I wake to the scent of freshly laundered silk and sunlight streaming through the window. The memories hit before my eyes fully open - gasps in the darkness, the press of his body against mine, the taste of his lips.

My brother's lips.

I sit up sharply, my heart racing. He's still beside me, lying on his side with his back partially turned. I can see the rise and fall of his chest, hear the soft sound of his breathing. Is he awake? Pretending to sleep?

The evidence of last night surrounds us - the disarray of the bedding, the faint scent of our combined sweat still lingering in the air, and most tellingly, the fact that both our robes have been changed and neatly laid out at the foot of the bed.

Someone cleaned us. Which means...

My face burns as I touch my lips, remembering exactly what transpired between us. The way he'd responded to me, the tenderness in his actions despite the forbidden nature of what we were doing.

But what does it mean now? As I watch him sleep - or pretend to sleep - uncertainty washes over me. Was this a moment of weakness, an act of brotherly compassion? Or something more?

A soft sound escapes me before I can stop it - half sigh, half whimper. I need to know. I need to understand what昨夜 changed between us.

I reach out, my fingers hovering over his back, wanting to touch him, to wake him, to demand answers. But fear paralyzes me. What if I'm wrong about his feelings? What if this destroys everything we've built?

Before I can make a decision, his breathing shifts subtly. Not quite waking, but not entirely asleep either.

Now or never.