She tells me about running a popular art-and-fashion account while she does my makeup, and I stay very still and listen like a good not-boy. It sounds like a headache, following trends, finding popular sound clips, always thinking about how to present herself or where to take videos, but she's pleased as she explains the ins and outs of it to me. She even tells me her handle, so I can follow her: "coquetteviolette." Perfect for her.

I assumed she'd have a good chunk of followers if she wants to make it a career, but apparently she's well over three hundred k. No wonder she's getting brand deals. At eighteen, that's a lot of attention.

"You're so popular," I say when she pulls her hands back from my face. She sticks her tongue out as she shakes a bottle of white liquid eyeliner

"People like cute Asian girls. Though I get mistaken for Japanese or Korean a lot." She rolls her eyes.

"You'll have to bring me on, I can fill the Japanese niche."

She blinks at me, then squints. "I thought... you're Black? But I did notice your eyes."

"That's Jett's side of the family, my dad was his brother. My mom was Japanese. He never told you?"

"Why would he?"

"Dunno, bonding? 'Oh, my nephew's kinda Asian too'?"

"That's dumb. And are you even a nephew?"

That's what she gets stuck on? "There's not a good word for it, some people use 'nibling' for kids but that's a baby word. I don't mind gendered words here and there," I explain patiently. She seems open to learning, just airheaded, so I don't mind.

"Hmm, okay," she says, her eyebrows a little furrowed. She goes back to drawing eyeliner on me. After a long silence, she adds, "Somebody ought to think of a better one, though."

"I'll get on that," I say with a snort.

"No, it should be someone's job. Like in the government. Don't you think?"

"I can honestly say that had not occurred to me, no."

She hmms like I should really reconsider and returns to her work.

It's been almost thirty minutes now. She pauses now and then to rapidly do a part of her own makeup, a simple and clean touch up, so what's going on my face must be one elaborate design.

The next fifteen minutes bleed away from both of us, her pale face close to mine, squinting at lines and colors I can only imagine, before she draws back and her hands are all I can see.

There's something so intimate about the way she holds my chin, touches my mouth with a chunky lipstick pencil, traces a new shape around it. The blur of my mascara-elongated eyelashes interrupts the usual frame around my vision. As I feel myself becoming reformed, I truly understand the eroticism of Pygmalion's Galatea. Though I doubt Violette would recognize the reference.

"Do you speak any Japanese?" she asks me unexpectedly. It takes all my willpower not to start and jostle her. (She's dotting on me with the white eyeliner for reasons I could not name. I guess I'll see.)

"Yeah, plenty, but I'm rusty. Haven't been since my mom died. How about you?"

"I know a little Mandarin. Daddy's parents moved back, so we go sometimes, but I'm not good at studying."

"Take me with y'all sometime, maybe I can learn some. Languages are easy for me. I know some French too."

Violette stares at me intensely, and I'd flinch back from her silence if I didn't have my pride on the line. Did I say that too flippantly? Does she not want me to see that part of her life? Isn't making us a family that does things together what Jett and Eric are moving toward...?

"Sounds nice," she eventually says, releasing me from the racing of my thoughts. Thank god.

"Cool." I curve my reshaped mouth up for her.

"It's done, I think. You should tell me if you like it," she says, as if there was never any tension, as if she doesn't have me hanging on every word she says.

I swing my legs around the vanity chair, examine my new face in the halo of lights. It's bizarre, first off, to barely recognize myself. She's emphasized my cheek bones, added a light stripe of silver glitter and dots of white freckles over my nose, plus white mascara and tiny orbs, shaded like pearls, painted above the pointed corners of the black eyeliner--I think this is called a cut crease? I've never done it. It makes my eyes prominent, but still sharp. The dark gray eyeshadow she added is a nice touch. My mouth is a dusky rose around the expanded edges, then fades to a reddish pink, close to my real lip color, in the middle.

It's nothing I would do for myself, ever, but it does look amazing. Like some alien or fae version of me, something otherworldly.

"It's great, very artistic," I tell her.

"Don't move, I have to get lots of pictures," she orders. I wasn't going to, but now I'm frozen in place. Over my shoulder, I see her snapping photos, taking advantage of the mirror lights. Well. Should've expected that.

"You're not posting those, are you?"

"No, duh. I'm not telling them about you. They'd be weird."

"We are weird."

She taps me on top of the head with her phone. "So I definitely won't. Come on, I'll put setting spray on it, then we can go eat breakfast with Daddy. I'm hungry."

Food exists? Other people exist? Somehow, I'd forgotten. The only one who seems real right now is Violette. Before she can turn away, I grab her by the waist and squeeze her, hugging from the side so I don't smudge her beautiful work. She doesn't speak, puts her hand on top of my head and leans against me. We stay like that for a long time.

* * *

"Oran! Happy Saturday! So glad you stayed over! Y'didn't have to let her do you up like that, don't tell me she pushed you into it, I'll give her a talkin' to if I need to."

Back in the real world, outside of Violette's heady den, it turns out other people are indeed still real. Eric's in the kitchen, dressed in well-worn jeans, a t-shirt, and an orange flannel shirt that makes him look like a cozy boyfriend in a Christmas Hallmark movie, scaled up for size by at least 25 percent.

"No pushing, it was a great honor," I tell him with total sincerity.

"Ha, good to hear it, good to hear it. Now I'm makin' sausage and pancakes, you two just hold tight in the family room, Jett'll be down any minute. I must've tuckered him out last night, he was real sleepy this mornin'."

Violette giggles at that while I try not to raise my eyebrows. Oh, are we "joking about sex" close already? It hadn't been that hard to push him into drunken exhibitionism with my uncle, so I guess I shouldn't be shocked. On the other hand, Jett would definitely protest if he was present.

I actually have a few more questions for Eric, the sort I prefer to ask silently. I wave Violette off to the family room, cover for lingering by asking if I can make a cup of tea.

While waiting for the water to boil, I probe Eric's mind, finding his non-intoxicated thoughts a lot more organized. Like I saw last night, he doesn't have any clear memories of sleeping with Violette, but there's the murky, faded ones, and a faint awareness that it could happen again. Along with that is a feeling of... acceptance?

I find people's personalities effect how their thoughts skew, even their hidden ones, and Eric seems to put a positive spin on everything, even hardship. After all, his thoughts about Violette are cast in shining gold; to him, that's his perfect angel, even if it was hard to raise her as a teenager without a partner. I catch, just briefly, the hint of the woman who must be her mother, but that thought is slippery. He hates to think about her for even a moment.

I go back to his thoughts on Violette. I catch the idea of "needs," that she has them, that they have to be fulfilled. There's an erotic tinge to the idea, which is undoubtedly her intervention. I wonder how much of the way she lurks in every corner of his mind comes from her and how much was there all along. I couldn't hope to untangle it.

The kettle finishes boiling, and I pour it over a bag of orange-scented black tea that Eric grabbed for me. He's been talking to me this whole time, by the way, telling me how great it is that I let Violette style me, how smart Jett has said I am, how much he's looking forward to having me around, how good the pancakes will be. I made the appropriate polite responses, don't worry. The stuff with Violette where I'm not having one conversation with her mind and one with her mouth is much more difficult.

Anyway. I can't leave all the parental management to Violette, so I start dropping some thoughts like pebbles into the placid pond of Eric's mind.

Oran's such a good kid. Even better than I expected!

Of course they want to spend lots of time with Violette. It's good they're getting close right away.

Whatever they get up to with her, it's fine. She said she likes them!

That last thought makes one of his own dart out like a startled fish.

She does have needs. Maybe they can help.

I take a sip of my tea to cover my grin. Ah, what a useful and prescient idea to have, "Daddy," I think. I feed that little koi of a thought a good heaping of energy, until it grows large enough to swim to the forefront.

"Y'know, Oran," Erica begins, one of his large, strong hands clapping down on my shoulder, "Violette's a sweetheart, but she's too shy to keep friends outside of her phone. It's good you're gettin' to know her. Take care of her, ya hear?"

"Of course, I can do that," I say, innocent as anything. "Speaking of, I'm fine with moving in, would've been a while ago if Jett had mentioned it. I don't know what he was so stressed about."

"Aw, he's a bit of a worrier, but I'm trying to train it outta him!" Eric says with a laugh, smacking at my back a few times. Oof. I cough on my tea, straighten up to try to avoid any more surprise attacks, reassure him I'm fine.

I'm grateful for the thick layer of makeup to hide any flush that rises to my cheeks. Is this Violette's influence? I hate that he looks sexier than yesterday. Watching him manhandle my uncle was kind of hot, but what Jett said was true, bears are not my type! They're not! So tell that to my mind lingering on the outline of his cock in his jeans last night.

Ugh. I gotta get out of this kitchen.

I scoot away with my cup of tea, though I don't have the luxury of escaping him entirely, as the kitchen smoothly transitions into the family room. It's not the same as the living room, the more formal space sitting-and-talking space where Violette and I were last night. This room is more TV-focused, with multiple armchairs, a plush couch, and a fireplace. Eric must have envisioned a full future for himself when he built such a spacious house. If he were a more complicated guy, I might think he's trying to fill a hole by having us move in, but... I think he genuinely loves Jett, and just wants his closest family (me) to be part of that. It's almost stupidly wholesome, and someone who isn't me would be racked with guilt about taking advantage of it, I'm sure.

It's hard to feel bad when I see Violette at the corner of the couch leaning against a throw pillow, on her phone again. She scrolls down an endless waterfall of reels and posts, brief flickers of music bursting out whenever she lingers. Her outfit is more casual than yesterday's, a blue cotton dress that's ruched around her small chest, a pale pink cardigan with heart buttons buttoned over it, and white socks with lace around the edges on her calves. I check that Eric's turned his back to us to focus on his pan full of pancakes, then lean down and press a kiss to her cheek.

"You're a brat, you know that?" I murmur into her ear.

"Why?" Her scrolling doesn't stop.

"Your little comments about your dad last night are still affecting me."

"So?" She sounds pleased with herself. I want to kiss her again, on the mouth this time, wipe some of her beautiful work off on her plump lips.

"I'd rather see what you look like with him. Show me later?"

She puts her phone down in her lap and glances over her shoulder at Eric, shifts her gaze back to me.

"You really want to? You won't get jealous?"

"Maybe I will. I'll have to do something about that."

Her legs squeeze together at that. Her face may not give away a lot of emotion, but her body shouts.

"Okay."

I slide onto the couch next to her, quiet the urge to put my arm over her shoulder. We'll get there. Eric's halfway already, and breaking Jett's hangups might as well be a bonding activity. Then there's Violette herself. Would she like my arm wrapped around her possessively? If not, I have to get her there.

"Why don't you show me your favorite accounts?" I say at a normal volume, breaking our bubble of secrecy. Violette picks up her phone again, eyes bright, and nods.

* * *

"I was surprised you stayed the night. You two've gotten close so quickly," Jett comments over breakfast, his plate of two chicken sausage and two small pancakes, quite humble next to the stacks Eric and Violette have on their plates. I'm in the middle again with a normal amount, apparently the only person who's heard of moderation without asceticism.

I open my mouth to say something snarky in reply--he just does that to me--but Violette cuts me off.

"We're super compatible." Her voice rings in my ears, feels true enough that my mind doesn't take it as an order. Jett, on the other hand, puts a hand on his forehead, leans over his plate for a moment.

"Compatible? Well, that's... a relief, I think..." he manages.

"It's good," she agrees. "Daddy thinks it's good too."

"'Course I do, honey. It's great you two are gettin' on so well."

Oh, well, if Daddy says so. Internally, I roll my eyes, but Eric's agreement does make Jett relax, so I acknowledge her strategy. My uncle doesn't even want to resist the combined attack of his boyfriend and his doe-eyed daughter. If I was the one making suggestions, he'd be struggling the whole way.

At least Eric's easy to control. If Violette wants to show off for me, I can do the same, in my own way. As I slice and stab through my pancakes, I start digging up some of the memories Violette's buried deep inside Eric, restoring them to glorious color and sound, reshaping their narrative into something cohesive so his mind can digest it.

Here's the story as he remembers it:

Violette had always been so precious, but as she got older and turned into a creature of short skirts, pink cheeks, and eager hips, he really hadn't known what to do with her. He'd caught her with her hand under her skirt as bold as brass in the family room, at the dinner table, even in his bed. When he'd told her to stop, she'd begged for him with her legs wide open instead, and then what was he supposed to do? He'd fucked her, and didn't regret it once he had, considering how satisfied she'd been, how pleased. Who wouldn't want her after that? He'd do it again any time she asked, and sometimes on his own when the urge overtook him first. It was perverse, certainly, but compelled him nonetheless. Filling her needs was their dirty little secret.

While I moved the timeline of some incidents around, a lot of that story was true to what I could excavate. I just smoothed over the bumps, like the unnaturalness of his attraction to her, his alarm and concern when she first started flirting with him, the guilt at committing the act in all its variations.

His new reality slots in comfortably next to more mundane things: his solidifying plans to propose to Jett, ideas about hiring movers to get us set up in the house sooner rather than later. The human mind is incredible at compartmentalizing. Our sickest desires can live as close neighbors to our hearts, share fences with them. I suppose that's how people murder for love.

I'm not sure why Violette wiped Eric's memories--if I had to guess, his escalating romance with Jett was part of it--but won't she be surprised when she tries to fulfill my request later? He'll be so receptive, might even take the lead.

The amount I'm looking forward to it surprises me. It may sound odd, but I wouldn't say I have a fetish for this sort of thing. Jett was a convenient target for my early experiments, and the way he reacted made the whole thing more interesting, but it wasn't like I sought him out because he was my uncle. My feelings for my deceased parents were entirely normal. If anything, my resentment for Jett trying to make us more like family made it easier to violate him.

So, the stuff with Eric and Violette, it does feel fucked up. But she makes fucked up look so hot, why not enjoy it? He isn't my dad.

I never imagined someone I could tell all my secrets to, even the darkest desires, but here she is. Something about the black hole behind her eyes makes all my defenses crumble. We can be fucked up together.

Take me down with you, I think as I watch her suck syrup off her fork, certain that she will.

* * *

In the afternoon, after Violette and I have been shoulder to shoulder on the couch for hours swapping videos and posts that makes us laugh (it's really comfortable), she insists she wants me to stay for another sleepover. It's a Saturday, so how could any of us disagree? With that in mind, she says that Jett should go get some of my things.

It's funny to send him away for my stuff, but Eric and Jett don't seem to question it. Coming out of Violette's sweet mouth, it's oh-so-convincing.

While Eric and Jett talk in the garage about dinner plans and any errands Jett should run while he's out, I slide my hand up Violette's thigh to find the well-stoked furnace underneath her skirt. From the way she'd been fidgeting for the last hour, I knew it'd be like this. This girl gets more turned on just sitting around than anyone I've ever met.

"Don't," she complains as my hand presses against her panties. I don't stop, and she parts her legs for me to better cup the burning mound there. "It got bad."

"Poor thing. I'll tell your dad I'm going to help Jett, you just reinforce that so he doesn't notice me. In the meantime, go upstairs and wait for him."

"My room or his?" She's rubbing against my hand as she asks it.

My mind flickers between the two tantalizing options, watching Violette get plowed in her gauzy pastel rainbow bed or in the bed Eric and Jett share?

I squeeze my hand on her, feel her shudder at the pressure. "His." Second one probably has more room for me to get close to her.

She gasps when I pull my hand away, reaches out like she might grab it back, but ultimately lets me go.

"Bye," I say with a wink as I get up.

"You're a tease," she accuses, pouting at me.

"I'm giving you everything you want and then some," I say with a laugh as I go to catch Eric and Jett. I hear the soft, slick sound of her touching herself as I leave.