Violette keeps teasing Christy for a while after that, so long in fact that I'm content to tap out before the two of them are finished. I'm not exactly jealous of how many times Violette likes to make Christy orgasm, but I imagine it'd be fun to receive that much attention. Call that pussy privilege. I think my dick would fall off if I let Violette have her way with me as thoroughly as Christy.

Instead of sitting and watching them the whole time, I go downstairs to eat dinner with Eric and Jett at the small kitchen table. The muffled sounds of the two girls going at it upstairs are mostly drowned out by the home design program on TV in the living room that someone (Jett) has left with the volume up.

"Violette's, um, friend, is having a nice time, then," Jett says as I sit down with a steaming plate of saucy stir-fried chicken and vegetables with a side of brown rice. Good stuff, and a typical weeknight dinner around here. I'm sure Eric's responsible, although Jett probably made the rice.

"Her half sister," I remind him. We didn't share the professor bit. Needless complication.

Jett grimaces around a spoonful of rice before swallowing. "Yes, you mentioned. One of hers..."

We exchange a glance of shared disdain at the mention of Lily. Jett doesn't have a hold on all of it, but he recalls the gist of the nightmare fantasy she trapped us in for those two days. He certainly remembers enough.

"But Christy's a sweetheart, especially in comparison to Lily," I say. He'll do his anxiety thing if I don't reassure him.

"I would certainly hope so," he says.

Eric shakes his head and forks a piece of broccoli. "S'not fair you two know more about her now than I do. I only saw her a few times, y'gotta tell me some of this stuff."

"Eric, do you really want me to?" Jett asks. The worried crease between his eyebrows, the only real wrinkle he has at his age, depeens. The realization that he had more when he was my guardian, faint lines around the eyes and mouth, hits me like a sniper shot. He's not the only one who's happier this time around. That feels more complicated than I'd like.

"Nah, you got me! Bet that's why I can't remember a thing!" Eric says with a laugh. "The only good thing she ever did for me was make Violette, so that's all I need to know."

Though I'm not prying too deep, I can tell he believes what he said. Honestly, I should've realized there's something supernatural about Eric's robustness, the way trauma rolls off of him like water off a polar bear. Ignorance is a powerful variety of bliss. Not the kind I would choose, but if it works for him...

"The important thing is, she was bad news, but she's gone now!" I say, leaning into Eric's choice. I sense that Jett considers saying more, but he holds onto silence instead. With the wedding soon, they have enough to worry about.

I continue, "Speaking of siblings, I'm looking forward to meeting yours, Eric. And the rest of the family."

"Ah, well, just hope y'all get along." Eric sounds unusually awkward, so this time I eavesdrop on his thoughts.

Bo-Wen will be himself, Sheena should be fine, and Eileen--who knows with her.

Names I've learned from Violette. Their faces stared back from somewhat faded photobooks dedicated to her childhood that she showed me. Her family took old-school albums seriously, and there was a stack of them documenting her sprouting from a round, fat bean into a beautiful young lady. She pouted when I admitted there were no such albums in my family for her to flip through. My mom was too busy and unsentimental, and my dad is more of a words guy.

From what Violette told me, I know that Bo-Wen is the oldest, the doctor, and the cream of the crop. He was born in Shanghai but went to college here, and has lived a number of places, including the US and China, since then. He was busy with college when Violette was born, so he only appeared in a few photos. In them, he's tall and thin, with a straight mouth and angular cheekbones. I'd rate him a C- for smiling, but Violette doesn't smile much either, so he might be a warm person for all I know. "Being himself" could be anything.

Sheena, who I've also heard called Xinyi, is the second oldest. I think Violette said she's a manager at some US company? She was also in college when Violette was born, but she showed up in more photos than Bo-Wen, smiling broadly for the camera. Maybe her major allowed more time at home, or she's a bigger fan of babies than her older brother. Either way, I give her an A for superlative smiles, even if she's otherwise plain. Her short haircut and narrow eyes don't remind me much of Violette, but her round cheeks definitely do; Eric's too. I'm glad Eric thinks she'll like me just fine.

Skipping over Eric, who was the last one born in China, there's Eileen--American born and raised. She's the youngest, and dare I say the prettiest. She's the only one of Eric's siblings who actually lived in this house at any point. The spare bedroom that I once moved into was hers.

Eileen was only eleven in the pictures where Violette was a newborn. At first, she didn't look thrilled about holding Violette, but as they grew closer as they aged. That's straight from Violette, but I could see it in the photos too. I remember one that showed a teenage Eileen giving a stony-faced Violette a fancy new doll for her fifth birthday. In the next photo, Violette was hugging the doll so tight it looked like it might snap in half.

Apparently, Eileen still sends Violette expensive birthday presents: designer handbags, sunglasses, scarves, that sort of thing. Whether that equals being a likeable person or not, I couldn't say, and Eric can't either, I suppose. Nevertheless, Violette speaks fondly of her when she comes up.

Too fondly. I'm not stupid. Violette barely knows her cousins (Bo-Wen and Sheena each have kids) and only sees them every few years. If she's going to get inappropriate with anybody on this trip, it's going to be her most familiar aunt. In fact, I suspect she sees Christy, who's almost the same age, as a warm up.

I'm half dreading, half anticipating whatever game she wants to play with Eileen. I know she'll make it fun, I just hope I don't embarrass myself.

That's when I realize Eric and Jett are looking at me curiously.

I let myself totally zone out while I examined Eric's thoughts and my own memories. See, this is what I'm fucking talking about! Old me had the conversational juggling thing down. Ugh.

"Sorry, just trying to remember everything Violette's told me about your family and spaced out there," I say with a forced laugh.

"I don't blame you, there's a lot of 'em to remember!" Eric says. Kind as ever. "If you feel overwhelmed, go off with Violette or, I dunno, come hang out with us! I can probably fend 'em off with my husband-to-be rights."

"Don't say that. As the couple, I'm sure the hubbub will be worse around us," Jett says, looking queasy at the thought.

"Darn, I hadn't thought of that." Eric sighs and hangs his head at having failed me, but he perks up soon after. "Just stick to Violette then! She's better at talkin' than she thinks, and they all know she's shy, so they're soft with her."

Christy makes a particularly pronounced squeal upstairs, and the three of us glance up at the ceiling.

"Yeah, real shy," I say.

"Well, y'know how she gets," Eric says.

Jett clears his throat and nods with a stoic face. He escapes a lot of teasing by barely showing when he's blushing, but I know.

He always blushed so good for me. Even when I couldn't see it, I could feel it. He couldn't stop me or my hands on his face and throat, my fingers in his mouth.

Okay, okay, christ, I get it, memories. We're eating dinner.

What're you afraid of? What're you afraid of? What're you afraid of? What're you afraid of? What're you afraid of?

Obviously, me!

I stand up abruptly, even though I haven't finished my plate. Eric and Jett exchange a glance, which makes me want out of the room even more.

"Sorry, gonna go check on them, be right back."

The ghosts are rattling their chains more than usual today. I make a point to walk around the spot I once left Jett in a heap on the floor, his memories bleeding out of him while rage ate me inside like a wildfire. He talked about what my dad would want. My dad wouldn't want me to hate him like I used to, but nobody grows up just the way their parents expect, do they?

* * *

Putting some distance between myself and the things that are complicated helps. Upstairs, Violette's world is pastel-tinged, even though the guest bed is a mess and smells like sex, and only one of the girls I left behind is still conscious.

"How's Christy?" I ask.

Violette, who's naked, flushed, mussed, and absolutely gorgeous for all of it, looks at Christy for a long moment, then says, "She passed out."

I laugh and walk over to her, leaning in for a kiss. It's musky. "Yeah, I could tell."

"Are you okay?" She touches my face with warm, slightly damp fingers. Funny that she can tell when I'm off, considering how KY (not the lubricant) she is most of the time.

I hesitate. Even when we first met, I wanted to tell her every feeling I had, felt like I needed to--like if I poured all of it into the void inside her, it would eventually overflow and love would pour back out. But I know better now: Violette's not an empty vessel, and she already loves me. In some ways, that makes it harder to talk to her. She's mine, but that means I have something very important to lose.

What's the worst thing that could happen if you lie to her?

Good point.

"Stuff got weird with Jett. It's really a tangle in my head sometimes, and he's the worst part," I tell her, honestly.

"Because you feel different?"

"Yeah."

She nods and puts her arms around my shoulders. From her position at the edge of the bed, we're just about eye to eye. "I hate him right now because he's hard to paint, but I get it. We could stop?"

"I don't want to hold you back. And I still have all these thoughts about it, and so does Jett, so what's the point? But I feel..."

"Guilty?"

I make a face at that word. I hate how apt it is. "You liked it better when I didn't give a fuck."

"I liked it. Not better."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Don't you ever want 'them' back?"

"No. I want you."

She makes it sound so simple. If only I were as neat and tidy. She seems to sense this as she pulls me in to kiss her again. I'm enough of a sicko that I don't mind that she tastes like Christy still, so--that's something.

"Can I help?" she asks when we break apart.

"I'm not sure? I mean, you could probably make me exactly how I was--"

"No."

I snicker and press my forehead against hers, and she catches the mood and giggles too, our breath mingling in the space between us. Sometimes, I wish I could live my whole life in that space. Everything would be so much easier.

"Okay, Miss Bossy, let me finish," I say, "You could, but I don't really want to go back either. But maybe you could tell me to follow my instincts more? To care, like, thirty percent less?"

"I can. Do you want to lie down?

"Yeah. It'll be big, won't it?"

She makes room for me to lay my head on her lap, which is sort of awkward with Christy snoozing to the side of me, but I make do. I haven't watched much anime, kodomomuke shows when I was little and a few big shonen my dad said I "had" to know about (aka shows he liked), but it was enough to know you should never turn down the opportunity to put your head on a cute girl's lap.

"How should I word it?" Violette asks as she sets her hand on top of my hair, her fingers running over some of the curls carefully. She's put a lot of effort into learning how to play with my hair without messing it up.

"Oh, so I gotta do the hard part, huh?" I wink at her to show her I am kidding. Sometimes she needs a visual cue.

"I'll order you to get stupid if you don't watch out."

"Noooo, anything but that. We can't both be bimbos."

She sticks her tongue out. I return the gesture, then close my eyes, trying to visualize the perfect phrasing. There won't be a monkey's paw involved, will there? At least I know that Violette's intent matters to her orders, and she doesn't want to warp me. Much.

"Well?" she asks.

I open my eyes, and we go around for a couple minutes while I give her some suggestions, but not the exact wording.

In the end, I say, "I think you'll get it right. I trust you."

She tips her head back and forth like she's uncertain, but she sighs and gives in a moment later. The darkness around her mind expands outward, yawning and deep like a whale's maw, as she summons her strength. I shut my eyes again, not out of fear, but readiness.

"Okay. I order you to stop worrying so much and go after what you want, but not so much that you lose yourself. Just the right amount," she says.

The words fall on me like a thousand pieces of hail localized entirely to my brain. I have a self, but why couldn't it change, if battered with enough tiny pebbles? I was different once, and will be different again, in ten years, in twenty. Why not be different now? Be her different?

In the midst of the subsequent shattering and repair, I hear one more order, not that she needed to give it:

"But, stay my Oran, no matter what."

* * *

I hope I used the right words. It's nice that Oran trusts me so much, it makes me happier than I can explain to them, but it's scary too. If they changed in a way that pushed us apart or made them unhappy, I'd feel sick. I know I have my mom's abilities now, and she was so old and big and strong that she's in books from a thousand years ago, but it's not like inheriting that stuff made me smarter.

In fact, when I went back in time (or made a new time, whichever) my brain got kid-like again. I remembered things, but I felt like I was twelve. It was weird, but because I was a kid, I just accepted it and waited. After I hit puberty and got my desires back, my memories felt more natural, and then it was more like I was the same me. It was like turning the lights on at midnight, including the blinking stage where you can't see much afterward. I got it eventually.

A few months ago, they said that I seem more mature, and maybe that one's true? That's probably from the extra six years of awareness. Even if they didn't make me smarter, they made me more experienced. But I didn't say that, in case they thought about it too much.

I like that they think a lot, but they do think too much sometimes.

I can tell they're processing my orders as they shiver and breathe heavier for a few minutes. Then, they open their eyes and look up at me. They never passed out! I help them sit up right away.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yeah... Great, actually! Like I was hanging crooked and you straightened me out." They flex their arm, which is very silly because they do not have muscles, but instead of laughing I squeeze them tight.

In the past, I hated when I'd overdo it on accident and then they'd joke around and do their charming thing to try to make me forget. I wouldn't, but I let them think it worked, because the sadness was too hard to talk about. I wanted them to think of me as cute and sexy, not sad.

I wish I could tell them how glad I am that they are who they are, that their new softness makes me feel like we could make more than just trouble together, but my mouth doesn't open. That's how it is sometimes. I let the words go and take their hands instead.

"You want dinner?" they ask. "I kinda bailed halfway through, I should dip back in. I can grab some for you."

Food is much easier to talk about.

"Christy too," I say. "I'll wake her up."

"Ha, sure. She'll need it after the workout you gave her." They hop off the bed and give me one more kiss. "'Kay, wait for me, princess."

I let them go with a little smile, glad to see them full of energy again.

"Always," I promise.

* * *

The stair railing slides electric under my fingertips, charging me with static, as I descend the stairs two steps at a time.

I wanted Violette to trust her gut, and I like the results. I feel about one-third insane after what she did, but I think it's in a good way.

Worry less. Go after what I want. But stay me.

Good orders. And if that is the princess's directive, it is but my humble duty to obey!

I buzz into the open space that is the family room and kitchen feeling like I could vibrate through the molecules of the floor if I tried. Strange, to see Jett and Eric still sitting there along with my plate of food. It hasn't been fifteen minutes, it's been days! Months! I've had so much character development!

"Y'all good up there?" Eric asks casually, not sensing anything has changed. He's done with his food, but the two of them were chatting about something I didn't catch when I came in. The wedding, I assume.

"Are you all right, Oran?" Jett asks. No surprise he'd be the one to catch my mood. He once had to set his days around them.

"Oh, everything is fine. Violette just wants dinner for her and her guest. Is there enough left over for her... Daddy?" I say it as I lean over the back of the chair I was sitting in before, cocking a grin at him.

Wait, wait, wait, is this going after what I want? Violette! Did you do something?!

But then, a beat behind my second thoughts, it gets exactly the reaction I hoped for.

Jett draws up to full-height like a threatened owl, and Eric rubs at the back of his neck while grinning, though not without some bashfulness. He likes getting called that, but he cares about Jett's feelings, so it's complicated.

"I don't think it's necessary to--" Jett starts, but then I swoop over to Eric and hug his side, prompting Eric to drop his large arm and wrap it around my shoulder. My ex-boyfriend gave firm hugs like this; I miss them. Bonus points for the sight of my cheek on Eric's pectoral muscle making Jett splutter and lose his train of thought.

"But Violette likes it, and, y'know, it's fun," Eric says to Jett, his voice placating. He pats my head. I wink at Jett, who swipes his glasses off his face and starts cleaning them on the hem of his sweater. An excuse not to look at me getting cuddly with his fiancé.

"Be that as it may," Jett begins, in that tone of his where I know I need to stop him before he lectures me for half an hour.

"You wanna watch him fuck me later and see how much you mind it?" I say, cocking my head to side.

Jett opens his mouth and closes it. He puts his glasses back on. His arm muscles tense like he is clenching his hands, the actual motion hidden by the edge of the table.

"Fine," he says.

"Great, then it's a plan!" Eric thumps me on the back enthusiastically like he's just agreed to coach my little league team--and I will be catching.

A shiver runs through me, both in anticipation and a little fear. Not about doing it; it's not even the first time this lifetime, thanks to Violette's nudges. The fear comes from how easy it was to initiate it, just because I wanted to tease Jett.

Ah well. Worry less, right?

He's the one who needs to worry.

* * *

With all of her needs satisfied, Christy's about as reserved as she gets as we say goodbye.

When I went up earlier, she was embarrassed about falling asleep but accepted the plate of dinner I brought her gratefully. It's always awkward to talk with her when she's so normal, so we mostly sat in silence.

"Sorry again for acting a tad silly," she says as I open the door for her. Her hands worry on the strap of her purse, and her nervous posture makes the minidress she wore over look more like a borrowed garment than her own.

"We know you'll miss us. It's okay, " Violette says. "I'll visit when you're asleep sometimes, if you want?"

Christy's eyes sparkle at that, but she quickly tamps down the expression with a more dignified one. "I'll look forward to it. Please have a good vacation!"

Once she's gone, I turn to Violette.

"So, I kinda made a date with your dad and Jett later tonight, if you wanna be there."

Judging by the way she lights up, I might as well have told her we're making a stop at Disney World.

* * *

Eric's house has two stories, but in a way the first floor has two sides to it.

The front, where the large windows of the dining room and living room open onto a yard that curves upward toward the steeet, is easily shut off from the back for privacy. Because of the hill, the back of the first floor is elevated higher than other neighbors' windows and surrounded by tall trees. Unless someone climbs the three sets of wooden stairs up to the back deck, there's no way to see inside. It makes the family room and kitchen feel almost like a tree house, hidden away above the rest of the world.

But try telling that to Jett, who goes around pulling down all the curtains while I sit on his boyfriend's lap.

"I think you're fussin' a little bit much, honey," Eric tries to say, but Jett sets his mouth in a firm line, shakes his head, and continues his task.

"Worrywart," I say under my breath to Eric, who chuckles. The vibrations of the sound are deep and pleasant against my back. He's not hard, but both of us are aware of how easy it would be for me to change that.

"Go easy on him, he means well," he murmurs.

He puts a hand on my stomach, pushing my sweater up to get a taste of my skin. I welcome it, though a part of me still feels embarrassed to let him feel me up in front of Violette and Jett. I need to relax. Taking a deep breath, I open my mind, letting Eric's thoughts bleed into mine.

His mind is just as much a metaphor as anyone else's, a bowl of sweetness I can swim in: heaping pots of shiruko, tapioca pudding, dòuhuā, or oatmeal with lots of maple syrup.

Jett's just fretting, right? He always frets, then he likes it, and Violette too, and everyone has fun, so...

Everyone has so much fun, it must be all right, I conclude for him.

He would've gotten there on his own, but I can speed it up.

Yeah. And it's natural to think they're hot? They're like...

I enjoy a montage of skinny guys Eric has been interested in, lithe twinks at the gym or, once in a while, dancers at a club when a friend talked him into going. Violette and Eric have the homebody thing in common, even though one is a chatterbox and the other's reserved. They're both nest-builders, content to stay home once they have the right people there.

I'm part of the nest, I think to myself.

Or maybe I thought it for Eric? His abundant positivity has a certain lethean effect, erroding away my sense of direction.

Eric glances over from his armchair to where Violette is on the couch, her eyes bright with interest. Jett has taken the other end of the couch, and he's watching us too, though he darts them away when Eric makes eye contact.

Eric's hands keep moving over me as he smiles at Jett. Now he's getting hard, giving me something to rub against.

Jett's so cute. Why won't he admit when he likes something like this? It's not that weird, right? Even if I say another guy out in public that he looked at first is handsome, it takes him forever to admit he agrees. I don't get jealous about that sorta thing, but he's always gotta be so proper. It does make him cuter when the walls go down. Man, I wanna kiss him. Gotta save it for later.

Hey. I'm not the only one who gets caught up thinking about my beloved when somebody else should be my main focus, huh? However, I can cheat and find out and draw all that sweetness back to me right where I want it.

"Daddy, please," I say, my hips pushing back against his dick.

I feel the pleasant jolt of friction for him and the tantalizing pressure for myself. Tapping into his mind like this is a dangerous game of doubling pleasure. Easy to get lost in it.

"I gotcha," he says, taking the initiative to pull my sweater over my head.

Always thought she'd grow outta calling me that, but I guess it just changed. Different when they do it, somehow...

That's because I stole it, obviously. Violette had a genuine claim to the term, twisted as her use of it is. I'm just gay.

Speaking of Violette, as I strip the rest of the way and Eric unzips his jeans, I hear one of my favorite things--the slick sound of Violette's fingers working away between her thighs. A quick glance shows me Jett is not doing the same, but we'll get there. What kind of worm would he be if he didn't jerk off to getting cucked by his nephew?

First time I've thought of him that way in a while. Might be dangerous.

Eric distracts me by nudging me forward so he can reach my ass. It's with an almost unbearable amount of clarity that I feel his lubricated finger press against my hole and push past the barrier. My own fault for staying so connected to his thoughts, but I'm into it, the sensation of his fingers from each of our perspectives as he works me open. I hold onto the arm of his oversized chair and sigh as his attraction pours over me like hot rain during tsuyu.

When he find his work satisfactory, his hands are firm as he tugs me back to his cock, letting me feel it but ultimately leaving me in control of dropping my hips down. I lean back against his stomach and breathe out slowly.

"You feelin' good?" he asks into my ear.

I shiver and nod. With a sigh, I ease the tension in my legs and sink down on his dick.

Just relax. Give in to it.

A thought shared between us. Eric takes this to mean he can go ahead and fuck me like he wants, and we meet in the middle, our bodies slotting together perfectly. He makes a low noise while I go high. Envisioning the rhythm I want him to take, I feed it to him. He obliges without question, forcing a gasp out of me.

That part is my favorite, when they act just how I want without knowing it.

I look over at the couch with half-lidded eyes as Eric thrusts into me. Jett has his hand around his dick while Violette has. moved close to him so she can whisper secrets, not meant for me, in his ear. He visibly jumps when she grabs his wrist so she can stroke him herself, but then he sinks back with a groan of acceptance. She likes playing with him as much as I do. It's the reactions, you know?

"Pay attention, kiddo," Eric says in my ear, startling me. His hand wraps around my cock and drags a moan out of me as my cheeks start burning. "I don't mind sharin', but you're mine right now."

God! Fuck! I can't believe he "kiddo'd" during sex; I might die from embarrassment next time he calls me that in a normal context. Eric, please, I'm twenty! Why was it hot?!

It doesn't help that I hear Violette giggling. It's with that burst of emotion and the tight stroking of Eric's hand that I cum in his hand, all my thoughts on him, just like he wanted.

* * *

It's early in the morning, and I just happened to wake up and catch Reed's messages.

I put my phone back on the sidetable and lay down next to Violette again, chuckling softly at the mental image of Christy deleting her Tinder account as soon as we released her back into the world with strict instructions to behave. Could Violette be visiting her right now? I touch her back and content myself with falling asleep to the sound of her gentle wheezing. If she wants me in her dreams, I'll find myself there.

All I have to do is wait for her.