Hazel: Sit.

Arata reached back and pulled the front door shut, then finished with his shoes, set them beside the others, and straightened up.

Nagisa passed through the living room doorway without waiting to see if he’d follow. He followed. Not because he wanted to, but because lingering in a stranger’s hallway in your socks was too pathetic to tolerate, and he’d already used up his patheticness quota for the evening. He left the living room door slightly ajar behind him.

The living room was surprisingly wide and comfortable. Actually, no, it wasn’t surprising at all. These girls are rich as shit. A sofa occupied the centre of the room. In front of it was a low table, with a few cups still left out from earlier. Nagisa dropped herself onto one end of the sofa, pulling her legs up and tucking them beneath her.

She was wearing a sweater. Thick material, sleeves tugged down over her hands so only her fingers were visible. Fair. It was October, and the room was cool enough that the heating clearly hadn’t been switched on yet. But below the sweater, she was wearing shorts. Just plain shorts. Bare legs.

What?

He stood there, bag strap still over his shoulder.

Why would you—that doesn’t make any—if your arms are cold, then your legs are also cold, that’s just how it works. The circulatory system doesn’t just give up at the waist, the bottom half needs—

“Are you going to tell me your name, or should I keep calling you tutor?”

He blinked, realising he’d been staring at a girl’s legs like a weird teenager. He was a teenager, to be fair.

“It’s Kurosawa.” He set his bag down beside the sofa. “Arata Kurosawa.”

“Kurosawa. Hmm…” She stared into his eyes while rubbing her chin.

…

“So, what about you?”

She blinked. “Shiraishi Nagisa. Didn’t you hear Homura say it? I thought tutors were supposed to be good listeners.”

“Homura?”

“Mumu.”

“Ah. Well, I don’t know who told you I’d be a good listener.” He sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. Standing there had started to feel absurd, and his legs were tired anyway. And then, because he apparently had no self-preservation instincts whatsoever, he looked at her again.

It’s not that it looks bad. That’s not—it doesn’t look bad, but it doesn’t make any sense. Pick a season and stick to it.

Nagisa hadn’t moved. She was watching him with her head tilted a fraction, fingers now tucked inside her sleeves.

“What are you staring at, tutor?”

“Um…”

He gestured towards her, the motion vague and a little frantic. “The… that. The sweater and the shorts.”

She glanced down at herself, then back up at him. “What about them?”

“It’s contradictory.”

Her eyebrow rose, just enough to tell him that he’d have to explain himself.

“Well,” he said, shifting on the sofa, “you’re wearing a sweater, sleeves pulled down and everything, so you’re obviously cold. But then you’ve got shorts on, and I don’t… I don’t understand the goal here? What are you trying to achieve? There’s no way your upper body is cold enough for a sweater but your legs are warm enough for shorts—”

…

He hadn’t meant to say all of that, but hey, it’s too fucking late now.

After a moment, Nagisa said, very evenly, “Maybe you should stop thinking about my legs.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, fair enough, but it’s still ridiculous to wear a sweater and shorts at the same time.”

“Is it?”

“Obviously.” He risked a glance back at her. Unfortunately, she was enjoying this.

“You’re very strange, tutor.”

“Miss two-seasons over here is calling me ‘strange’?”

Nagisa exhaled softly through her nose. Might’ve been a laugh if she’d put any effort into it. Regardless, Arata felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

She untucked her legs and stretched them out on the sofa towards him, leaning back against the armrest. Then, without any hurry, she reached down and tugged the hem of her shorts up just slightly.

…

“Does it bother you that much?”

“What bothers me?”

“My legs.”

Arata shut his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

“I don’t have an opinion on your legs,” he said, which was definitely a lie and also not the point. “I have a preference for…” He used the English term. “Sartorial consistency.”

“What?”

“Sartorial consistency.”

“What does that mean?”

He sighed. “Well, I can definitely see that you’re failing English…”

“Who even says ‘sartorial’!?” She sat up. “Nobody knows what that means!”

“I—”

Arata closed his mouth. She was bolt upright now, a faint colour rising in her cheeks.

Really? THAT got you up?

Well, he’d been getting dismantled for the better part of five minutes, so it was nice to land something. Points on the board, baby.

Shame he’d apparently been enjoying the dismantling.

Nagisa glanced down at herself before slowly settling back into the corner of the sofa. She tucked her legs beneath her again.

Her usual almost-smile returned.

Pardon. It wasn’t an almost-smile anymore.

“Would it be better if I took the sweater off, then?”

“WHA—?”

…

She waited, but he did not continue. I wonder what was going on in his mind.

Oh, right. I can just—

WHY IS SHE STILL LOOKING AT ME.

Oh god I haven’t said anything, I haven’t said anything at all. That smile is getting wider—Are you a sadist!? This house is just full of sadists, isn’t it? I’m going to live with five sadists! ‘I Got Assigned to Tutor Five Beautiful Sisters and They’re All Sadists!?’ Hm, that could sell pretty well. What? Why am I thinking about that? My mouth is open. Close your mouth, you buffoon…

Okay just say something. ANYTHING. ‘No thank you.’ Thank you? That sounds like I’m declining a biscuit. What am I thanking her for? ‘That won’t be necessary.’ That’s so formal—no, that sounds like I’m about to assassinate her! ‘I prefer you with clothes on’—OH HELL NO, DEFINITELY NOT THAT. DELETE THAT. What is WRONG with you!? That sounds so perverted… I mean, wouldn’t a pervert want her to take her clothes off though? How does that work?

…

What, you’re not gonna say anything either? Fine, let it be. We shall sit here, forever suspended within this moment, frozen in stalemate like a—

FUCK OFF WITH THAT SMILE!!

He let out a deep sigh, turning to face nothing but the ceiling. It’s pretty hard work, thinking about a girl’s legs for that long.

At last, a hint of mercy shone in her eyes. “I’m joking, Kurosawa-san.”

He turned back to her. He’d started to think she was going to call him “tutor” forever.

“You’re so easy to mess with, y’know? Don’t worry, it’s a good thing.” Her smile widened. Arata wasn’t a fan of that.

“…A good thing?”

“It’s fun, isn’t it?”

“Well, it depends on your definition of fun. Personally, no, it isn’t.”

“Is that so? What a shame.”

…

“Wait here, won’t you?”

She jumped up from the sofa, stretched her arms overhead, and dashed through a different door from the one they’d come through.

“Huh?” He stood and tried to get a peek at wherever she'd gone. It was no use.

Arata, being the good boy that he was, stayed put. On his feet, but put.

Where did she even go? The kitchen? The bathroom? Narnia? Well, that would explain the whole sweater-shorts thing. Eh, to an extent. Actually, now that I think about it, not rea—

Wait.

He heard something upstairs. Muffled, irregular sounds… voices.

He closed his eyes and focused on them.

“—be here, I told you—”

“—not going down there, I don’t—”

…

His right fist clenched.

So that’s where you went, huh?

He looked straight up at the ceiling. Something clinked nearby.

Of course. What did I expect? Why did I ever expect… ANYTHING else? I wonder what you’re telling them. ‘He’s a creep.’ Weirdo. Mistake.

He clenched harder. It stung, and he let it.

This is what I’ve signed up for? How foolish of me. But I’m not a toy anymore, so if you won’t bother to give me the respect of a human being, then fine. You aren’t special. Don’t think it’ll be as easy as—

“Tutor, it’s not a good idea to—”

“AH!”

…

Ah.

She smiled sheepishly. “Did you… not think I was coming back?”

“No, no, it’s just—you—What were those voices?”

“Hm?” She tilted her head.

“From upstairs, I just heard some people or whatever.”

“Who could they be, tutor?” She theatrically tapped a finger on her chin. “Hmm…”

…Yeah, that checks out. And so much for actually using my name.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together. “That would presumably be your sisters.”

“Correct!” She giggled lightly, striding towards him. “I wasn’t expecting to be quizzing the tutor, but this day has been full of surprises, hasn’t it?”

She had a bundle of ice cubes wrapped in a small blue cloth in her right hand.

She briefly pressed the bundle against the back of her left hand, then let that hand settle on her hip. “Back to what I was saying, it’s not a good idea to clench your fist like that when it’s bruised.”

“Bruised? What are you—” Arata glanced past her. Part of the kitchen was visible over the counter.

…I’m such a bad person, aren’t I?

Relief came first. Well, after the shame. At least the entire household wasn’t hostile.

Then came the obvious question.

What is up with her? She’s been teasing me all evening and now she’s got ice for my fist?

No, no. Get your mind off her, Arata. She’s just being nice. And besides, I’m not here for her.

And I haven’t even met three of them. I thought this girl would call them all down but… apparently not? Actually, we haven’t even discussed the whole ‘I’m living here now’ thing properly, and she hasn’t asked about that at all, yet she’s just totally okay with me being here?

What a drag… I hope the rest aren’t as—

“Sit.”

Arata blinked. “Pardon?”

Nagisa had already settled back into her corner of the sofa. The bundle of ice was still in her hand, the blue cloth darkening where the meltwater was seeping through. With her left hand, she patted the cushion beside her.

“Siiit.”

“Why are you saying it like that? I’m not a dog.”

“Mhm, you’re not.” She patted the cushion again. “Sit.”

He didn’t sit. If you’ve ever had a complete stranger pat a cushion at you like you were a Labrador who had tracked mud through the kitchen, you’d understand why.

“At least ask properly.”

“Sit, please.”

The please was like saying “Thank you!” on your way out after stealing someone’s TV.

…

He sat.

Not because she’d asked nicely, obviously. He sat because his legs were still tired, and the alternative was standing there like a scarecrow while she patted a cushion for the rest of time.

He made sure to leave a reasonable amount of space between them. Any reasonable person would; they’d only met, what, twenty minutes ago? How long has it been, anyway? I should check the ti—

Nagisa shifted closer on her knees, one brushing against his thigh before he, not so gently, pulled away.

“Something wrong, tutor?” She took his right hand in her left. Her hand was cold.

“I’m fine.”

She pressed the ice bundle in her other hand against his knuckles. He sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“Too cold?”

“No.”

“Good.” She adjusted the cloth, turning it so a fresh section rested against the swelling. “You really should’ve iced this earlier. How long ago did you do this?”

“A few days ago. It’s nothing, really.”

“Hmm…” She stopped pressing for a second. “Bruises that old don’t tend to be red.”

Are you just going to pick at me no matter what I say?

“Yeah.”

“It looks pretty fresh, don’t you think?”

“It does.”

“Is it fresh?”

“Wouldn’t say so.”

“Mhm.” She pressed again.

Yep, that’s EXACTLY what she’s going to do. Amazing! Every little thing I say from now on will be meticulously tracked by this weird devilish woman who won’t leave me alo—

“You’re lying.” You could hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah, well.”

She snickered, then nudged the ice slightly.

Okay, what happened to my plan? ‘Get a read on everyone.’ I’ve been here for god knows how long and the only person I’ve read is the one currently holding my hand. What exactly am I even doing?

…

She hummed a tune, nothing he recognised, before stopping as abruptly as she’d started. It was pleasant.

…

“You’re not staying tonight.”