After finishing the meal, the comforting warmth of satisfaction lingered, signaling that it was time to wind down for the day.
Hoshizora, perhaps feeling the same need for relaxation, excused herself and headed to the bathroom for a soothing bath. Meanwhile, I retreated to my own room, seeking a moment of solitude.
As I settled into my chair, I glanced around, my eyes finally landing on the desk where my computer sat. A faint hum greeted me as I powered it on, the glow of the screen illuminating the dimly lit space.
'What am I doing today?' I stared at the screen, lost in a moment of thought.
Tomorrow is Sunday, a day off, important homework is done, and it's okay to not do the little things. The part-time job report was also done, and I don't think they will call me tomorrow.
So it meant that I was free, free to do whatever I wanted.
"...Uhh." I put one hand under my chin and thought about what to do.
My interest in gaming and other similar activities has diminished since I started working a part-time job and my responsibilities at the student council increased.
Anime or novel? I can not feel anything new anymore because I am too exhausted from reading hundreds of them. These days, I simply do not like them as much.
"Hah…" A weary sigh escaped my lips as I stared blankly at the screen in front of me, its dim glow the only source of light in the otherwise darkened room. My mind drifted, heavy with irony.
How ironic... I used to complain about being so busy, wishing for just a sliver of free time to myself. And now, here I am, with nothing but time, yet no will to do anything. An empty void.
My fingers hovered above the keyboard aimlessly, tapping without purpose. The only thing occupying my thoughts now was the idea of having a conversation—one where I could dive into someone's world and listen to them talk about their passions, their interests, their spark.
"Hoshizora…" Her name slipped softly from my lips, almost like a whisper meant only for the night. The image of her lingered in my mind—a vision of beauty so ethereal it felt otherworldly.
I thought of her light blue hair and how it shimmered like the sky at sunset, soft and inviting. There was something magnetic about her presence—something that made my chest tighten just thinking about her.
I wasn't sure if it was admiration or something deeper, but one thing was clear—I kind of liked her.
Her name stayed on my tongue, a faint echo of longing, as I closed my eyes and let her memory fill the emptiness.
"Hmm, how about drawing?"
Yeah, let's draw her.
With a satisfied nod, I connected the drawing tablet to my computer and opened my go-to drawing software.
Setting the mood, I queued up my favorite music album, the rhythmic beats perfectly syncing with the flow of my creativity. The stage was set, and I dove right in.
My hands moved with surprising speed, a fluidity I hadn't experienced in a while. Every stroke seemed effortless, every idea flowing seamlessly onto the canvas.
There were no distractions—just me, the music, and the vivid images of her in my mind taking form.
Sketch after sketch filled the screen, lines hastily drawn and redrawn. Mistakes? They didn't matter.
An ugly or messy draft? No problem—I just splashed on some color and moved on.
The wrong shade? A quick swipe of the clear brush fixed it in seconds. Shadows were added with calculated swipes, textures softened with the blur tool, and all without hesitation.
Layers? Who needed multiple layers? They were a waste of time. I decided to forgo them in favor of raw, uninterrupted momentum.
Time melted away as I became engrossed in the process, every step drawing me deeper into my creative trance.
It wasn't until I paused to assess my progress that I realized something startling—most of the work was already complete.
The clock, however, told a different story. The hour was far later than I had anticipated, but I didn't mind. For the first time in ages, I felt truly in sync with my art.
But after the rush of inspiration, I felt really tired. It feels like all of the fatigue I have been suppressing suddenly bursts forth.
'Ugh, I need coffee.'
I could barely think straight. My head throbbed, and my body felt heavy. Coffee. I needed coffee. Urgently.
Oh, and maybe a shower—yes, that might help too.
With the grogginess of an addict chasing their next fix, I staggered to my feet, swaying slightly as I adjusted to the motion. My mind was set: I had to get coffee, no matter what.
Dragging my feet toward the door, I cursed myself for not keeping a stash in my room. It would have been so much more convenient, especially at times like this when I was barely functioning.
Reaching for the door handle, I froze as a sound broke through the haze—a light knock. The kind of knock I'd recognize anywhere.
Hoshizora.
My breath hitched. She couldn't see me like this—a disheveled mess who looked like they hadn't slept in days.
In a panic, I ran my fingers through my hair, smoothing it down as best I could. My hands fumbled to fix my rumpled clothes, tugging and straightening in a desperate attempt to look presentable.
My heart raced, caught between the urgency of my caffeine craving and the embarrassment of being caught off guard.
I steadied myself, took a deep breath, and said:
"Just open the door; I didn't lock it."
"...Yes." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as she gently pushed the door open.
My golden eyes immediately caught sight of Hoshizora, now standing before me in her casual wear.
She looked so different from her usual composed self, exuding a simplicity that made her all the more captivating. She wore a plain white, collarless T-shirt that clung just slightly to her frame, paired with a pair of short denim shorts.
The outfit, though modest, revealed her smooth, flawless thighs that seemed to glow under the soft light of the room.
Her shoulder-length blue hair was loose, still damp from her bath, the strands falling haphazardly in a way that gave her an unintentional charm.
From where I stood, I couldn't help but notice the gentle curves of her figure, accentuated by the way her shirt rested against her skin. My gaze lingered a second too long, inadvertently drawing my attention to how... well-endowed she was.
It hit me then—after her bath, she seemed even more radiant. That fresh, dewy glow only added to her natural beauty.
I had to admit, her body was stunning. But—no! I shook my head, dispelling the thoughts that threatened to spiral out of control.
'Stop thinking like this!' I scolded myself internally.
'She's your stepsister, for heaven's sake! You need to get your mind straight and focus on finding someone else.'
Yeah, I agree; it's a very bad idea. It's such a shame because Hoshizora is exactly the type of girl I like.
"What's wrong, Hoshizora?" Channeling my disappointment into my words, I let out a long sigh.
"Ah… I'm a bit sleepy right now."
Ah, so it was about the conversation we had this afternoon. My head is so empty right now that I forget.
Right, it should be close to eleven o'clock right now; being sleepy is normal.
"Alright, go ahead if you'd like," I said, my voice carrying a tone of indifference, my expression remaining neutral as I spoke.
Without waiting for any further response, I turned and made my way toward the door. Stepping outside, I paused briefly to place a Coffee Pod into the machine, the familiar hum of the machine beginning to stir as it prepared the brew.
Once the pod was securely in place, I shut the door behind me and moved toward the bathroom.
'She hasn't turned off the water heater yet? Oh, wait—of course. She doesn't know how to turn it on and off.'
A soft chuckle escapes me as I consider the thought. Or maybe she's just worried about me. After all, I've been the one to handle most of the practical matters around here. But still, it's worth contemplating.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, letting my thoughts settle. A young, handsome man gazes back at me—his silver hair falling neatly around his sharp features, the golden eyes gleaming with a hint of curiosity.
A faint, contented smile plays at the corners of my lips, as if I'm amused by my own musings.
Is it strange that I feel this way today? I almost feel… excited? It's a bit surprising, but at the same time, I can't say I dislike it.
Hoshizora's presence has brought a sense of happiness I hadn't expected. It's strange, really.
She doesn't speak much, hardly a word in most of our interactions, yet just knowing she's there—knowing I can be of some help to her—fills me with a warmth I hadn't anticipated.
She doesn't need to talk to me, not really. It's the act of being needed that feels so rewarding. Taking care of someone, protecting them—it's a sensation I've always craved.
Still, there's a small, nagging doubt in the back of my mind. Am I doing the right thing? Should I be pushing myself to take on this role? It's hard to say for sure.
"Hot baths are soothing, but cold baths have a sharper, more invigorating effect."
When I was done showering, I took a long, contented sip of the rich, intensely concentrated brew of boiling coffee that I had made.
As I stepped into the room, the comforting aroma of the coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the familiar hum of the computer.
There, standing in front of the glowing screen was Hoshizora. In her hands, she was holding a book: Remaking It All from Scratch—my favorite novel.
Surprised, I tilted my head slightly and, with a sense of curiosity, asked softly, "Did you read it too?"
"Ech..." Hoshizora let out a strange sound, quickly turning toward me and hiding the short novel behind her back.
I wondered why she seemed so embarrassed. Is liking a book weird by any standard?
I shrugged it off and took a sip of my black coffee, the strong, rich aroma filling the room. The gentle autumn breeze carried the scent toward Hoshizora, and I noticed her attention shift as she sniffed the air.
"Coffee?" She tilted her head curiously, stepping closer.
At this distance, I could clearly smell the soft fragrance of the shampoo she used, a hint of floral sweetness mixing with the scent of the coffee. It was a small thing, but it made the moment feel oddly close.
"Drink? It's still out there."
She shook her head slightly, her eyes glinting with an unreadable expression. "No, I'm just curious."
Her voice was soft, but there was a strange determination in her tone. Without warning, she stepped closer to me. My heart skipped a beat, unsure of what she was planning.
What is she thinking?
Before I could react, she raised her small, delicate hand and gently placed it against my face. Her touch was light, like a feather brushing against my skin, yet there was something incredibly intimate about it.
She moved them slowly, almost absentmindedly, swiping back and forth along my cheek, tracing the lines of my jaw with a soft caress. The sensation sent a strange shiver down my spine, and I felt a mix of confusion and embarrassment.
"What is this?" I asked, my voice faltering as I instinctively stepped back, trying to understand what was happening.
But she didn't answer. Instead, she looked at me with a mysterious smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes, and then, with a fluid motion, climbed into the bed as if nothing strange had occurred.
'What is she trying to do? This girl is completely unpredictable.' I sighed, feeling a sense of both amusement and confusion rise within me.
I shook my head and returned to my desk, attempting to focus on my work, but my mind kept wandering back to her curious actions.
But just as I put the pen on the tablet.
A soft giggle rang out from behind me and caught my attention. I turned around curiously and was met with her playful smile. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, like she was hiding some little secret that she couldn't wait to tease me about.
Why is she looking at me like that? Is it amusing to watch me draw?
"Did you draw those pictures?" she asked, her voice lilting with curiosity. She was sitting on my bed, legs crossed, her gaze fixed intently on my computer monitor.
It was then that a wave of realization hit me—I had forgotten to turn off my PC before leaving the room. My heart dropped into my stomach as the thought struck.
'Oh shit, she might think of me as a creep now.'
The sense of embarrassment washed over me like a tidal wave, my cheeks growing warm.
She saw it. She saw that drawing of her.
"Y-Yeah," I stammered, my voice unsteady and barely above a whisper. My hands fidgeted nervously at my sides as I avoided making direct eye contact.
"It was beautiful." She complimented me. Her words were filled with earnest and caught me by surprise.
"Wait, so you liked it?" I blurted, my eyes snapping up to meet hers, wide with disbelief and hope mingling in equal measure.
"Why wouldn't I like it? Your drawing of me is stunning," she said with a gentle smile that lit up her face, her eyes sparkling with warmth.
Her words struck me like a bolt of lightning, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. The sincerity in her voice felt surreal, as if this whole exchange was some kind of dream I didn't want to wake up from.
That was the first time anyone had ever complimented my art. Not just this painting—any painting. It wasn't surprising, really. I never shared my work with anyone, never posted it online, or showed it to friends.
My painting folder was a private sanctuary, a place where I poured out my thoughts and feelings, safely hidden from the world's judgment.
But this moment? This was different.
Her words felt like a key, unlocking a part of me I'd kept locked away for so long. It was nice—really nice—to be validated.
To know that someone saw something in my work, something that moved them enough to say it out loud. The warmth of her compliment lingered, a gentle buzz in my chest that I wasn't quite ready to let go of.
Damn, I really like her.