Chapter 1: Rising Halo

When Kanda Sorata opened his eyes to the light of the day, he was less surprised than was socially acceptable to see the rear of a rather shameless cat staring back at him, and a small frown and two narrowed eyes were all he could muster at the sight. It was something he had experience with, after all, not that being accustomed to waking up to the image of a feline anus was something to be proud of. Reaching up, he sternly shoved Hikari's body off of his person, sending the pure white cat mewing to the other side of the room.

Sitting up in his bed, Sorata extended both arms above his head and stretched luxuriously, groaning in relief as his sleep-tightened muscles unknotted themselves somewhat.

Waking up to a cat's bum. My adolescence is too terrible for words.

He remembered having a similar thought, a while ago. Where he had awoken to a similar situation such as this, starting with Hikari's bum, then proceeding to a room that felt empty and alone besides himself, as if the world was trying its best to recede from him. There was an almost identical atmosphere about him today, except Sorata knew that things were different this time around. Misaki wouldn't be running through the door to disturb him this morning, something he found both relaxing and disappointing simultaneously. Sakura Hall hadn't had the same vibrance about it once the prodigal animator had left is premises, despite the fact that she lived a mere house away. He briefly wondered what the older girl was up to at the moment; a glance at the clock told him it was nine in the morning, a Saturday.

Probably drawing, or daydreaming about Jin...

Despite his reluctance, Sorata had been made to mold himself over time to consider the actions of others within the Hall when thinking. After all, if he wasn't the one making sure nothing went to hell (as this was possible at every given moment, given the Hall's residents), who would take his place? The newcomers were still feeling their way through their newfound lifestyle, Sensei was too busy trying to get hitched, and Akasaka apparently "lacked the time to concern myself with such earthly matters. Hackers exist in a totally separate realm from mere humans."

And it wasn't like Mashiro was going to get out from under her desk to start breakfast or rouse everyone else from the heavy Friday night's slumber. That girl wasn't even capable of holding a knife properly...

Speaking of Mashiro, it occurred to Sorata that he should be fulfilling his role at the moment, rather than bemoaning it. Like he'd said before, nobody else was capable of running the "normal" side of Sakura Hall, so first he'd start with waking up Mashiro...

He paused halfway through getting to his feet, suddenly swamped in thought. I just referred to her as Mashiro twice, without thinking, he realized. Well, tactically speaking, this could serve some sort of advantage. The prodigal painter was always insisting he call her by her given name, with that passive but determined tone of voice that Sorata had absolutely no defenses against. What was her motive behind that, anyway? She must already know that the two of them were very close friends, after everything they had endured together. The only thing a lack of honorifics could accomplish was...well, intimacy...

Shaking such thoughts, Sorata trotted into the bathroom to wash his face and change into more acceptable garb before leaving his room. Making sure to tiptoe past Sensei's room (she was a notorious late sleeper, and anyone who dared disturb her risked death), he climbed the stairs to the second floor where the girls' dorms were held. Moving on a sort of autopilot, Sorata shuffled across the hall until he was in position to knock sturdily on Mashiro's door, accompanying this with a stern, "It's time to wake up, Mashiro. It's time for breakfast, too."

No reply.

Sorata groaned and thumped his forehead against the cool wood of the door before him. So it was going to be one of those mornings. The ones where he would have to go into her room and shake the girl's shoulders until those bloodred eyes fluttered open to greet the rising sun, their startling clarity captivating him for a moment. But he wouldn't be able to focus on that for too long, because he would have to lay out her clothes for her, and tidy up her hair, even though they both knew she was completely capable of doing those two tasks on her own now. Yet he did them for her anyway.

Reaching out, Sorata twisted the knob of the door and pushed it open slowly, knowing that the harsh creaking of the hinges was something that would help awaken the girl inside. Flinging the door wide open, he strode in through the small mountains of paper scattered across the flooring like sakura petals on a windy day, calling out, "Come on Mashiro, it's-"

Not on the bed.

A glance under the desk. Not there either. Where could she have gone? The blankets and sheets from the bed were instead transferred next to the wheels of the spinning chair, meaning that Mashiro had to have slept there over the course of the night. Yet nobody slumbered there. Meaning-

"Boo," Whispered a toneless voice.

Sorata started so badly at the unexpected noise that his head shot up and smashed into the underside of the desk, sending a pike of pain driving through his skull like a lance of lightning. Crying out in shock, he allowed himself to crumple to the floor and hold his damaged cranium between two hands, rolling desperately away from the desk and the source of the commotion. Once his felt his back impact softly against the wall adjacent to the desk, he pulled himself up using his abdominal muscles and pressed his spine into said wall, searching wildly for an answer.

Mashiro stood there, looking as innocent as she ever could, staring at him with an expression that denied any sort of wrongdoing. Yet it only took Sorata two more seconds to derive what had just taken place, and he sighed into his collar.

"Was that really necessary?"

Mashiro blinked at him, scarlet irises disappearing for just a moment. "I got you, Sorata."

"You got me too well," The boy muttered back, gesturing towards his head.

The girl standing in front of him blinked in apparent thought for a second time, giving Sorata enough time to look her over and make sure she was dressed decently before continuing the conversation. The first thing that came to his attention was that she wore no pants, but this was amended by a long shirt that reached halfway down the girl's thighs.

As for panties, he had no intention of finding out.

"Are you hurt?" Mashiro asked at last, after much consideration.

Sorata stared back at her for a moment, wondering if the question was rhetorical or not. Then he laughed at himself. Shiina didn't even know what rhetorical meant.

"Yes, Mashiro," he sighed.

The painter's passive countenance seemed to soften a fraction then, as she moved to squat on her heels in front of him and bring their eye contact to the same level. Sorata tried his very best not to notice the baby blue pair of panties clinging to Mashiro's creamy skin, but he wouldn't have been able to provide such an accurate description if he had actually succeeded in averting his gaze in time.

"You're so sensitive, Sorata," Mashiro commented after a while, leaning forward to shift her weight onto her knees and place a hand between his legs for additional balance, bringing their faces exponentially closer.

His heart rate skyrocketed just in time for her other hand to snake forward and rest over his chest, allowing the girl to feel how he would feel. Keeping her eyes focused on where his heart would be, Mashiro murmured, "I thought you were the domineering type, Sorata," In that monotone voice that unnerved him at times like this. "Are you really this affected by my actions?"

"J-Just because I have to drag you to school every morning doesn't make me domineering," Sorata insisted.

"You're stuttering, Sorata."

"I am not!"

"Suspicious."

"I told you that I'm not..."

"Suspicious..."

The repeating of the word was punctuated as she brought her face even closer, so near that their noses were practically brushing. Sorata could only recall two other occasions where he'd come this close to Mashiro; when she'd asked to see a man's body, and when she'd asked him to kiss her.

It's always her.

"My editor wants me to learn the meaning of denial," The girl said suddenly, as she turned her face to the side a bit to emphasize her point, giving him the opportunity to gulp down some much needed air. "She told me that you were the kind of person to deny everything you found unacceptable to feel, and that putting you in unacceptable situations would bring out your denial. Am I doing well in that regard?"

"I-I, wouldn't know," Sorata said softly, trying to say as little as possible, lest he somehow condemn himself.

"Suspicious," Mashiro said almost angrily this time. It was only a hint of emotion, but it felt a million times larger in comparison to her usual poise. "But still not enough."

Before Sorata could find some way to escape, the girl tucked her legs underneath herself and let her weight fall forward further still, until her front pressed against his now jack hammering heart, the swells of her chest doing more than enough to sun the man.

"I'm just doing what my editor told me to do," Mashiro said in ways of an explanation. "But there's something I don't agree with her on."

"Wh-What would that be?"

Mashiro closed her eyes and brushed her nose across the soft skin underneath his chin, like a baby kitten to its mother.

"I don't find this situation so unacceptable."

Click.

Their attentions were almost immediately thrown elsewhere when a sound emanated from the door, and Sorata was horrified to find Kanna Hase standing in an equally dumbfounded state. The underclassman had apparently pushed open the door and had let go of the knob in shock, resulting in the harsh clatter.

Before he could even begin spluttering out alibis, Kanna spoke first, with an impressive stutter:

"W-W-W-W-W-What is g-g-going on here?"

This time, Mashiro beat him.

"Plan D," She explained nonchalantly.

There's a Plan D, now?

Kanna gulped hard at this, and Sorata had to feel a stab of sympathy for the girl.

"Well then...h-have fun..." She murmured before closing the door and running.

And that was how his morning began.

"Context?"

The sun had climbed a bit higher in the heavens by this time of the day, flooding the room with natural light and making Shiina's eyes look all the more piercing. Sorata saw this and blinked once before answering.

"Yes. I'm going to give you lessons on context."

"What does that even mean?"

The girl was sitting smartly on the edge of her bed, while Sorata stood in the center of the room with a drawing board. He'd returned to her room after rousing the rest of the residents and putting out breakfast. After he'd fed Mashiro her fill, he had broached the current topic.

"You always say things that could be misunderstood by other people listening to us talk," He explained. "While I can understand most of what you mean, strangers or even the others living in the Hall might get the wrong idea. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

Shiina seemed to consider this for a moment before shaking her head in disagreement.

"I always say what I mean."

Sorata, however, was prepared for this. "Ah, that I know. But the trouble is that not everybody gets what you mean, and I'm going to teach you how to make your thoughts more accessible to others."

Shiina stared back at him for a long time after that, and all he could do was look back, praying that she would accept his proposal.

"Sorata," She said at last.

"Yes?"

"Can you brush my hair for me first?"

He had to pinch the bridge of his nose at the off topic request, but decided it would be best to get all of her needs out of the way first, to keep from allowing distractions to stall his lessons. "Fine. Is it still wet?"

Nod.

"Then I'll dry it, too. Wait here."

A few minutes later, Shiina was sitting between his thighs as he pulled a brush steadily through the girl's lush blonde mane, eyes closed as she enjoyed the pull of his ministrations. The boy had had quite a time trying to untangle the mess that had been her locks, muttering curses under his breath the whole way, but he'd managed to undo them just like he always had. Now, as Sorata's fingers danced lightly across the skin of her neck as he handled her, Mashiro hummed and murmured,

"I like it when you stroke my hair, Sorata."

The boy saw his chance and tsk'd. "You see, that's exactly what I mean. You need to improve your word choice a bit more. Anyone standing outside the door would get the wrong idea."

"What's so wrong about what I said?"

"If one employs a bit of imagination, stroking a person's hair could be perceived as physically intimate," Sorata explained almost scientifically, removing all possible embarrassment from his words. "When I'm really just tidying your hair for you."

"Stroking my hair..." The girl whispered quietly, closing her eyes again. "Interesting."

"It's not interesting, it's misunderstand-able."

"Interesting."

Sigh...

His exasperation was cut short, however, when he felt Mashiro pushed her back into his front, tangling his fingers between her silky strands of hair. Blinking in confusion, he asked, "What are you doing?"

"Is this intimate?" She asked him, placing her hands on either side of his thighs to maintain her balance, opening her eyes to gaze into his despite the fact that they were upside down. "Is this what it means?"

Sorata didn't answer at first, instead choosing to take a moment to feel the warmth of Mashiro's body against his, the steady stream of hot air from the dryer heating the tip of his thumb, her warm breath being exhaled to tickle his nose, carrying the sweet scent of strawberries with it. He felt all of this, and almost lost himself in the process, but was able to snap back to reality.

"Something like it," He answered finally.

She twisted her mouth about as she wrestled with his answer then, drawing Sorata's attention to her lips. They were small and full, colored a blushing pink to compliment the tone of her skin, briefly moistened when a tongue flicked out to lick the bottom portion in one swift motion.

"Sorata."

He brought his eyes back down to hers and raised his eyebrows in question.

"Can we try kissing now?"

"Now?"

"Now."

He could feel his heart hammering again. Or maybe it already had been, and he had failed to notice. "I-It's still kind of hard for me to do anything with your eyes open."

She closed them.

And those lips moved to accept his.

Eyes going wide despite the urge to close them himself, Sorata switched the dryer off to reach up and hold her chin between two fingers, slowly, steadily bringing himself closer to falling within that bewitching mouth-

"Kanda-senpai...?"

Ah, shit.

Iori Himemiya stood at the door, holding a tray stacked with tea. Apparently, Aoyama had tasked him with bringing the drinks to them. Sorata expected him to drop the tray in horror and turn tail like Kanna did, but what he really did went complete against his expectations.

The kouhai fell to his knees and planted both palms against the floor, shouting,

"PLEASE TEACH ME YOUR WAYS!"

Review it, yeah?