Chapter Text
First Encounters
Clarke and I first met when I was 17.
It was a sweltering day in mid-August. I had turned 17 in July and she will turn 15 in October—impressionable ages for us both.
The woman sitting next to my large-framed father appeared unusually delicate in contrast to his size.
The moment our eyes met—her eyes as blue as the sky—I realized something. Her consciousness ensnared me like a spider's web, captivating me completely. An excessive awareness emanated from her composed face that resembled her mother's. The mask she wore was so perfect that only I, the target of her attention, could detect it.
"You two are going to get along great," my father said.
They were riding that marriage high, I suppose. The soon-to-be-wed couple smiled as they introduced us—soon-to-be stepsisters. They completely missed the chemistry that happened between us—between the strangers we were before becoming sisters. The signs that were clear only in that first moment were cleverly hidden as time passed, slipping behind the scenes and lying dormant.
That's how we were molded into our roles.
Because we started as strangers.
Forced into a mold, highlighting an artificial perfection.
My feelings were quickly hidden, sealed away.
But I knew.
She possessed the same thoughts.
Our first kiss happened when Clarke asked for a reward after getting a perfect score on a test.
The next was after she played a piano piece flawlessly during her lesson.
Then when she set a class record in track.
And when she got accepted to the same high school as her "excellent stepsister."
The "rewards" gradually lost their pretense.
It became: because her hair looked nice, or because the tea leaves stood upright in her cup. Because she didn't hit any red lights on her way home. Because "big sister's lips feel good, so it can't be helped."
Despite being teenagers, our kisses remained surprisingly chaste—just lips touching lips.
Or maybe it was precisely because we were teenagers. There was a hesitation about the unknown.
It was a precarious balance. One that could collapse with the slightest disruption.
"This is Japan. Japanese people don't kiss this much," I muttered with feigned discontent.
Clarke scoffed.
"Mockery isn’t the product of a strong mind, little sister."
"You're the one who's concerned, big sister."
"I have entrance exams coming up."
That was an excuse. Toward the end of sophomore year, I didn't really need to buckle down yet. My grades were still comfortably in the upper ranks.
The study chair—designed for elementary schoolers—creaked in protest under my too-large body.
Clarke's arms wrapped around my neck from behind the backrest, her chest pressing against my nape.
I thought of ripe fruit. The thought itself was inappropriate.
"Sis..."
"...You call me that in this situation?"
My complaints were silently dismissed.
Clarke's cool hand slipped inside my shirt, stretching the collar.
My objections continued to be ignored.
Her touch was exquisitely restrained, fingers sliding along my collarbone before retreating.
Exquisitely restrained, yet deliberately provocative.
I turned my head, lifting my chin slightly.
She understood the gesture perfectly.
My stepsister's thin lips met my fuller ones.
I loved these lips that I could easily consume with my mouth.
Something was wrong with me.
This was our secret.
When suppression threatened to shatter our family mold, we both stopped resisting. Together.
Somehow, we still fit inside the framework.
But the distortion was merely pushed aside, rendered invisible.
Far from platonic. Just not crossing the final line.
Or rather, unable to cross it.
Only the fear of the unknown consequences of crossing that line kept us tethered in place.
A heated sigh escaped.
My sister's lips pulling away left me feeling empty.
A simmering sensation climbed up my spine, making me squeeze my eyes shut from the painful frustration.
"Hurry up and go to college, sis."
Looking at me with knowing dark eyes, she made me restrain myself.
"...It's not that easy to visit."
I loaded that statement with implications, hoping she would exercise restraint too.
Clarke formed a crooked smile.
And again we consumed each other's lips.
"We'll be at the same school come April," she whispered between giggles during a breath.
"Just for one year though."
I tried to act cool despite my happiness, but my softening cheeks betrayed me.
Clarke's lips were like sweet poison.
When they poured their thick nectar into my mouth, I'd surrender everything to bliss.
"Lexa, Clarke, lunch's ready!"
My mother's shout made us flinch like children caught misbehaving.
The bare soles of my feet absorbed the coldness of the hallway floor.
We held hands until we reached the living room.
In front of the frosted glass door, our hands gently separated.
Still, her consciousness clung to me.
Her burning desire scorched into my mind, captured in those dim blue eyes.
Adolescent Uncertainty
I'd already submitted my second-year career survey and had my three-way conference with teachers and parents.
But sometimes I wondered if I was on the right path.
Then again, I couldn't think of anything I truly wanted to do.
A sense of powerlessness and lethargy controlled my body, making me feel heavy yet dissolving—unable to muster motivation for anything.
People call this the moratorium of childhood.
Being in high school still classifies you as a child. College students somehow fall into the adult category. Standing at that boundary created a stifling sense of confinement.
Although the calendar suggested spring was approaching, it was a particularly cold day in late winter.
I could hear Clarke playing the piano. Debussy's "Arabesque No. 1."
The smoothly flowing notes improved my mood slightly.
Clarke, who had become my sister, was blessed by the god of arts.
Not just with instruments—she had talent in painting and sculpture too.
I had taken art lessons myself, but could never rise above mediocrity.
Lying on my bed, I listened to the piano notes drifting through the house.
Liszt's "La Campanella," Chopin's "Farewell Waltz," and back to Debussy with "Clair de Lune."
Hearing her play whatever came to mind suggested she was in good spirits.
Eventually, the music stopped.
Soon after, I heard the sound of slippers pattering across the hallway floor, gradually approaching.
"Sis."
Right outside my room. She was right there.
Not quite a shout, but in a clear, decisive voice, she called for me.
It was her way of asserting herself.
"Lunch is ready."
Silence.
I made no move to get up, and my sister simply *waited*.
"Sis."
Her voice sounded irritated.
But it was a lie. A lie only I could detect.
Slowly, my bedroom door opened.
"Lexa."
Still feigning irritation in her voice, Clarke slowly closed the door behind her.
I leaned back against the headboard and opened my arms wide, welcoming my sister with her facade of annoyance.
Clarke dove in without hesitation.
She buried her nose in my neck before giving me a passionate kiss.
"We need to go."
"Aww..."
It's a lazy weekend afternoon, you know?
Without voicing it, I buried my nose in Clarke's soft hair.
"After we eat, okay?"
She said this as she pressed her lips against mine, deliberately making a sound.
It would have been easy to pull her warmth back as she moved away, but I decided to let her have her way.
I heaved my heavy body up with a groan.
The Trigger
What was the trigger? It was so clear I hardly needed to think about it.
During lunch, my stepmother stepped on a landmine.
"Your father mentioned something, Lexa. Apparently you have a fiancé?"
I had only recently started calling her "Mom."
Our relationship had improved.
Perhaps that led to this relaxation of boundaries.
She probably just wanted to tease me about a childhood promise.
But as communication in our current situation, it was ill-timed. Premature.
I involuntarily swallowed what was in my mouth.
"Umm..."
My voice trembled.
Pretending to cough, I hurriedly brought my mug to my lips, discreetly observing Clarke's reaction.
"He said you promised to marry someone in kindergarten," she continued.
"No, it was just childish make-believe... Marriage isn't something I..."
My mother seemed surprised by my reaction and laughed, saying, "I'm just joking."
Afterward, only she maintained cheerful conversation.
I occasionally nodded, while Clarke remained eerily quiet.
Breaking Point
Clarke was in a bad mood for several days.
But it didn't last long.
As usual.
We functioned well as sisters. And even better as more than sisters.
Despite my desires, I could still feel a certain level of satisfaction.
Looking back, I might have been too complacent. In the midst of the pressures of my moratorium, having someone special numbed my brain.
Time flies like an arrow.
Spring arrived, and my sister entered my high school.
Secretly watching her during the entrance ceremony, I caught glimpses of an unusually nervous Clarke.
I felt satisfaction at that sight.
By summer, I needed to get serious about studying for entrance exams.
"It's my last high school summer," I said as I snuck into the school pool at night. Looking down after climbing the fence, the filled pool reflected the faint blue-white streetlights, appearing almost like steel.
Naturally, Clarke—who had just become a first-year—was by my side.
Thinking this would be my last year to come here made me feel a bit sentimental.
I always loved physical activity.
Autumn.
Did my studies progress? Not particularly.
The bountiful fall brought many festivals. For a break, I attended several night festivals to watch fireworks.
Of course, always with Clarke.
Winter.
My sister often looked preoccupied.
As I approached spring, when I'd mark my goal achievement by filling in the Daruma doll's eye, my study hours increased.
Having completed all the required high school curriculum, I had more self-study subjects.
The approaching end to this lukewarm world filled me with indescribable anxiety and confusion. An inexplicable irritation accumulated inside me.
It would have been easy to drown in emotions and discard restraint due to youth.
Whether that led to violence or sexual desire, the result would still be corruption.
Restraint. Yes.
I appreciated Clarke keeping her distance to prevent me from projecting my unreasonable irritation onto her.
I gave it no further thought.
The Confrontation
After dinner, following what had become an established routine, I retreated to my room.
My father hadn't returned yet, and Clarke apparently decided to stay with her mother to watch TV.
As I left the living room, I felt my sister's consciousness unusually clinging to me.
She probably didn't realize how much that intensified my thirst for her.
Ignoring the building heat, I closed my bedroom door somewhat roughly.
Taking it out on inanimate objects.
Sitting at the study desk—still the same one I'd been given when entering elementary school—I heaved a deep sigh.
A little while later, there was a sudden commotion downstairs.
Had my father returned?
I tossed my mechanical pencil onto the problem workbook I was solving and listened intently.
I could faintly hear the sound of rain.
I imagined the sensation of cold winter rain wetting my cheeks.
Then, the voices from downstairs.
The deepest voice belonged to my father. The settled alto voice was my stepmother's. And the voice that both calmed and unsettled me was my sister's lower tone.
—Were they shouting?
There was a heavy thud, as if something weighty had fallen.
This wasn't peaceful.
I frowned, leaving the open workbook and exiting my room.
Muting my footsteps, I cautiously advanced while monitoring the situation downstairs.
"Clarke!"
I heard hurried footsteps running down the hallway, and a shadow zipped across the walkway just off the stairs.
My mother called out after her in what sounded like a shout.
The front door slammed shut heavily, closing without support.
I rushed down the stairs.
"What happened?"
Entering the living room, I saw my father seated with his back toward me. His back seemed unusually irritated.
Next to him, my mother stood in front of her chair, hands on the table, turning her neck towards me.
"What's going on?" I asked again with a sigh.
"Clarke..." my mother began in a tone suppressing irritation and anxiety. "I don't understand. Maybe she's been unhappy all along about our marriage..."
No.
That's not it.
She just wanted to cherish her family.
It's just that her hidden feelings and my closed-off desires twisted it into something distorted.
In the end, our distorted relationship affected even our parents, and this house that appeared so perfect was actually full of fractures.
Wasn't that obvious?
Just look at us, our true selves, our hidden selves.
Being suddenly thrust into a new family during our sensitive years, and then meeting me during that time—unable to view me merely as a sister, yet lacking the courage to break this imposed structure. We couldn't escape the distorted comfort we'd created for ourselves.
What could we, as minors under our parents' care, possibly do? We were captive to everything.
Who wanted to escape—her or me?
"...I'm going to look for her."
I turned on my heel and roughly grabbed a coat from the wall hanger by the entrance.
Throwing the coat over my baggy sweatpants pajamas, I hastily shoved my feet into worn-out sneakers.
I heard my stepmother say something, and my father shouting back, "Leave them alone," as I rushed outside.
I took only one umbrella.
Sanctuary
Once, I had shown Clarke my secret place.
If you pass through a narrow path between houses, climb a long stone staircase, and follow a thin trail through tall grass, you suddenly reach an open space—the top of a small hill with only ancient trees standing.
I discovered this place by chance as an elementary student. Being a somewhat difficult child, I would wander away from my friends to explore the town alone. That's when I found it.
At first, I climbed the trees to look down at the residential area.
Now, as I've grown older, I sometimes come here for the open feeling, lying down in the shade to look up at the sky.
I'd never encountered anyone else here.
Clarke was the only person I'd ever shown this place to.
I told her about the clear blue summer sky with large clouds—cumulus clouds—and how good it felt to watch them.
Now it was winter, night, and raining.
It was freezing.
No stars were visible in the sky.
No streetlights reached here.
No moon either.
The dense winter darkness carried biting cold air, dropping raindrops.
"Seriously, you're going to catch a cold."
She was crouching beneath a tree whose branches extended like great arms reaching toward the sky—she had likely chosen this particular spot in an attempt to find shelter from the rain.
Even so, the undergrowth was thoroughly wet, and Clarke's body, crouched with knees hugged to her chest, appeared to be trembling.
I tilted my umbrella to shield her body from the raindrops.
Clarke wouldn't look up.
With one hand in the pocket of my gray sweat pants, I crouched down in front of her.
I reached out to touch the cheek visible between her rain-soaked blonde hair.
"Look, you're freezing."
Clarke didn't answer.
I exhaled an irritated breath.
Her shoulders jumped slightly.
Oh, no. This is...
I slid my thumb across her cheek several times.
"What will it take for you to come home?" I asked in a soft voice that threatened to sink endlessly if it fell.
Clarke pressed her forehead hard against her knees.
"You," she emphasized oddly, "don't need someone like me..." Her voice lost strength as she reached the end of her sentence.
What did that trailing voice mean?
"Why would you say that?" I couldn't keep irritation from seeping into my voice.
My sister's shoulders hunch up as if frightened. She tenses up.
"...You're going to the same college," Clarke swallows hard at her own words. "You made a promise to get married, didn't you?"
I click my tongue.
Clarke shrinks into herself even more.
I can't help thinking how unnecessary this is.
That kind of thing was just a childish promise made before understanding love, romance, or perhaps even emotions.
Something the person involved doesn't even remember, only remembered by the adults around them.
Nothing but a nuisance.
I toss aside my umbrella to comfort Clarke, who looks like a frightened small animal.
Cupping her cheeks with both hands, I force her to look up.
"...I'll give you a promise."
Our distorted relationship was so painfully obvious, yet possessed an unwieldy uncertainty. It was she who ran away from it, and I too; she who chased after it, and I as well.
Her crouching consciousness clings to me. It's already piled so high inside me it might overflow.
Enough already. I sigh internally.
It feels like being humiliated, being cherished, being wrapped in warmth, being cut by a coldness so intense it could be mistaken for chills.
This situation—forcing her to hide her affection—was created by my own closed-off, base desires.
And what inflamed those base desires of mine was her affection.
Pride was the reason for both her hiding and my withdrawal.
So, enough. If worthless pride pulls down blinds on a house where light should enter, then I don't need such pride.
I brush away her wet, clinging hair and look directly into her blue eyes.
"I want you in my life. Will you be my girlfriend? I love you so much."
Before she could understand the meaning of those words, I pressed my lips against hers.
Her downcast eyes open wide once, then quietly close again.
Arms wrap around my back. A slight pressure.
The sound of rain—pitter-patter, pitter-patter—sinks us deeper. Our breathing mingles with it.
I kiss her again and again. In the brief moment our lips part, a small sweet sound escapes.
We both distort our eyebrows in painful longing, not bothering to hide our ragged breaths.
It was Clarke's heart-wrenching affection, my breathless desire, and our tear-inducing innocence.
"I've loved you since the moment we met."
When we met, I had to become your sister.
"...I felt the same way."
You couldn't even hide your overflowing feelings.
Our distorted love, hidden and closed off.
I touch her earlobe with my lips.
Surely to remain secretly hidden in the future too.
Clarke slightly shrugs her shoulders.
Keeping just one aspect closed off.
Pinning her down so she can't escape.
Continuing to cherish her silently.
A voice laden with heat spilled from her lips.
"Wait, sis..."
"That's not right, that's wrong."
"But—"
"Why? It's different now."
I think it's unfair to call me that now.
Not allowing any objection, I deepened our kiss.
Before we headed home together, she whispered shyly in my ear, "Yes, I will. I want to be your girlfriend. I've been wanting this for so long."
After the Rain
We came home together, completely soaked.
Mom was beside herself seeing her two daughters return like drowned rats, having left without taking anything and being unreachable.
Still, she handed us towels without a word and made sure we could take showers.
Dad gave us suspicious looks, but when I glared at him, he covered it up with a fake cough.
He probably thought Clarke was hanging out with a bad crowd.
I decided not to mention who actually started this whole thing.
Since coming home, our hands have remained intertwined.
Mom observed this sweet scene with a gentle expression.
Clarke's pale neck, where I was being pulled toward, had wet hair clinging to it.
My throat felt dry.
Our hands finally separated at the bathroom door.
Clarke flashed a toothy grin.
"Want to join me?"
"You idiot...!"
I felt blood rushing to my cheeks.
Clarke's laughing face also reflected a flush.
I left her in the changing room and carefully closed the door. I let out a long sigh.
A muffled voice reached me through the door.
"Bring me some clothes!"
"What? Get them yourself!"
"I already took everything off!"
"......"
Another deep sigh escaped me as I started moving again.
"Don't say things that make me imagine stuff..." I muttered with slight self-loathing.
"...I'm gonna be so whipped."
Climbing the stairs, I thought about our future.
I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face.