After finishing work, I returned home. Today, as usual, I was practicing my writing with papers spread out in the living room. I don't know about other things, but lying on my stomach to write gave me a sense of physical and mental comfort.
I hummed a little tune. I always thought how fortunate it was that only reading was difficult for me—what if I couldn't communicate through speaking and listening either?
According to the Professor's explanation, Demon Gods instinctively awaken the ability to speak and listen, and I wondered if that applied to me too.
When I thought about things like appetite, it did seem like I was influenced by this body.
Though I had questions, I didn't feel the need to dig too deeply and quickly moved on. Along with characters I'd glimpsed in the news or elsewhere, I tried to absorb the letters in front of me.
I might actually have a talent for this.
At this rate, I thought I could probably handle everyday life without problems.
...Though my handwriting was still crooked.
"...Hmmmm."
No matter how hard I worked with the pen, my handwriting wouldn't improve overnight. While I was seriously contemplating with an "ummmm," I noticed the Professor watching me from the sofa.
"What's wrong?"
"Just having trouble with my handwriting."
I dropped the pen with a thud. The Professor responded with a nasal "hmm."
"Are you done now?"
"Yes, I want to take a break."
I lowered my body and rolled over. After half a rotation, the ceiling came into view. Finding the position comfortable, I stretched out my arms and lay there.
As I stretched with an "uweeeeng" sound, the Professor came over and gently brushed my bangs aside. With the hair that had been slightly blocking my vision now cleared away, everything looked much neater.
"—Urr, don't you want to cut your hair? I think it would look prettier trimmed."
"My hair..."
I glanced away.
The extremely long hair that reached my buttocks took forever to wash and was hard labor to dry. Moreover, it was so long that it was difficult to manage and stuck out in all directions.
I glanced at the Professor's face and mumbled.
"Umm, no."
"Why?"
It was awkward to answer the Professor's question. I kept my mouth shut because I didn't want to say that I wasn't really me, that there was another owner of this body.
After I placed my hand back in its original position and avoided eye contact, the Professor just clicked their tongue and nodded.
"Well, if you don't want to, there's nothing I can do."
After saying that, the Professor flicked my forehead.
"Ouch."
Startled, I put my hands to my forehead. The Professor seemed to find even this cute, judging by the upturned corners of their mouth. It felt strange to be called cute no matter what I did.
I pouted while quietly looking at the Professor, but they got up from their seat saying they had something to do and left. Then they went to their room, came back to the living room, and settled at the table in the center.
The Professor, sitting with their back against the sofa, pulled the table close and patted the spot next to them.
"Would you like to sit here, Urr?"
"Umm, I'd rather lie down."
Though sitting next to the Professor wouldn't be bad, I shook my head because I found it more comfortable to roll around on the floor. The Professor smiled wryly at my answer, looking disappointed, and casually asked:
"Really? Then do you want to change your clothes?"
"Oh! Right, clothes!"
I snapped out of my daze and opened my eyes wide. After sitting up, I dashed to the closet.
I changed into the clothes and pants the Professor had bought me and twirled my body left and right. The top was a bit loose and fluttered slightly, but it was still comfortable. It was definitely a good thing that no matter what position I took, my skin wasn't easily visible.
Legs didn't matter much though.
"...Ta-da, Professor. I changed."
I spread my arms wide in front of the Professor, showing off. As I appeared with the fluttering fabric, the Professor looked at me with satisfaction.
"It suits you well."
"Maybe because you picked it out for me."
I tilted my head down. Though the pants were short, they were comfortable due to their elasticity, and the fact that they were pants rather than a skirt gave me a sense of security despite their length.
The thought of my underwear showing to others when a skirt fell off due to my lack of hips brought indescribable shame.
I shook my head, groaning "ugh." It was definitely a reality I didn't want to face.
As I pattered across the living room floor barefoot, I slipped on the paper beneath my feet.
"Huh?"
A small gasp escaped me. Come to think of it, there were papers I had scattered earlier while studying. The thought flashed through my mind.
I swallowed my gasp with a "hik" and fell face-first onto the floor.
"Urr!?"
As I crashed down, the Professor was so startled they tried to get up quickly. This caused them to bump into the table they had pulled close, making a loud "thud!"
"Ow ow ow..."
Having hit their knee on the table, the Professor collapsed to the floor with a groan.
With the added impact to my body, I found it easier to just stay collapsed on the floor. It definitely wasn't because I was embarrassed.
The Professor stopped wincing in pain, pushed the table away with a scraping sound, and rushed over to me.
"Urr, are you hurt anywhere...?"
"...I-I'm fine. I'm used to it."
"How can you be used to something like that!"
The Professor lightly smacked my bottom. Then they put their hands on my body and flipped me halfway over. I felt like a fish being flipped.
"Huh?"
While I was dazed with these silly thoughts, I suddenly felt my body becoming weightless. A foolish sound escaped my mouth.
The Professor picked me up in a princess carry and dashed to place me on the bed in the main bedroom. I realized that being suddenly lifted and moved without holding onto the person was quite heart-stopping.
Do people understand that fear of falling? Is that why people have acrophobia? Anyway.
"...Now, is your knee okay?"
"I'm used to it..."
"Let me see."
"No, um, what should I say?"
Tired of the Professor's mother-hen behavior, I curled up my body. Hugging my legs, I rubbed my uninjured knees.
"I landed well...! With my hands like this...?"
"Hmm, it doesn't hurt?"
After I barely managed to explain while stretching out my arms, the Professor finally believed me. Relieved, I released my legs.
The bed was soft. It seemed nice that no matter how much I fell here, I wouldn't get hurt or feel pain from the impact. Of course, there wouldn't be any reason to fall on a bed.
"...Shall we go back to the living room?"
"If you're really okay..."
The Professor thought for a moment, then put their hands under my legs and neck again. I gasped, and in that moment felt my body become weightless.
Unlike before, my arms went around the Professor's neck. As I held on tightly, forming a ring, the Professor smiled and told me:
"Urr, hold tight?"
"I am holding tight. Ah, waaaah?!"
After telling me to prepare, the Professor headed to the living room at a different speed than before. Of course, if I were running myself, this speed would be nothing, but being carried made even this moderate pace feel extremely fast.
Was it because I wasn't running with my own legs? Or was it the impact felt while being carried that made it more thrilling?
Feeling something between fear and pleasure, we arrived at the living room. I felt like my hands were sweating from the tension.
"How was it?"
The Professor put me down and looked satisfied. I firmly gripped my legs, which felt like they might give way. I wanted to wash my hands, but my legs wouldn't move easily.
As I remained crouched there, the Professor put their hands under my armpits and helped me up. Not understanding why, I stared blankly at the Professor, who carefully told me:
"When you sit like that, your underwear shows."
"Really? Umm, okay..."
Honestly, what's the big deal when the Professor sees it often? We're the only two at home anyway.
We bathe together, change clothes in the same room—I couldn't understand why I needed to hide now.
Maybe they were worried I might do this outside too? If the Professor was as worried as a mother, that would make sense.
As I straightened out my pants that had rolled up from crouching, the Professor finally nodded.
"I'll go wash my hands."
In the slightly awkward atmosphere, I used hand-washing as an excuse to change the mood and move. When I raised my hands to show them, the Professor nodded.
"There's hand soap, so wash thoroughly?"
After being tense from riding the "special airplane" earlier, I was just washing my hands, but the Professor treated me like a child learning to wash hands, which made me pout.
After washing my hands thoroughly and returning to the living room, I saw the Professor back in the same position, working. As I stood watching quietly, the Professor patted their knee.
"Urr, want to sit here?"
"...Where is 'here'? Your lap?"
"Yes."
"I prefer the floor."
After saying that, I threw myself down where I had fallen earlier. I surrendered to the hard yet somehow refreshing sensation.
I could see the Professor's disappointed expression, but I pretended not to notice.