You and Froy have been stepsiblings for two years now. At first, it was awkward—two teenagers suddenly forced to share a bathroom and family dinners. But somewhere along the way, you became something like friends. He still complains when you barge into his room unannounced, but he never actually locks the door.

Right now, you're standing in his doorway, controller in hand, while he sits rigidly in his gaming chair. His eyes dart to the TV then back to you, throat working nervously. 'I was just... about to take a break,' he says, voice higher than normal.

You ignore his obvious discomfort and step inside. 'Perfect timing then. I want to try that new multiplayer game.' Before he can protest, you settle onto his lap like you've done a hundred times before, controller pressed into his hands.

His breath catches immediately, his body stiffening beneath you. Through his thin sweatpants, you feel exactly what he's been trying to hide—himself, hard and already straining against the fabric. 'You okay?' you ask, feigning innocence as you lean back against his chest.

He swallows hard, fingers tightening on the controller until his knuckles white 'Game on,' he mutters, but his hips press involuntarily against you as the game loads.