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sabraeal · 1 year

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don’t speak boyshit, Chapter 8

[Read on AO3]

It’s Usokawa who watches those stupid rom-coms, the ones with the hot girl-made-mousy tripping over herself to impress some j-pop idol trying to break into acting, but Kamitani is at least familiar with how this whole thing should go. A girl who weighs eighty pounds soaking wet sits on the rack, stares dreamily out over the countryside, and the boy does all the hard work. Easy.

But apparently no one’s ever bothered to give Inomata that talk. “Stop squirming, you’re not gonna fall off.”

“It’s not like there’s a seat belt back here!” she shrills, ass shifting enough to make the whole damn frame wobble. She’s lucky he’s used to Taka, otherwise they’d be sprawled out in a ditch somewhere, having some real words face-to-face. “If you take a corner too fast I’ll fly right off.”

If only. “No, you won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.” He’s half-tempted to shove her off himself if she can’t keep her butt still and her mouth shut. “The physics doesn’t work out!”

“It does,” he huffs, hating every minute of being right. “There’s centrifugal force or whatever. How gravity works.”

“Don’t you mean centripetal?” Unearned confidence, he’d call it, if she hadn’t placed first in their exams five semesters running.

It was a mistake to ever get on a moving vehicle with Inomata, let alone one where she had to be so close. The last thing she’s ever needed was an invitation to pick at him, and now he’s given her VIP seating. “I said what I said.”

She clucks, loud enough he can hear it over the click of his own gears. “Centrifugal force is fictitious. Centripetal force is what makes gravity work.”

For being wrong, she’s pretty snotty about it. But she can send as many as her little nastygrams as she likes; Kamitani’s the one in control here. All he needs to do is crash this bike, and he can end this conversation at any time. It’s nothing to just shrug it off, let her be wrong--

“You’re lucky I agreed to tutor you,” she sniffs. “You clearly need the help.”

Kamitani hauls his bike short, right in the middle of the bridge.

“What--”

“Google it.” She stares at him, jaw slack, as he shoves his phone into her hands. “I’ll wait.”

“If you think about it.” Inomata trails too close up the front walk; every few steps she jogs his elbow, and god, he’s never wanted to slam the door on someone harder. “It’s really both forces working together that make up the concept we think of as gravity.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t; a real legendary effort that keeps his hand out to let her pass through. “It’s not.”

She can’t even toe her shoes off like a normal person; oh no, Inomata sits down all primly on the lip of the genkan, knees pressed together like he cares what’s under her skirt, and gently works them off her feet. “It is.”

Kamitani doesn’t fucking care about physics, he doesn’t. And he especially doesn’t care about having a fight about terms first years should be familiar with. But he sees her stupid loafers sitting neatly in the tray next to his scuffed up sneakers, the way that old hag is always nagging them they should, and the next thing out of his mouth is, “Not unless you’re moving in a circle, or whatever.”

“A curve describes part of a circle’s circumference,” she informs him, as if he didn’t score higher than her in the general science exams. Not that he wanted to; that hag had been holding his recording of last summer’s Koshien and promised to bring it straight to the curb if he didn’t make it up on the board this year. “Which is what a turn is.”

There’s a part of him that’s tempted to prick at her-- what about when you’re at a light? Ninety degrees doesn’t describe any circle I know. He can hear her huff now, tinny in the small space, arms all folded up as if he’s the problem. I meant in motion, she would say, and he’d have to bite his cheek to keep from grinning when he clapped back with, but that’s not what you said. It’d be easy as breathing to get her all riled up, to make her stamp her foot and calling him a bull-headed idiot, and any other day he might, just to see her lose that Teacher’s Pet polish--

But it’s too weird when she’s just standing in her socks in his genkan, one toe shyly scratching at her calf. Her too-long fingers flex against her skirt like she’s some sort of character from a game without an idle animation, just hanging around waiting for player input.

“Come on,” he grumbles, putting his back to her. “This way.”

The thing about Inomata is: she’s all limb. Not in a sexy way like the girls in magazines, all long legs and wide eyes and parted lips. No, she’s lanky, with elbows and knees that by law should be registered as weapons. Kamitani’s taken one of two of them before-- by accident, she always insists, like he can’t see the gleam in her eyes-- and he’s convinced: she’s got to be some sort government project, the kind where they graft blades onto bones because one nudge from that girl could draw blood.

So when she trails him down the hall, he expects carnage; a boar let loose in a house made of paper. Broken vases, pictures hanging askew, dents in the drywall-- all of it would have surprised him less than silence. Enough that he wonders if she got lost somehow; it’s not like his house is hard to navigate, not with it’s single hallway connecting the whole downstairs, but he wouldn’t put it past her to need some gold embossed invitation just to get out of the genkan.

But there she is, just a few steps behind him, quietly padding along the hardwood in her knee socks. They’re ridiculous without her shoes on, her legs whittled down to matchsticks between the elastic around her calves and the hem at her knees. She’d look like a little kid if she wasn’t so long, made worse by the way her arms are clamped to her side, just one thin line from the floor to her head.

The old hag must have put something in his curry, since it’s not sitting so pretty now, rocking in his gut like it’s got its own tides. Hell if he knows what solar body’s causing it. It’s stupid; here’s Inomata, finally keeping her mouth shut, and he can’t even enjoy it.

“My room’s upstairs.” His arm swings out toward the staircase, and, god, he might as well step into some mascot costume and spell it out too for how cool he’s looking right now. “Over here.”

At least only Inomata’s around to see it. It’s not as if she pays attention to half of what he says anyway.

He gets one step up, glancing back to make sure she’s going to follow his lead-- last thing he needs is Inomata getting it into her head to look around or whatever-- and she’s just...staring at him. Wide-eyed, too, like he told her exams don’t matter after graduation, or that Kashima’s already had his first kiss, or--

“MOM.” Taka speeds out of the kitchen, shrieking at a decibel only dogs and big brothers can hear. There’s a plastic bag balled up in his hands, whatever’s inside lost in the mess. “MOM. You gotta open--” he skids to a stop, wide-eyed and inches away from collision-- “you’re not mom.”

“N-no.” Inomata’s shoulders roll back, her spine pulling flagpole straight, and whoever that cringing girl following him before was, she’s all gone now. Well, except for that splotchy disaster of a blush that’s still slapped across her face, turning the tips of her ears a red he could cook eggs on. “I’m definitely not.”

Taka’s got eyes so big they already eat up all the real estate on his face, but they go even bigger now, threatening to annex his forehead. “Inomata-nee-sama! Are you in my house?”

“Ah...” He watches her struggle not to look at him, to ask him to help the way he always has to when his brother gets too excited over people, like small dogs do when the front door rings. “It does look like that, er, doesn’t it?”

Taka grins so bright Kamitani nearly winces from the glare. One of his small hands seizes hers, tangling his bag between them. “Really? Kirin-chan’s going to be so jealous. Do you want to see my Ranger Five collection? I’ve got all of them, even Ranger Yellow, who has super lame powers but I felt bad leaving her--”

Kamitani flicks him on the back of the head. Not hard-- the little shit may not look like much, but Kamitani’s learned the hard way: kids his age don’t know how to hold back-- but enough to finally knock the motor out of his mouth. “Buzz off, brat. She’s not here to look at your stupid toys.”

“They’re not stupid, they’re super cool!” Taka stamps his foot too, like that helps his case. “Better than any toys in your room.”

He lets his scowl stretch into a sneer. “That’s real rich coming from the kid who’s been begging to have a turn on the playstation in there.”

“W-what? That doesn’t count!” Taka glances between them, suspicious. “You aren’t going to play on it are you? If you are, I wanna wa--”

“We’re not playing anything,” Kamitani snaps. “Go watch your Lame Five or whatever.”

“It’s Ranger Five!” His cheeks puff out, not quite as big as they used to be, but still begging to be poked. “And if you’re not playing, then what are you doing?”

“None of your business,” he grunts, unfortunately at the same time Inomata shrills out, “Studying?”

Ugh. This is what’s wrong with only children: they don’t know how to tell a kid to scram.

“Oh.” To his annoyance, Taka only looks thoughtful, shifting back and forth on his feet until he sidles up to the lowest stair. “Can I come?”

Kamitani fits his whole hand over his brother’s face, and with full feeling, shoves. “No.”

“H-hey!” Taka splutters as he pounds up the rest of the stairs, Inomata skittishly following behind him. “I’ll tell Mom!”

“Good luck,” he grunts back, shaking his head as he hits the landing. “She’s not going to be home until late, and your memory is shitty.”

“You better not play anything without me!” His shrill little voice bounces up the stairs, amplified a hundred times by the time Kamitani gets to the top, rattling his teeth in his skull. “Or you’ll be in trouble.”

He huffs as he turns the corner, muttering, “When am I not?”

“Is that something you should worry about?” Whatever spine Inomata found in front of Taka, she must have left on the stairs. She’s back to shuffling behind him, watching each door they pass as if it might leap out and bite her.

Kamitani cranes his neck over his shoulder, annoyed. “What?”

One of her skinny shoulders shrugs, a shadow beneath the surface of her shirt. “You know. Taka telling Kamitani-sensei that I was here.”

It’s no good. No matter how long he looks, he can’t figure out what’s wrong with her. Besides, well, being Inomata. “What’s wrong with that? It’s not like she’ll figure out you have a crush on Kashima from--”

“Ah! Not-- not that!” Her hands wave in front of her, like just being weird might shush him up better than acting like a functional person. “I mean that you’ll have had a girl in your room. Unsupervised!”

He blinks. “Who?”

Inomata stares right at him, putting a hand over her school tie and clearly enunciating, “Me?”

Even the old hag and her over-active imagination isn’t stupid enough to look at that regulation-length skirt and the blouse buttoned up to its last hole, bow still crisply tied even after club, and think, I bet boys want to do more than study with her. But he knows better than to say so when Inomata’s notes are on the line. “It’ll be fine.”

The noise she makes isn’t thunder, but it’s the mark of a storm moving in quick. He puts his back to her all the same, reaching for his door. “What do you mean, ‘it’s fine?’ Do you really think--?”

Inomata’s protests grind to a halt, watching with growing horror as his door swings wide and-- “You live like this?”

For a minute, he worries that Taka already got into his stuff today, the way that old hag always lets him, leaving candy smeared into his carpet and game cases strewn across the floor. But he glances in, and it looks like it always does. A little cluttered, sure, but he’s seen worse. “What?”

“It’s a sty,” she snaps, slouch gone with a sniff. “Don’t you have a hamper? There’s clothes everywhere. How you ever have people in here is beyond me. Do you really--?”

She startles when his hand smacks the door, holding it open for her. “Get in already”

“I couldn’t possibly.” Her scoff grates like nails on a chalkboard. “There isn’t even a place to--”

On the field, it’s a move that would have put him on the benches. But there’s no ref here, just him and Inomata, so when she sways that bare inch in front of him, her arms all crossed like the state of his room is an affront to all of Japan, he just..bumps her. A little. Enough that she stumbles, socked foot catching on a T-shirt from last weekend, gets right at the center of it all.

“Better make yourself at home.” His lips peel back from his teeth in nothing like a smile. “Because I’m sure as hell not cleaning up for you.”

“I don’t know what the big problem is,” Kamitani grumbles, plucking another t-shirt off the floor. “It’s clean. Look, you can even see the floor.”

There are bugs that have gotten friendlier expressions than the one he gets from Inomata. “You have to be kidding me. There’s a pair of day-old b-b--” her voice drops to a hiss-- “underwear right there.”

“That’s not from yesterday.” Her bumps past her-- not his fault, she’s the one standing in the middle of his room, making herself as useful as a traffic cone on the grass-- and scoops the offending article off the floor, giving it a sniff. “Yeah, that’s got to be Friday. At least.”

If that girl glared any harder, those eyes would pop right out of her head. “And you just left it there?”

“Sure.” He grabs another set of boxers, hidden by the last pair, before she can catch a glimpse. “It’s not like I was expecting anyone to invite themselves over.”

That gets a blush out of her, at least, even if it doesn’t slow her scold. “Neither do I, but I at least keep it neat! Your hamper is only two feet away, for goodness’ sake.”

He glances up at her from his crouch, and snorts, “You haven’t been in many boys’ rooms, have you?”

Scrawny shoulders hike up, a surly little picket by her ears. “Of course not.”

“Well, take it from me,” he huffs, flicking his duvet over his sheets, smoothing it out all nice. “This is about as good as it gets.”

“I doubt that.” Her head tosses, sending that haystack of hair wild, strands flying out every which way. “Kashima-kun hardly seems like the sort of person to leave his, er, unmentionables out where someone could see them.”

“Kashima doesn’t count.” He wouldn’t leave his boxers out if the headmistress might see them either. Or worse, Saikawa. “Did you come here just to nag me or what?”

She blinks. “What?”

With one last trip to the hamper, Kamitani drops into his desk chair, spread-legged and weary. “You wanted help with your boy stuff or whatever, didn’t you? So what does this whole tutor thing involve?”

For a long moment she just stares at him, lips pressed tight and toes curled into his carpet, and he thinks this is it, that she’s going to lose the courage that got her through the door and just bolt, but--

But instead, she bursts. “And just where am I supposed to sit now?”

Honestly, if it’s not one thing it’s the other with this girl. “I made my bed.”

Smoothed it out too, all nice like how the old hag nags him to do it, no bunched sheets making lumps beneath it. And yet, Inomata isn’t impressed. “I can’t sit there!”

“Why not?” His hands hook behind his head as he leans back, trying to catch something like an answer in her scowl. “You don’t think I’d actually try--?”

“Of course not,” she snorts. “But I know what boys get up to on their beds. There’s probably all sorts of...boy gunk on there.”

His sheets were washed just last week, but the way she sneers at his perfectly clean duvet makes him hold that little tidbit of information to his chest. “Are you sure you want a boyfriend?”

“What?” There’s the blush again, rising up all uneven across her face like a rash. “I didn’t say--!”

“Even Kashima’s going to have gunk.” Though it makes him feel gross thinking about it. “So if that’s a deal breaker, then maybe you should quit while you’re behind. Save us both some time.”

The glare she levels at him would make Usokawa piss himself, but Kamitani just tilts his chin; a dare. And by the puff of her cheeks, she doesn’t miss it.

“Fine.” How the word grinds out from teeth clenched so hard they creak is nothing short of a miracle. She takes one hobbling step, then another, and with a sigh nothing short of resigned, she perches herself on the corner of his comforter, legs crossed at the ankle. “There. Happy now?”

“Would have thought I’d be the one asking you that,” he grunts, bracing his hands on his knees. “After all, you’re the one with the big ideas here.”

“Excuse me?”

Her eyelashes flutter-- confused, not cute-- and his palms itch. Right at the center of them, impossible to scratch. “You’ve got something in mind, don’t you? A whole fucking binder filled with dumb ideas sorted by colored tab?”

“Ah...” That stupid flush spreads down her neck, disappearing under the stiff line of her collar. “Right, yes, of course...”

“You do, right?” Hands give way to elbows as he leans forward, curry sinking like a stone in his gut. “You’re not just going to give up your notes with no plan.”

“Of course not!” She scowls, reaching into her bag. “It’s not really a binder, not yet, but I did throw this together a day or two ago. It’s really more of a, er, thought exercise than anything else.”

He doesn’t get a good glance at it, not until she shoves it into his hands, the thin paper powdery against his fingertips. “What’s this? A...test booklet?”

“It’s just fifty of the questions I thought would be most helpful at the beginning of this project.” She strives to sound normal about it, but Kamitani catches the gleam in her eye, the victorious flush across her cheeks. This is nerd shit. “If you could just fill it out and return it to me, then I’ll be in a much better position to analyze what I need to work on and come back with a plan that--”

“You made a test? You want me to take tests?” He skims the first few pages, bile burning in his throat with every question he reads. Explain your type in ten words or less. What are the three most important criteria in a romantic partner? Describe the perfect date, using as much detail as possible. “And they’re not even multiple choice!”

Her hands wave, more cajoling than denial. “It’s not a test! It’s data collection. There’s no right or wrong answer, I just need you to answer to the best of your ability. This one isn’t going to be graded, so--”

“Graded.” He should have known better than to tangle with Inomata and tutoring. “You’re going to grade me.”

“No, no, it’s not an assessment! Or, well, it is, but it’s not about what you don’t know, but rather, what I...” Her mouth purses. “It’s just your opinions. Preliminary data so I can see where my knowledge is most insufficient. It wouldn’t really make sense if I was the one grading you, now would it?”

The booklet snaps shut-- at least, as much as the pages will let it, making more of a shush than a snap. “So I’m gonna grade you?”

“Well, er...” She squirms, his duvet dimpling beneath her, and it’s weirdly distracting, her just sitting there, thighs squeezed together. “I expect there will be a, uh, practical portion of the curriculum?”

He stares. “Practical...?”

“Yes!” Her head bobs, too enthusiastic. “Though I suppose that would have to be on a rubric. What’s measured can be improved, after all.”

“But what would I...? Her groans, rubbing at the spot that pounds between his eyebrows. “Did you want kissing lessons or something?”

Inomata’s eyes bulge. “What? No! Why would I--? With you--? Have you ever even kissed anyone?”

Kamitani doesn’t blush, he doesn’t, but the skin under his collar still burns, licking up the side of his neck to the tips of his ears. “No.”

“Then why would I ever..?” It’s terrible how her words hang, stoppered up by that suspicious squint. “Did you want there to be kissing lessons?”

“What? Hell no!” He shifts back in his seat with a grunt, crossing his arms with as much denial as he can manage. “I just asked so I could tell you it wasn’t going to happen.”

“Good.” Her mouth rucks up into a mean little knot, and god, how she ever thought anyone would want to kiss her, he’ll never know. “I wouldn’t even if you wanted to.”

“Well, I don’t, so--” he reins himself in with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So what would I be grading you on?”

“Ah...” All that confidence disappears with a cough, her shoulders inching up to her ears. “I hadn’t really thought about the specifics. But, er, I suppose whatever you’d expect a girlfriend to do...?”

Kamitani stares. “So you do want kissing?”

“No!” It’s kind of funny, the way she flushes this time. Not like her usual, all patchy and red, but an almost delicate pink, just sitting at the peak of her cheekbones. “I meant things that would be expected of someone in a relationship-- ah, besides that,” she snaps, when he fails to smother a laugh. “The sort of things that make a guy think it wouldn’t be so bad if maybe...”

Her brain must catch up to her mouth, because all at once she stops, cheeks flaring that stop-light red. “Ah...” she sighs, smothering the sound in her shoulder. “Never mind. Maybe it’s better if we just keep to--”

“Stuff that makes you attractive right?” It’s stupid, really, to feel bad for a girl like Inomata. But those big eyes of hers peek over the pickets of her shoulders, so wary of the smallest bit of help, and well-- it’s no skin off his nose to push through, to pretend like he didn’t just watch her lose every ounce of brazenness that got her this far. “Makes a guy see a girl as a woman, or whatever. Wants to bring her home to his mom and stuff.”

“I...” She clears her throat, smoothing her skirt over the spread of her thighs, right down to her knees. “Right, yeah. That. Stuff like, er...”

“Making bentos.” It’s the sort of thing Usokawa would jaw off about when he was deep into one of those stupid manga. “Going on dates. Good conversation.”

Inomata sighs, relieved. “Yes, exactly like that.”

“Good,” he grunts. “Because I can’t do anything about your rack or whatever.”

It’s weird; after all the shy shuffling she’s done this afternoon, he’s almost relieved to see her scowl. “I wasn’t going to ask you to! I’m already well-aware that I don’t really have the, um...” Inomata glances down, grimacing. “...Assets to compete on that front.”

As much as he’s tried to keep out of girl stuff, Kamitani’s heard girls talk about themselves. My butt’s too flat, my stomach’s all round, my face is so skinny, and I sat out too long this summer and now I’m all tan. It’s endless the way they edit themselves, trying to fit into some weird idea of what a guy wants-- like they don’t know they could have dog paws and three-fourths of the guys he knows would still want to hook up-- but at least they seem like they care about what they’re complaining about. Involved, even. Inomata just sounds...

Tired.

“Girls aren’t just breasts or whatever.” He doesn’t know why he says it. It’s not like he cares about Inomata’s feelings. But when she looks up at him, startled, he adds, “There’s other stuff that matters.”

Good tits help though. Not that he’ll say that, not when she’s looking at him like-- like that. Like he’s said what she needs to hear. “Oh...thanks.”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “You’ve got legs too.”

Whatever good feelings he’s earned evaporate in a groan. “You’re such a dog.”

“So? I’m seventeen.” His chin tilts back, just enough that he catches her eye. “We’re all dogs. Even Kashima.”

By the purse of her lips, she’s not precisely convinced. Fair, Kamitani’s not so sure on that either. Sure, any normal red-blooded guy his age would turn his head for any flash of girl flesh, but Kashima--

Well, Kamitani’s not really sure what his deal is, but it’s survived several cute girls throwing themselves at him, so non-existant‘s the likeliest option. Or maybe he’s just never asked the right questions, and Kashima’s a total freak. One of the reasons the kid’s so tolerable is because they never fucking talk about this stuff.

“Fine,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Whatever. What subject do you need help with the most?”

He watches her rummage through her bag, eyebrows hiked up toward his hairline. “Really? That’s it?”

“Filling out that questionnaire alone is enough work to earn a study session, and since I can’t make a lesson plan until you finish it...” She shrugs, lugging some huge binder onto her lap. “Which subject?”

He’s not convinced they’re even, but, well, it’s not his problem if she wants to grab the short end of this stick. “English.”

“Mom.” Taka says the word with as much seriousness as a six year old can muster. It still makes him sound like a muppet, especially around a mouthful of rice. “Nii-chan said my memory was shitty.”

Her hand flashes out, cuffing Kamitani on the ear; not hard enough to hurt, but he does lose the strip of meat between his chopsticks. “What’s wrong with you? I’ve told you not to talk like that.”

“I’ll talk how I want,” he grunts, fishing through his stew to find another likely piece. It’s beef tonight; he’s not about to waste it all by filling up on vegetables and rice. “Besides, his memory is shitty.”

“He does have you there.” The hag tilts her head, too thoughtful. “What were you supposed to remember, anyway?”

The little shit’s cheeks bulge out around his dinner. “I forget!”

Kamitani rolls his eyes. Typical. "You’re such a pain. Why’d you even say anything?”

“I wanted to get you in trouble,” he says like it’s obvious. Which it is; he just didn’t expect the brat to come out an admit it. Not in front of the hag, at least.

“Whatever.” He stands with a grunt, shoveling stew into his mouth. “I’m out of here.”

That old witch squints up at him, mouth already puckered around whatever excuse she’s conjured up to stop him. “Just where do you think you’re going? You haven’t even finished eating.”

“I have stuff to do.”

“More important than dinner?” One eyebrow raises, practically dripping with suspicion. “Have you been screwing around with your games again instead of doing your homework? I told you I’d put that thing on the curb if you--”

“No, it’s done.” Or at least as done as it’s gonna get, even with Inomata’s notes. But there’s an exam’s worth of useless questions burning a hole in the corner of his desk, and they’re not about to answer themselves. That girl may have told him to take his time, but he knows exactly what sort of scene will be waiting for him if he doesn’t turn them in by first period. “Just...stuff. None of your business.”

It’s a mistake; the hag straightens up all at once, a storm brewing at her brow line, and he mouth opens--

“I remember!” Taka shouts, hopping out of his seat. “Nii-chan had a girl in his room.”

“Shut up,” he snaps, at the same time his mom asks, “Hayato?”

It’s surprising, he’ll give her that, but she doesn’t need to sound so incredulous about it.

“Yeah!” The little brat sits back down, smug over the mess on his plate. “Inomata-nee-sama was here.”

She whips around to stare at him, brows hovering at her hairline. “Inomata-san?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, all casual, like it’s obvious. “We were studying.”

“You were...studying?” She settles back in her seat, too thoughtful. “I suppose that could be true...since it’s Inomata-san...”

“You told me to take exams seriously this year, didn’t you?” If he hears another word about good universities and the kind of scores it takes to get in them, it’ll be too soon. “Who else was I going to ask?”

“Honestly, I just thought you were going to blow it off again, and I’d have to listen to that ass--” she darts a glance at where Taka sits, happily anticipating the punishment his tattling had bought-- “to some people at work tell me that you would have done better if you’d been raised in a more disciplined household.”

It’s habit that makes his hands clench, skin pulling so tight against his knuckles he sees bone. The hag’s not looking, not right at him, but he shoves them in his pockets anyway. “Has he said that to you? That it’s your fault.”

“Not in so many words. But I’m sure he would, if...” Her shoulder lifts in a sad excuse for a shrug, and suddenly Kamitani’s aware why she always nags at him for doing it. It’s obnoxious. “It doesn’t matter.”

It does. Sure, he’s got complaints a kilometer long about the hag’s parenting style, but it’s a damn sight better than anything that loser could come up with. If he thinks he can get on Mom’s case just because of a few points shaved off for sloppy math, well--

“That’s not what we’re talking about.” The hag waves her hand, like that’s enough to dispell the sour specter in the room. “We’re talking about you. And Inomata-san. Studying.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Even as he says it, she leans closer, inspecting every angle of his face. “Cut that out! I told you, she just came over to lend me some notes. For English. I was having trouble with the grammar.”

Her eyes narrow, but she sits back anyway, running her gaze over him like she’d find the truth if only she could turn out his pockets.

“Fine,” she hums with a chuck of her chin. “Sounds likely enough.”

“Good.” It’s little more than a grunt. “Because that’s what happened.”

“I do have one question though.” The old hag tips forward onto her hand, mouth twitching into an all too knowing smile. “Did you keep the door open?”

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