth.
She swallowed, her throat working, and then she pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes were bright, her lips red and swollen.
"That," she said, her voice a little hoarse, "was educational."
Steve laughed, breathless, his chest heaving. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." She crawled up his body, straddling his lap, her thighs warm on either side of his hips. She was still wearing her jeans, but he could feel the heat of her through the denim. "Now show me the rest."
Steve's hands found her hips, gripping them. "You're sure?"
"I told you." She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "I want to see everything."
Steve's hands moved to the button of her jeans. He fumbled with it, his fingers clumsy, and she laughed softly, reaching down to help him. The jeans came off, then her underwear, and then she was naked in his lap, her skin warm against his.
He looked at her—really looked at her. Her small breasts, her flat stomach, the dark triangle of hair between her thighs. She was watching him, her gaze steady, waiting.
"Lie down," he said, and his voice was rougher than he expected.
She did, stretching out on the futon, her hair fanning out beneath her. Steve moved over her, his body covering hers, and he kissed her again—slower this time, deeper, his tongue sliding against hers.
Then he moved down.
He kissed her neck, her collarbone, the soft curve of her breast. He took his time, remembering what Hailey had liked, what had made her moan. He found the spot on Akiko's ribs that made her squirm, the dip of her waist that made her breath hitch. And then he settled between her thighs.
She was already wet. He could see it, the slick shine of her, the way her body opened for him. He looked up at her, and she was watching him, her eyes dark and hungry.
"Show me," she whispered.
He lowered his head and licked her.
She gasped, her hips bucking. He found her clit with his tongue, circling it slowly, and she moaned, her hand fisting in his hair. He remembered what Hailey had taught him—how to listen, how to feel, how to read the sounds she made. He used all of it on Akiko, his tongue working her until she was writhing beneath him, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
"Steve," she gasped. "Steve, I'm—"
He didn't stop. He kept going, his tongue flat against her, his fingers sliding inside her, curling. She came with a sharp cry, her body arching off the futon, her thighs clamping around his head.
He rode it out, his tongue gentling until she relaxed, her body going limp beneath him. Then he crawled up her body, his cock hard and aching, and she reached down and guided him to her entrance.
"Do it," she said. "Show me."
He pushed inside her.
She was tight, so tight, and hot, and he had to stop for a second, his forehead pressed to hers, breathing through the sensation. She was nothing like Hailey—Hailey had been wet and open, ready for him. Akiko was snug, her body gripping him, and the feeling was almost overwhelming.
"Okay?" he asked, his voice strained.
"Okay." She wrapped her legs around his waist. "Move."
He did. He pulled out slowly, then pushed back in, and she moaned, her head falling back. He found a rhythm—slow at first, then faster, his hips slapping against hers. She was making sounds now, small, desperate sounds, and he drank them in, each one spurring him on.
"Fuck," she breathed. "Fuck, Steve."
He reached between them, his thumb finding her clit, and she cried out, her body clenching around him. He kept going, his thrusts growing harder, deeper, and he could feel himself getting close, the familiar pressure building.
"I'm gonna come," he gasped.
"Do it," she said, her voice fierce. "Come inside me."
He did. He buried himself deep and came with a groan, his body shuddering, his cock pulsing inside her. She came with him, her inner walls clenching around him, milking him dry.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. They lay tangled together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on their skin. Steve's face was buried in her neck, and he could feel her pulse, still racing, fluttering against his lips.
Then she laughed—a low, throaty sound that vibrated through her chest.
"Well," she said, "that was definitely educational."
Steve lifted his head, looking at her. Her face was flushed, her hair a mess, her eyes bright. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." She reached up and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. "You're a fast learner."
He laughed, the sound surprised out of him. "I had a good teacher."
"Mm." She shifted beneath him, and he pulled out, rolling onto his side. She turned to face him, propping herself up on one elbow. "So what does this make us?"
Steve blinked. "What do you mean?"
"This." She gestured between them. "Two people who just had sex. That could mean a lot of things."
Steve's heart was still pounding, but it was a different kind of pounding now—nervous, uncertain. "What do you want it to mean?"
Akiko considered this. "I don't know yet," she said honestly. "But I'm not opposed to figuring it out."
Steve let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Me neither."
She smiled—a real smile, not the guarded, ironic one she usually wore. It transformed her face, made her look younger, softer. "Good." She lay back down, pulling him with her, and he settled against her side, his head on her chest.
She was warm, and she smelled like sex and sweat and something floral. Steve closed his eyes, feeling the slow rise and fall of her breathing. For the first time in what felt like forever, his mind was quiet.
Akiko's hand found his, lacing their fingers together. "You're still thinking too loud," she murmured.
"Sorry."
"Don't be." She squeezed his hand. "Just—be here. With me."
Steve nodded, his cheek brushing her skin. He was here. With her. And for now, that was enough.
His hand drifted up, almost without his permission, and settled on her breast. She didn't move it away. He cupped her, feeling the warmth of her, the soft give of her flesh, and she let out a small, contented sigh.
He massaged her gently, his thumb tracing slow circles around her nipple. She made a sound—half hum, half purr—and shifted closer to him.
"Is this okay?" he asked.
"Yes." Her voice was sleepy, satisfied. "That's—that's really nice."
Steve kept going, his fingers kneading her breast like it was a stress ball, the repetitive motion grounding him. She was soft in his hand, warm, and he could feel her heartbeat beneath his palm, steady and calm.
He thought about Hailey, about the baby, about Jeff. The weight of it was still there, pressing on his chest. But it was quieter now, muffled by the warmth of Akiko beside him, by the simple, grounding rhythm of his hand on her breast.
"Steve?" Akiko's voice was soft, almost asleep.
"Yeah?"
"You're my boyfriend now."
Steve's hand stilled. "What?"
"You heard me." She didn't open her eyes. "You're my boyfriend. That's what this makes us."
Steve stared at her, his heart doing something complicated in his chest. "Okay," he said finally, and the word came out softer than he expected. "Okay."
She smiled, small and satisfied, and pressed closer to him. Steve resumed his slow massage, his thumb circling her nipple as she drifted off, her breathing evening out, her body going slack against his.
He lay there, holding her, feeling the weight of her breast in his hand, the warmth of her body along his. The ceiling was unfamiliar, but it didn't matter. The weight on his shoulders was still there, but it was lighter now—carried by two instead of one.
He didn't know what came next. He didn't know how he'd face Hailey, or Jeff, or the lie that was growing in his sister's belly. But he knew he wasn't alone. He had Akiko. He had her hand in his and her body warm against him and her breast in his palm, and for now, that was enough.
He closed his eyes and let himself breathe.