Two girls wait in a small sitting room near their father's office, listening to the quiet murmurs of him talking to someone. They couldn't make out any words but it must have been important because their father had told them to be quiet until he came out to get them. So they sat quietly, more or less. One sat like their mother had taught them, hands in her lap and back straight. Her sister, not so much.

It was clear she was trying, but she kept swinging her feet back and forth and looking around for something interesting to do. "Sara," she eventually whispers, "I'm bored."

Sara put a finger to her lips, "Not right now Caelie, daddy says we need to be quiet till he's done."

Caelie is about to say something else, but Sara shushes her. She huffs and goes back to swinging her legs. When her sister makes a face, Caelie sticks her tongue out at her and swings them even harder. "When's he going to be done? He's been in there forever."

Whatever Sara was going to say next neither of them knew, because at that moment the door to their father's office opened up. He walked out, followed by a man and three young boys. "Sara, Caelie," he smiles at both of them. "I'd like you to meet Mr. Yoshio Ootori and his sons Yuichi, Akito, and Kyoya. They're going to be our guests for a few days. Isn't that nice?"

Caelie… Earth to Caelie… you've really got to say something Caelie. I mean, he's just staring at you right now and the only thing you've said to him so far is his name. But it felt like any part of my brain that could think of anything to say had been taken over by my intense desire to throw myself out of the small window in my apartment. Why was he here? Was he with the rest of Haruhi's friends? How did I not notice him when I had first gone down there to introduce myself?

"You've changed quite a bit Caelie," I hear him talking, and those words seem to restart the part of my brain that prevented me from doing anything but standing there staring blankly.

"Hi," I finally manage to say, forcing myself to not wave. "It's been a long time. What were you expecting?"

"I suppose I expected you to still be living with your family," he says, though he isn't smiling. He's staring with an intensity that has the hairs on my neck standing up.

"Ya well," I shrug and turn my focus to studying the color of the wall behind him. "I decided to figure out my own thing to do with my life. Nothing wrong with that is there?"

He doesn't answer the question, his eyes settling on something behind me. "Did you paint that?" I turn around, and he's looking at my painting. I could feel my face becoming hot, and I hastily walked over to the easel. He beats me to it though, stepping around me and inspecting the painting up close. "I've seen better," he says after a moment, "but I've also seen worse."

I'm not entirely sure why, but that comment makes me mad. "Well, thank you for your input," I say, picking up my pallet and taking it over to the small sliver of counter that happened to be just the right size to hold a bowl of fruit. I push the bowl of fruit aside and set the pallet down, picking up my saran wrap at the same time. I carefully wrap the pallet so that the paint doesn't dry out. The whole time I'm trying to think of something else to say, but nothing witty or clever is coming to mind. "Any other wise insights to add?" I finally ask, the silence starting to make me uncomfortable.

"I mean," he shrugs, "it's… competent. Like something an art student would make. But it's not, well, gallery worthy."

"Thankfully I'm not submitting it to any galleries," I say, "those are the farthest thing from my mind currently. Why exactly are you here right now?"

"Here," he smirks and goes to inspect my couch. "Well, you did say your door was always open. And I was interested to know why on earth you were living in a building like this, with second-hand furniture and seemingly no resources to support yourself."

So he had… "You… you recognized me when I went to introduce myself?" I stutter out, "why didn't you say anything?"

He doesn't seem to be paying much attention to me, checking the couch for dust before sitting down. His eyes scan the random assortment of stuff on my coffee table that I hadn't had time to clean up because he just decided to walk into my apartment. "I mean you've changed," he finally says, still looking. "But that doesn't mean that I wouldn't be able to recognize you. Your father sends updates to my father frequently."

The way he just says that like it's no big deal makes my blood turn cold. My stomach flipped, and my focus once again returns to the boring beige wall behind him. "Did he now?"

"Well, not recently. But for a while he was," he either doesn't notice or doesn't care about the color my face is turning. "My father didn't explain why he stopped." His attention turns from the coffee table back to me. "But based on the overalls and mismatched socks I have a good guess."

My cheeks are burning again, but the only thing I can think to say at the moment is, "Maybe I like wearing mismatched socks."

He chuckles and picks something up from off the table before getting up. I move my focus to the floor, and eventually I can see his shoes. Plain black loafers, laces tied neatly. He taps me on the chest with something, and I'm finally forced to look him in the eyes properly. Dark brown to the point they were almost black, the type of color you'd use for a shadow if the shadow was the point of the painting. Black was too harsh, things blended into brown better. "Can I help you," I finally say, realizing that I'd been staring at him for a moment too long.

"Oh nothing," he says, "I was just wondering if you were planning on joining us downstairs? After all, Haruhi did mention you coming back down so we could give you a formal introduction."

"Right," I slowly nod, "and you came up here just to make sure that I was still coming down? Or…"

"Partially for that reason," he agrees, "but also because I was interested in confirming that you were in fact who I thought you were." So he didn't actually know.

"And that confirmation involved coming up here, insulting my art, and taking my stuff?" I ask, trying to take whatever it is he took off the coffee table from his hand. He's faster than me though, putting his hand behind his back.

"Oh, no," he chuckles, "I came up here to extend you an invitation to dinner. The rest of it was just happenstance."

"Right," I roll my eyes and put my cell-phone in my back pocket. I walk to the door, "Well it was nice seeing you again." I open the door and gesture towards it, "have a fantastic day Mr. Ootori."

He seems taken aback, "So you're not coming? It was your suggestion after all. Everyone was looking forward to a proper introduction." He does leave though when I don't move. "I'll just tell everyone that you changed your mind then. Take care Miss. Douthart."

My smile wavers for a moment as he leaves. As he walks down the hall I look down at my overalls and tell myself that I'm not following him downstairs. No way do you make your second introduction to a bunch of rather rich people in overalls. That's what I keep telling myself as I shut the door behind me and follow him.

I can see his smirk even though I'm staring at the back of his head. We travel down the flight of stairs in silence, and I'm seriously starting to think about continuing down the next flight, leaving the building, and maybe finding a new apartment somewhere on the other side of the country. I bump into his back as he stops. He doesn't seem to notice though, as he opens the door to the apartment, and I hear of a chorus of, "Welcome!"