[Sakura Dormitory ]
Morning light filtered through the curtains in pale ribbons, catching dust motes drifting lazily through the air. The bedroom smelled of lavender fabric softener and the faint, lingering sweetness of perfume—three distinct notes tangled together from the bodies pressed against him.
Hozuki Nozomi lay sprawled across the oversized bed, Shiina Mahiru curled into his left side with her silver-blonde hair fanned across his chest, her soft breathing warm against his collarbone. On his right, Shiina Mashiro had somehow migrated during the night until her head rested on his shoulder, her expression blank even in sleep, lips slightly parted. Rita Ainsworth occupied the far edge beside Mashiro, one arm draped possessively over the artist's waist, golden curls spilling across the pillow like scattered sunlight.
The bed was custom—a necessity when one's household kept expanding. Nozomi had stopped questioning the logistics months ago.
A sudden weight settled on his stomach.
His consciousness surfaced slowly, dragged upward by the pleasant pressure and a familiar fragrance—green tea and jasmine, crisp and clean. Before he could open his eyes, something soft pressed against his lips. Warm. Yielding. A tongue, delicate and tentative, slipped past his teeth and traced along the inside of his lower lip.
*Ah.*
He knew this taste.
His eyes fluttered open to find Ayano Kimishima straddling his waist, her maid uniform immaculate despite the early hour—black dress cinched at her narrow waist, white apron starched and pristine, the ruffled headpiece pinned neatly into her chestnut hair. Her amber eyes met his, and she pulled back just enough to straighten her posture, hands folded primly in her lap.
"Nozomi-sama, good morning."
Her voice was level, expression carefully neutral, but the flush creeping up from her collar betrayed her composure. The position she'd chosen—thighs bracketing his hips, the warmth of her body bleeding through the thin fabric of his sleeping clothes—told him everything her words didn't.
He's awake. Did I do it correctly? The kissing guides said morning kisses should be 'gentle yet inviting.' Was I inviting enough?
"Good morning, Ayano."
Nozomi smiled, lazy and warm. His left arm untangled from Mahiru's slender waist—the girl made a soft, unconscious noise of protest but didn't wake—and wrapped around Ayano's hip instead. His palm settled against the curve where her waist flared into her backside, fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt.
"You went through all that trouble," he murmured, pulling her down toward him. "It would be rude not to reciprocate."
Her eyes widened, lips parting to respond, but he captured her mouth before she could speak.
This kiss wasn't gentle.
He tilted his head, deepening the angle, and Ayano made a small, startled sound—"Mmph!"—that vibrated against his tongue. His hand slid lower, cupping the swell of her rear through the layered fabric, and she shivered, her careful composure cracking. Her fingers clutched at his chest, bunching the cotton of his shirt.
When he finally released her, a thin strand of saliva connected their lips for a heartbeat before breaking. Ayano's face had gone from pink to crimson, her breathing uneven, amber eyes glazed and unfocused.
"N-Nozomi-sama..."
"You started it," he reminded her, thumb tracing circles against her hip. "If you keep waking me up like that, I'll keep responding like this. Fair warning."
She swallowed hard, then nodded once, ducking her head to hide her expression.
Fair warning received. Fair warning... appreciated.
---
Breakfast was the usual controlled chaos.
The dining table seated twelve comfortably, though this morning only a handful of chairs were occupied. The smell of miso soup and grilled fish hung in the air, mingling with the rich aroma of fresh rice and the faint sweetness of tamagoyaki. Sunlight streamed through the windows, warming the hardwood floors.
Yuki Suo sat beside Nozomi, her short lavender hair catching the light as she leaned toward him. Her uniform—the pleated skirt and blazer of Sobu High School—was slightly rumpled, as though she'd dressed in a hurry. She glanced at Ayano Kimishima across the table, noting the maid's reddened lips and the dreamy, distant look in her eyes.
Her own lips pressed into a thin line.
"Onii-chan," she said, voice pitched low enough that only he could hear. Her elbow nudged his arm. "Are you bullying Ayano?"
"How could I?" Nozomi widened his eyes, schooling his features into an expression of wounded innocence. "Am I that kind of person?"
Yuki Suo nodded vigorously, violet eyes narrowing.
"Yes! You are!"
Liar. I can see the evidence on her mouth. Does he think I'm blind?
She jabbed a finger at him, her cheeks puffing out in exaggerated indignation.
"Onii-chan, I know Ayano is very cute, but don't just focus on bullying Ayano! Have you forgotten your cutest, most charming sister?!"
Her voice rose on the last word, drawing a few curious glances from down the table. Mahiru paused mid-bite, her pink eyes blinking slowly as she processed the declaration. Mashiro continued eating, utterly oblivious.
"Uh..." Nozomi held up his hands in surrender. "Don't worry, I won't forget!"
Yuki Suo huffed, clearly unconvinced.
He says that, but actions speak louder than words, Onii-chan. I'll hold you to it.
---
After breakfast, Nozomi found himself led—dragged, really—to his bedroom by a very insistent Yuki Suo.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Yuki stood before him, arms crossed, her expression a mixture of expectation and challenge.
"Well?" she demanded. "Are you going to make it up to me or not?"
Nozomi sighed, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"I'm your impossible," she corrected. "Now—"
He caught her wrist and pulled her forward, cutting off her words. She stumbled into his chest with a surprised squeak, and before she could recover, his lips found hers.
"Mmn—!"
Unlike Ayano's kiss earlier morning, this one was hungrier—rougher. Yuki's hands came up to his shoulders, gripping for balance as he walked her backward until her spine pressed against the door. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming, tasting, and she responded with equal fervor, her earlier complaints melting into soft, eager sounds.
His hand slid down the curve of her waist, over the pleats of her skirt, and cupped her thigh. Her breath hitched against his mouth.
"O-Onii-chan—"
"Shh." He nipped at her lower lip, drawing a gasp. "You wanted attention. I'm giving it."
His fingers traced higher, teasing along the hem of her skirt, brushing the smooth skin of her inner thigh. Yuki's knees buckled slightly, and she clung to him, face burning.
"That's—that's not what I—nnh—!"
Her protest dissolved into a breathy moan as his thumb grazed over the fabric of her underwear, pressing lightly against the warmth beneath. He could feel the dampness already seeping through—evidence that her complaints had been theatrical rather than genuine.
"Liar," he murmured against her ear. "You wanted exactly this."
I did. I absolutely did. But he doesn't have to sound so smug about it...!
He didn't take it further—not this time. After another minute of teasing touches and stolen kisses, he pulled back, leaving Yuki flushed and breathless against the door.
Her lips were red and slightly swollen, glistening with saliva. Her eyes were half-lidded, dazed, and her chest heaved beneath her rumpled uniform. She looked utterly debauched—and utterly satisfied.
"That's... more like it," she managed, voice unsteady. She smoothed down her skirt with trembling hands, trying to regain some dignity. "Onii-chan, let's go to school together!"
Nozomi laughed softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of lavender hair behind her ear.
"Whatever you say."
---
Aoyama Nanami walked toward Suimei with Rita and Mashiro, the morning air crisp enough to redden her cheeks. Cherry blossoms lined the street, their petals drifting lazily in the breeze, coating the sidewalk in patches of pale pink. The scent of spring—fresh and green with an undertone of sweetness—filled her lungs with each breath.
She watched Nozomi's retreating back as he headed off in the opposite direction, Yuki Suo bouncing cheerfully at his side.
Her small mouth unconsciously pouted.
"Womanizer," she muttered under her breath, Kansai dialect slipping through.
That idiot. This morning he hugged me from behind while I was cooking and kissed my cheek. His lips were so warm, and he smelled like soap, and I almost burned the tamagoyaki because my heart was beating so fast. And now he's off being all lovey-dovey with Yuki-chan like it never happened. Does he even realize what he does to me?
Her irritation was interrupted by a cool, soft hand slipping into hers.
Nanami looked down to find Shiina Mashiro gazing at her with those blank, violet eyes—beautiful and empty as a winter sky. The artist's expression rarely changed, but there was something in the slight tilt of her head, the gentle pressure of her fingers, that spoke of concern.
"Nanami, are you in a bad mood?"
Nanami's face is doing the thing again. The scrunchy thing. She makes that face when she's thinking about him.
Looking at Mashiro's innocent expression—that porcelain-pale face framed by silver hair, those pink lips slightly parted—Nanami felt her heart soften.
She smiled, shaking her head. "No, Mashiro. Rita, let's go to school together."
But Rita wasn't fooled.
The blonde Englishwoman leaned around Mashiro, her green eyes glittering with mischief. She snatched Mashiro's other hand possessively, linking the three of them together.
"Mashiro, I don't think Nanami is in a bad mood," Rita declared. "She's just lovesick and thinking about a boyfriend!"
"Ah—!" Nanami's face ignited. "Rita! How could I be?! I'm not lovesick!"
Her Kansai accent thickened with her embarrassment, the words tumbling out too fast, too flustered.
She's definitely lovesick. Look at her ears—they're bright red. How cute.
Rita's grin widened. "Is that so? Then who was waiting at Nozomi's door last night, hmm~?"
Nanami's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
No sound came out.
I was. I was waiting. For forty-five minutes. Until I heard him and Mahiru and Mashiro through the door and ran away because I was too embarrassed to knock. But how does Rita know that?!
"A-Anyway!" Nanami seized on the first escape she could find. "Stop saying those strange things! If we don't hurry, we'll be late!"
She yanked Mashiro forward, breaking into a half-run. Mashiro, still holding Rita's hand, pulled the Englishwoman along behind them. Rita laughed, her blonde curls bouncing as she stumbled to keep pace.
The cherry blossoms swirled around them, pink and white, as the three girls raced toward the station.
---
[Suimei High School — 12:47 PM]
Asada Shino sat at her desk, lunch untouched, trying to make sense of the day's events.
The classroom hummed with the usual midday chatter—students clustered in groups, trading food and gossip—but for once, she wasn't alone at her desk. Aonaka Saya had pulled a chair over and was sitting entirely too close, her lunch spread out between them like some kind of peace offering.
"Here, try the karaage," Saya said, chopsticks extended. "My mom made extra."
Shino stared at the fried chicken hovering inches from her mouth. Then at Saya. Then back at the chicken.
"...Why?"
Saya blinked, tilting her head. Her hair swayed with the motion, and in the light from the windows, Shino could see the faint remnants of bruising on her wrists—covered mostly by her sleeves, but not entirely hidden.
Because you know him. Because he saved me. Because I can still feel his arms around me, still hear his voice telling me it would be alright, and if I'm near you, maybe—maybe I can see him again.
"Because we're friends now," Saya said brightly. "Friends share food!"
Since when are we friends?!
Shino opened her mouth to argue, but Saya was already waving to someone across the classroom—one of the girls who'd whispered cruel things about Shino just last week—and calling them over.
"Hey, hey! Come eat with us! Asada-san was just telling me about this cool game she plays—"
"I wasn't—"
"It has guns and stuff! She's like, super good at it!"
The other girl approached hesitantly, curiosity overriding suspicion. And then another. And another.
By the end of lunch, Shino found herself surrounded by classmates she'd never spoken to, answering questions about Gun Gale Online and accepting pieces of other people's bento with numb disbelief.
Aonaka Saya beamed at her from across the circle, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
What is happening, Shino thought, biting into a piece of tamagoyaki someone had pressed into her hands. What is this girl's angle?
She didn't know that Saya had no angle—only a memory.
A memory of a strong back erasing her nightmares. Of eyes that promised safety without asking anything in return.
I'll become your friend, Saya had decided the moment she woke that morning. And then I'll become his. One step at a time.
---
[Sobu High School — Service Club Room, 4:15 PM]
The Service Club room smelled of green tea and old books, with an undertone of something warmer—the electric heat of the kotatsu Nozomi had installed last week. Dust motes drifted in the amber light of late afternoon, catching the sun that slanted through the windows.
The club was lively today. Yui Yuigahama's voice carried above the others, bright and cheerful, filling the comfortable silences that might otherwise have settled.
Sanshokuin Sumireko sat in one corner with her best friend, Nichiji Sumire, both girls bent over books—Sumireko reading a psychology text, Sumire engrossed in a romance novel with a shirtless man on the cover. Asuna Yuuki had commandeered the whiteboard, sketching out math formulas for Yukino Yukinoshita's impromptu tutoring session. Yui sat cross-legged on the floor, textbook open in her lap, face scrunched in concentration.
"I'm going to fail," Yui moaned. "Yukinon, I'm definitely going to fail."
"You're not going to fail," Yukino replied calmly, tapping her pen against the whiteboard. "You're going to study. There's a difference."
Misaki Mei sat apart from the others, her single visible eye fixed unblinkingly on Hozuki Nozomi. Her expression was neutral—it was always neutral—but something in the intensity of her gaze suggested thoughts she wasn't sharing.
Nozomi noticed. Of course he noticed.
He crossed the room and reached out, ruffling her dark hair with easy affection. "You're staring again, Mei."
Her pale cheeks flushed pink. She ducked her head, breaking eye contact, but didn't pull away from his touch.
His hand is warm. I wonder what it would feel like on other places.
"I wasn't staring," she mumbled.
"Sure you weren't."
---
The kotatsu was large enough to seat all of them—a square monstrosity that took up half the club room floor, with a thick futon spread beneath it and the heating element humming quietly. One by one, the girls migrated toward it as the afternoon wore on, slipping off their shoes and extending their legs into the warmth beneath the blanket.
Nozomi settled into his spot, back against the wall, and let his gaze wander over the collection of feet and ankles disappearing under the kotatsu's edge. Yukino's legs, pale and slender, crossed at the ankle with characteristic poise. Sumireko's, longer and toned, shifting restlessly. Yui's, bouncing with nervous energy as she struggled through a practice problem.
What a view, he thought, and let his hand drift beneath the blanket.
Yukino Yukinoshita was mid-sentence—"And if you apply the quadratic formula here—"—when his fingers brushed against her thigh.
Her entire body went rigid.
The touch was light, exploratory. His palm settled against her skin just above the knee, warm through the thin fabric of her stockings, and began a slow, deliberate ascent.
"—and, um, the, the discriminant tells you—" Her voice wavered. A visible tremor ran through her frame. Her face, normally composed to the point of coldness, began to color. "—tells you the number of—of solutions—"
She whipped her head around, blue eyes blazing, and fixed him with a glare that could have frozen Lake Biwa.
That—that shameless—in front of everyone—his hand is so warm—stop it stop it stop it—!
"Yukino?" Yui looked up, confused. "Are you okay? Your face is all red..."
"I'm fine," Yukino bit out through clenched teeth. She turned back to the whiteboard, desperately trying to ignore the fingers tracing circles on her inner thigh. "I'm perfectly fine."
Nozomi leaned close enough that only she could hear. "Why are you glaring at me? Do you think I'm even more handsome today?"
"Pah." The sound escaped her like steam from a kettle. "Narcissist. Control your paws."
But she didn't pull away.
She didn't remove his hand.
Tonight, Nozomi decided, noting the way her breathing had quickened, the slight part of her lips. I'm reserving her spot tonight.
He withdrew from Yukino—drawing a barely perceptible exhale of disappointment that she would deny until her dying day—and shifted targets.
Sanshokuin Sumireko's thigh was softer than Yukino's, with more give. His palm settled against the smooth skin just above her knee, and he felt her stiffen beneath the blanket, her book lowering slightly.
She didn't turn to look at him.
Instead, after a moment of frozen surprise, her own hand slipped beneath the kotatsu.
Her fingers found his palm and began to trace patterns across it—slow, deliberate, teasing. A swirl here. A stroke there. Her nails dragging lightly across his skin in a way that made his own breath catch.
Two can play this game, Hozuki-kun.
Nozomi's eyes widened fractionally.
Well, well. I didn't expect that from you, Sumireko.
His estimation of her rose several notches. His hand squeezed her thigh in appreciation, and she bit her lip to suppress a smile.
Tonight, he decided. Her spot too.
He continued his exploration—purely for scientific purposes, of course. Mei's legs were slender and cool to the touch. Sumire's were soft, her skin jumping at the unexpected contact. Asuna's were athletic and toned, the muscle beneath firm.
And then his hand found Yui Yuigahama.
"AH—!"
The yelp cut through the room like a gunshot.
Every head turned. Yui's face had gone from pink to scarlet to something approaching purple, her hands slapping down on the kotatsu blanket, eyes wide as dinner plates.
"Y-Y-Yui?!" Asuna blinked. "What's wrong?!"
"N-Nothing! Nothing's wrong! I just—I thought I felt—a bug! Yes! A bug!"
Beneath the blanket, Nozomi's hand had frozen mid-touch. Yui's thigh was trembling under his palm, and he could feel the heat radiating off her skin even through her stockings.
Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. That was definitely not a bug. That was a hand. That was HIS hand. On my leg. My LEG. What do I do what do I do what do I—
Yukino's eyes narrowed.
Then widened.
Then narrowed again, this time with the cold fury of divine judgment.
"Yui," she said sweetly. "There are no bugs in here. I had the room cleaned yesterday." Her gaze slid to Nozomi. "What there IS... is a pest."
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
Sumireko quietly withdrew her hand from his palm. Mei scooted several inches away. Even Sumire looked up from her novel with an expression of mild alarm.
"Ah," Nozomi said. "I can explain—"
"Stand up."
It wasn't a request.
Led by Yukino Yukinoshita—her blue eyes glittering with righteous fury—the girls rose as one from the kotatsu. Asuna cracked her knuckles. Yui, still red-faced, had somehow acquired a rolled-up newspaper. Even Mei had picked up her hardcover book with an ominous air.
"We'll give you a five-second head start," Yukino announced.
"That's generous—"
"Four."
Nozomi scrambled to his feet.
"Three."
He bolted for the door.
"Two."
The first kick caught him in the shin. The second in the thigh. A rolled-up newspaper connected with the back of his head with a satisfying THWAP.
"Pervert!" Yukino's voice rang out behind him. "You're not allowed to use the kotatsu anymore! Go buy us drinks as penance!"
"All of us!" Yui added. "The expensive kind from the vending machine!"
"With ice!" Sumireko called.
Nozomi fled into the hallway, nursing his bruised leg and bruised pride, already calculating how much this 'penance' was going to cost him.
Worth it, he decided, remembering the softness of their skin beneath his palms. Absolutely worth it.
Behind him, the Service Club erupted into animated discussion—half scolding, half giggling—as the girls reclaimed the kotatsu for themselves.
Nozomi smiled and headed for the vending machines, his 'leg appreciation plan' temporarily postponed but far from abandoned.