Geometry of the Blood-Ties

The year was 2018, the month of June, in the heart of São Paulo. The seasonal chill was already showing its first faint signs around the edges of the city, and though it was only nine in the morning, the sky was completely cloudless and the asphalt was already trapping the heat. Inside Alan’s apartment, the closed windows and the air conditioner blasting on heat mode to chase away the indoor chill created a warm, heavy atmosphere—one that, to him, felt as cozy as a cat sleeping on a laptop keyboard.

Flora was sprawled out on the couch, completely surrendered to the stuffiness. She was wearing loose, pink pajamas patterned with rows of Hello Kitty’s face—a sleepwear set she hadn't even bothered to change out of before coming over to Alan's place. Lounging with her legs wide open like a guy trying to look cool, her short pajama bottoms had ridden up her thighs. The untidiness of her posture forced the lightweight fabric to prominently outline the contours of her intimacy.

Alan looked away after a second or two of staring, the visual shock instantly triggering its effects without picking sides. There was an excessive vulnerability there, a rawness in his sister's exposure that placed her on a fine line between extreme comfort and a total lack of awareness—especially since the shape outlined against the fabric looked, for a second, strikingly detailed. The contour of the mound, the curves of the lips, the slit. Not only that, but higher up, her thin camisole top molded against the slack of her pale skin, revealing in a very subtle yet visible way the darker, translucent shade of her nipples, which stood out distinctly due to the thin material. It was an uncomfortable display that she wasn't even aware of, far too busy checking messages on her phone. Flora opened her mouth in a slow yawn, her eyes half-closed and her hair tossed up messily.

After all, they had literally grown up together. Flora's mother had given birth to her, but immediately following the delivery, she suffered a clinical complication called postpartum hemorrhage due to uterine atony, forcing a complete hysterectomy. Consequently, a year later, she adopted the baby boy who would become Alan, fulfilling her dream of having a son and a daughter. Beyond that, their sibling chemistry was enviable; sure, under certain circumstances they might have a little bickering here and there, but the fact was that even now, with her at twenty-seven and him at twenty-six, they were as close as coffee and cheese in Minas Gerais.

Alan was still wearing only shorts. He hadn't been up for long, and the indoor heat of the apartment meant there was no need for a shirt. He walked into the kitchen to catch his breath from all that sloppiness—though, ironically, the mess wasn't even his.

"There's only beer and day-old pizza in the fridge," he called out.

"No problem. Bring it over," she replied, without taking her eyes off her screen.

Still in the kitchen, he pulled four slices of the day-old pizza from the box and popped them into the microwave. He waited for the appliance to hum, spreading the smell of cheese and grease into the heated air of the AC. He took the plate out with his right hand, and with his left, grabbed two bottles of beer by the necks, already sweating from the thermal shock.

He walked back into the living room.

"Aren't you going to make some room for me to sit?"

"Uh... there's plenty of room," she said, her voice drawn-out, shifting her gaze from the screen to Alan. She couldn't help but notice his hip bone holding up his shorts and the definition of his abs fading into the waistband.

With no other choice, Alan sat on the tiny sliver of couch available. The space was so microscopic that his hip bumped straight against Flora's legs. She didn't move—she just let her body yield lazily like a cat, in no hurry to close her legs in a remotely decent manner, while he forced himself to stretch out on the cushion like a territorial disposal. Alan felt the heat of her skin directly against his, a slight shiver running down his flesh as the colors contrasted her pink Hello Kitty shorts against his black ones.

He placed the plate with the four slices on his lap and the beers on the floor.

"So..." he began, pulling a slice where the melted cheese glistened with oil. "Are we actually leaving tomorrow?"

Flora stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, her thin strap slipping slightly due to the slack.

"Fine by me. It's cutting it close, I know, but the company is having a technical shutdown. They're restructuring the office, so we got an official notice. Only essential services are staying on. The rest of us... two weeks of paid leave."

"Huh," Alan bit into the pizza and chewed quickly. "But aren't you a secretary or something? I thought that counted as an essential service."

"I am. But you know how it is," she finally took her eyes off her phone and scratched her nose with the back of her hand. "To be honest, I don't really get it either. All I know is I scored two weeks off. And I'm definitely not complaining. What if they second-guess it and drag me back there, right? I was actually kind of bummed about having to burn my vacation days just to go visit Aunt Camila, but... look at that, the universe smiled at me," she said with a faint, triumphant smile as she took a generous swig of her beer.

Alan swallowed his bite.

"Yeah... makes sense."

He bit into the pizza again, taking a massive mouthful. The cheese stretched, and he yanked it with his teeth until it snapped.

"But what about you? Are you free?" Flora turned her head on the couch, resting it against Alan’s arm, flashing a lazy grin. "I mean... it's not like you have a real job."

"Hilarious..." he pointed his pizza slice at her. "I was about to start an Assassin's Creed marathon. Starting all the way back with Altaïr and..."

Flora raised her face, giving him a look that perfectly communicated are you serious?

"Oh, you know what?" He stopped, the pizza suspended in mid-air, and made a face. "Screw it. Let's go tomorrow."

"Settled, then." Flora stretched her arms upward until they popped, the movement pulling her shirt up, exposing a strip of skin on her belly and tightening the fabric even more noticeably. Below, her open legs made her pajamas look even more disheveled, her thighs highlighting her strained muscles and making their shape stand out even more clearly.

Alan looked out of reflex, chewing slowly, feeling a heaviness in his stomach.

"And how many followers do you have now?" she asked, lowering her arms. "400,000?"

"598,000. I'm just waiting to hit 600k to do a milestone special. A livestream, interacting with people. Haven't fully thought it through yet."

"Must be nice to have those kinds of problems..." Flora droned, her eyes nearly closing from drowsiness.

"What time are we leaving then?" Alan grabbed another slice. The grease from the cheese glistened on the paper towel lining the plate. He wiped the oil from his fingers directly onto his pants. "Look, Lana... honestly... I usually love night driving, but... I'm not down to hit a highway I've never been on before in the dark. So... how about ten in the morning?"

She arched an eyebrow.

"Works for me. Ten tomorrow it is. And... is your car good to go? Mine is still in the shop..."

"Which pole did you hit this time?" he asked, a sly smirk spreading across his face.

"Screw you, Alan." She flipped him the bird, laughing. But it was true—Flora was pretty reckless. She had racked up so many speeding tickets they could fill a whole album, and her last accident involved a pole at an intersection. Luckily, she only walked away with a bump on her forehead that took three days to go away.

"I just hope you bring your driver's license because I am not taking any points for you..." he grumbled, finishing his bite.

"Don't worry about it! I'm gonna go pack my suitcase then," Flora said, standing up, her bare feet sinking into the rug. She picked up her beer bottle from the floor. As she bent down to grab it, she couldn't help but notice his chest definition reflected in the light, his pale skin making him look almost like a vampire. "See you later."

She walked over to the apartment door, holding the half-empty beer bottle. She opened the wooden door and stepped out. The apartment hallway outside was dark; only the yellow light from the motion sensor snapped on, cutting through the gloom. Alan let out a lazy sigh as he watched her cross the threshold and vanish past the door.

"Man... I hope nobody saw her in the hallway wearing those pajamas..." Alan muttered to himself, staring at the door.

The rawness of those sloppy pajamas and her total lack of awareness left the air in the living room feeling even thicker. He looked down at the plate. Only one slice of pizza was left, the grease already hardened from sitting out of the microwave. He picked up the slice with sticky fingers and bit the tip, chewing the doughy crust.

"Better go pack my bags too."