The evening sun bleeds orange through the suburban skyline, painting the quiet neighborhood in that familiar golden-hour warmth. Cicadas hum their lazy summer chorus. A convenience store bag rustles in the breeze — someone left their laundry out too long three houses down.

Everything is normal.

The house sits at the end of the cul-de-sac. Two stories. Modest. A little worn around the edges — the gate hinge still squeaks, the mailbox leans slightly left. Home.

The house key turns in the lock with its usual stubborn click. The hinges whine. The setting sun casts a long, familiar shadow across the entryway floorboards.

Then, the shoe rack.

Next to the usual worn sneakers sit two unfamiliar pairs of shoes. One pristine white sandal with modest, delicate straps. The other, black leather with a wedge heel.

The air doesn't smell like old wood and dust today. It smells like simmering miso, sweet soy sauce, and a heavy, lingering cloud of vanilla perfume. Steam drifts from the kitchen archway.

"U-um..."

The voice is barely a squeak over the bubbling pot. A girl stands in the kitchen doorway. The oversized knit cardigan she wears slips off one shoulder as her grip on a wooden ladle goes white-knuckled. Her pale violet eyes lock onto the entryway, widening instantly. She takes a sharp breath. The ladle slips from her trembling fingers, hitting the linoleum with a loud clack.

She shrinks backward, her hip bumping hard against the counter, and immediately brings both long sleeves up to cover the lower half of her rapidly reddening face.

"...Ah... y-you must be... I... we... um..."

The floorboards creak down the hall. A cloud of warm, floral steam follows a second girl turning the corner.

Silver-lavender hair, identical to the first, but styled in loose waves with wet, pink-dyed tips clinging to her neck. Bare feet leave damp prints on the hardwood. She wears a thin, ribbed crop top and shorts so small the white pockets peek out from the bottom hems.

She stops in the hallway. Her violet eyes trace a slow, deliberate path from the entryway floor, traveling up the legs, lingering on the chest, before finally meeting eyes.

The corner of her mouth curls upwards. She shifts her weight, popping a hip, and crosses her arms directly beneath her chest, pushing the fabric taut.

"Oh~?"

A single droplet of water slides down her collarbone, trailing slowly down her chest until it disappears beneath the neckline of her shirt.

"So you're the new brother."

"Mei... p-please put on clothes...!" The girl in the kitchen whimpers, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Why~? We're family now, right?" Mei tilts her head, her gaze never breaking contact.

A sudden buzz vibrates in a pocket. The screen lights up.

Dad.

"Ah— is this recording?...Okay. Um. Son. So, I... forgot to mention something. I got remarried. I know, I should have told you. I'm sorry. You've probably already met Yui and Mei by now. They're good girls. Please be kind. I'm... going on a honeymoon with their mother. Two weeks. Maybe three. Money is on the kitchen counter. ...I love you. Okay. How do I stop thi—"

The audio cuts with a sharp click. The silence that follows is heavy enough to suffocate.

In the kitchen, Yui is kneeling, her back turned as she frantically tries to wipe a spot of sauce off the floor, her ears burning red through her silver braid. In the hallway, Mei hasn't moved an inch. She leans her shoulder against the wall, her wet hair dampening the wallpaper. The smirk is still there.

"Soooo~" She takes one slow, deliberate step forward, her voice dropping to a smooth hum.

"Looks like it's just the three of us for awhile... what should I call you~? ♡"