In a dark room on the second floor of a large, quiet house nestled in one of the city's better neighborhoods, the soft hum of the night crept through the open window. The sun rays slipped between half-drawn curtains, casting gentle streaks across the wooden floor.
On the bed, sprawled across tangled sheets, lay a young man bare-chested, skin warm with sleep, a single pair of boxers clinging loosely to his hips. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, lost deep in a dream that had pulled him far from the silence of his room.
In his mind, he was a very interesting dream.
Dream:
The fluorescent lights of the university bathroom flickered dimly, barely keeping up with the heat building between their bodies. Travis had the girl bent over the cool marble sink, her hands bracing against it for dear life as his hips slammed into her from behind—merciless and raw.
Her jeans had been peeled halfway down her thighs, her underwear slipped to the side. Her shirt was bunched around her neck, exposing the sweat-slicked curve of her back as she writhed beneath him.
"Travis! Ahhh—Travis!" she cried out, her voice echoing against the tiled walls. Her moans bounced around them, unfiltered, shameless, needy.
He gripped her waist tighter, fingers digging into her soft skin as he drove into her again and again. Wet sounds filled the air, his thighs slapping against her ass with rhythm and hunger. Her moans only got louder—choked, breathless, desperate.
"Fuck… I-I'm gonna— Wake UP!!!"
Reality:
"What!"
Travis's eyes snapped open. His chest rose a little faster now, a soft sheen of sweat clinging to his brow. Blinking against the dim light filtering through his curtains, it took him a second to register the sound had been real—not from his dream.
In front of him stood a beautiful woman, her arms full of clothes, a teasing smile dancing on her lips as she tried to stifle a laugh.
"Yumiko?" he muttered in a groggy tone, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand as he yawned, jaw stretching wide.
She slapped his arm lightly. "Close your mouth. It smells like death," she said, half teasing, half serious.
He recoiled with a tired groan, quickly covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "Damn, alright, I get it…"
He glanced around his room, still hazy from sleep, before watching her stoop to gather more laundry.
"Wow… is it morning already?" he asked, his voice still thick, as he sat up on the edge of his bed. His blanket slid down his bare chest.
"Yes," she replied, glancing at him from over her shoulder. "What were you even doing last night?"
"Oh, I was playing ranked with my friends back home," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wait, that's pretty clean. I only wore it once," he added, gesturing toward a T-shirt she was about to pick up.
Yumiko gave him a pointed look as she snatched it up anyway. "You know I shouldn't even be doing your laundry, right? So the last thing I want to hear is you complaining."
Travis pressed his lips into a flat line, nodding with the guilty look of a kid caught red-handed. "Right… sorry."
This woman in front of him—Yumiko—was his brother's wife. And easily one of the women he respected most. She was half-Japanese, born and raised in Tokyo, but life had pulled her across the sea to the U.S., for reasons he never pried into.
Her long black hair was tied into a low bun, strands slipping out to frame her face. Her dark blue eyes sparkled with that mix of warmth and authority he'd gotten used to. And her figure… well, it was hard not to notice. Slim waist, toned legs, and that hourglass curve—honestly, she could stop traffic with a glance.
As she moved to pick up a hoodie near his desk, she bent over slightly—her skirt rising just enough to flash the edge of her pink panties. Travis froze.
His heart missed a beat.
He quickly looked away, eyes darting to his phone like it was suddenly the most interesting object in the room.
'Man, Lamar, you definitely scored,' he thought, swallowing hard. 'If this was one of those lame hentai, I'd be drooling like an idiot. But she's cool. She's smart. And she's family. I respect my bro.'
He tapped his phone open, glad for the distraction. Immediately, his IG lit up with DMs and posts. His friends had been clowning him all night for getting de-ranked. He scrolled with a sigh.
'All that grind… gone. Oh well.'
Yumiko stood upright, laundry in hand, and turned to leave. At the doorway, she paused, glancing back at him with a sly smirk.
"You need to make new friends here, you know," she said casually. "Maybe you can hang with Yumi. She'll introduce you to some nice people."
"I honestly think no nice person could ever hang out with Yumi," he replied flatly.
Yumiko giggled. "Well, try something then. I don't mind you bringing girls over… as long as you don't make noise."
He groaned into his hands. "Not this again…"
"What? I'm just saying," she teased, walking away.
She stopped once more at the door. "Anyway, if you're hungry—which I know you are—go downstairs and finish what we had in the morning."
"Wait—what time is it?" he asked, grabbing his alarm clock.
[ 12:36 PM ]
She pursed her lips, nodding slowly with a cheeky smile. "Yep," she said, before walking out and gently closing the door behind her.
The click of the door echoed in the silence that followed.
Travis let out a breath and flopped back onto the bed, arms behind his head.
"…Man, I really gotta get my act together."
'She's right though. I need some friends. Sadly… I can't make friends for shit,' he thought, exhaling sharply as he scratched the back of his head.
Travis got dressed in a loose black T-shirt and some joggers, then stepped out of his room and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom. The light buzzed as he flicked it on. He relieved himself first, then splashed cold water over his face, rubbing it into his skin until he felt somewhat human again.
With the toothbrush hanging out the corner of his mouth, he raised his shirt and glanced in the mirror.
Flat stomach. Kinda bony. Not sickly—just… skinny.
'Man, I need to work out,' he thought, pressing his lips together with a foamy sigh.
After brushing and spitting the paste down the sink, he patted his face dry and stepped out into the hall.
As soon as he opened the door to the stairs—
BOOM BOOM BA-BOOM.
Loud, pounding music blasted from the floor below. Some chaotic blend of trap and techno. No lyrics. Just noise.
Travis squinted.
'Thank God they made upstairs soundproof. So I don't have to hear this dumb bitch listening to trash in the morning,' he thought bitterly, shutting the door behind him with a loud click.
The staircase spiraled down into a cozy, modern living room that somehow still managed to feel homey. It had warmth—photos lined the walls, a soft beige rug sprawled across the wooden floor, and the faint smell of fabric softener lingered in the air.
A blur suddenly bumped against his leg.
He looked down.
Inside a plastic baby walker, a chubby little boy grinned up at him—drool on his chin, baby headphones over his ears, dark curls bouncing as he tried to move his tiny legs like a pro driver stuck in traffic.
Travis smiled and bent down to scoop him up.
"Yo, Sasuke. I know your name's real common in Japan, but you're definitely named after the anime character," he said, tickling the boy's side.
Sasuke laughed, squealing in delight as his tiny hands patted Travis's face. Travis chuckled back and gave him a kiss on the forehead before gently setting him back in the walker. Sasuke zoomed off like a rally car, legs wobbling but determined.
Travis followed him slowly toward the kitchen.
As he passed the living room, he noticed the door was wide open—the source of the blaring music. With a click of annoyance in his jaw, he reached over and pushed it closed.
Click.
The sound dimmed instantly, like someone had thrown a blanket over a speaker.
He sighed with satisfaction. Quiet. Peace. Blessed silence.
Yumiko passed him in a blur, barefoot as she chased Sasuke.
"Thanks!" she called, darting after Sasuke, who had was now playing with Hulk.
Hulk, their golden retriever, didn't seem to mind. In fact, he was having the time of his life.
Travis grinned. "Mad house," he muttered as he entered the kitchen.
It was clean, sunlit, with a few crumbs on the counter and a plate or two still drying beside the sink. He opened the fridge, grabbed some leftover rice and teriyaki chicken from last night, and popped it into the microwave. His stomach growled as he waited.
Then—
Click.
The living room door opened again.
Out stepped her.
Blond hair tied in pig tails. Crop top. Ripped jeans hanging just low enough to say, yeah, I do what I want. Her nails were freshly done, her lip gloss sparkled, and she had that bored, always-about-to-say-something-smartass look on her face.
Travis didn't even turn around.
'Here she comes. Guess it won't be a good day,' he thought, shoulders sinking slightly.
TO BE CONTINUED