the underrated part of siscest is the forced proximity. your sister blasts her music in her room, some of it is good and most of it is awful. but you always have a decent idea of which is her favourite, since it seems to play so often. sometimes you’ll even hear her hum along, and you’d find yourself admiring her voice. sometimes you’ll find yourselves in the kitchen at the same time time, but it’s alright, you know her. dancing around each other is like second nature, you sometimes know what to grab from the fridge for her before she even says anything.
you hear her toss and turn in her bed, late at night. maybe she can’t sleep? maybe she’s still up to something? though, you don’t dare to imagine just what that might be. it’s not perverse if you don’t let yourself think about that. you’ve had your fair share of unfortunate moments, where she’s walked in on your in the bathroom, or vice versa. though, the last time she accidentally left the door unlocked for you to have the chance to stumble in, there she stood, naked and beautiful and shrouded by the blur of steam and curtains. you don’t say anything, don’t alert her, you just quietly close the door and curse yourself for it all the way back to your room.
you’ve walked in on her napping many times. she’ll never have to know how intensely you’ve stared, how quietly you’ve admired, how intricate and detailed an image you’ve curated of her for yourself. you find yourself thinking sometimes that her shirts drape over her chest so beautifully, you catch yourself wanting to slip her blankets further down to see her better, your mind wanders to the sight of her hips dipping and flowing into her waist, her ribs, as she lay on her side.
at night, you find yourself hating the closeness. the proximity. it’s too much, you fear what it means you. but it’s not enough. every encounter is far from the closeness you want, the kind you find yourself needing in the wee hours of the night. you cry silently, as you realize it’s just not enough. as you realize how you really feel.
you hear her toss and turn in her bed. the rustling of blankets pour through the wall and carry along with them the whisper of your name.