Down on the first floor, trouble appears in the form of the head nurse and his fox-like grin.

"Ah, Mr. Nakai, what a happy coincidence! Tezuka too, of course." I immediately suspect that this is no coincidence. He nods courteously to Rin who does not acknowledge him back, then turns to me because it's obvious I'm the one who he has business with.

"My sources tell me that you've been at neither the school track nor even the pool, so I'd like to know if you have taken up exercising as I asked."

Uh...

"I've been walking around a little outside, but nothing really, no. I assume you want me to go down to the track or wherever?"

His stupid grin disappears for a second before returning in full force.

"Mm." He says, eyes narrowed slightly. "You understand, don't you? I won't need to give you the lecture."

I shake my head. "No, sir. Absolutely not. I'll be there." The nurse nods approvingly before turning around and leaving with a wave of his hand. With a start, I remember Rin has been waiting next to me the whole time, and has overheard the entire conversation.

"Will exercise make you better?" She asks. I pause, frowning thoughtfully.

"...I don't think so. It doesn't make me worse, though, so I may as well." Rin nods, continuing to look at me emotionlessly for a while longer before turning away and heading outside.

We leave the main building, and Rin leads us towards the dorms. We stop at the small patch of greenery in front of the building. The dorm building is on a slightly elevated ground, with a wall and a few trees that everyone has to circle around every time they come or go.

The entire wall, made up of the same kind of bricks as the building itself, has been covered with some sort of a painting. Most of it is still mere sketches, quick lines drawn with black and white against the gray plastering that covers almost the entire length of the wall, but some places look more finished.

There are human faces and legs and hands. The lines seem to blend to form some kind of idea, but I can't say what until it is complete. Stacks of what seem to be paint cans are arranged in piles on the ground, besides the wall.

"See, the left side is hardly off the ground yet."

"I'd argue that the entire mural is off the ground, actually." I observe. She gives me an odd look.

"How clever." Rin says, without a trace of sarcasm. We study the painting longer.

"The afternoon light works pretty well. I was afraid it would look too flat, but it's not like that after all. I think it's actually pretty interesting. I wanted to see what it looks like in dim light. Do you think it's flat?" She says, going off on a tangent.

"...Paintings tend to be flat." Is the best I can come up with.

"Not like that flat. You know, flat. Like some people are, no substance, no meat where there should be some."

"I see." I reply, continuing to stare. "I'm no good with abstract stuff like this. I just like to paint what I see."

Rin considers this for a long second.

"I should try that. Paint what I see, I mean. But then those things change, and all the paintings are flat. Like how some girls-"

"I get it, I get it." I intercept hurriedly. "I don't know, there are, just...moments, where something is beautiful. Like pictures. You capture the memory in that picture."

"You can't capture a memory. Memories aren't things." Rin contests. "They just, are."

"Sure you can. It doesn't have to be a thing. You can still capture it." I argue.

"Capture it with what?" Rin asks.

"With paint."

"Oh." She considers this. "But then the memories are flat."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You can see memories, hear memories, smell memories, feel memories..." Rin thinks. "Sometimes you can taste them."

"...So?"

"If you smell a captured memory, then all you'll smell is paint. And paint does not smell that good." She gives me a sly look.

"...Unless you like sniffing paint."

"I do not." I say, honestly. "Do you?" The pause while Rin reviews herself to determine the answer is scary.

"I don't think so." Rin mimics me, shrugging, before turning to the mural again.

"I don't think I'll get any real work done, but if you give me a hand with the paints I can do a little before it's too dark."

I almost contest this statement before shaking my head.

"Alright. What do you need?"

...

"Add half a splash of green."

"What the heck is a splash supposed to be measured in?"

"Splashes. What else?"

"Alright, fine, how big are the splashes?"

"About the size of a splash." I roll my eyes and crouch to pick up the can of green. She paints with another color, a brush held between her toes.

"No, the other green. This green." I carefully pour some of the other green paint into the mixing bowl.

"No, that's almost a whole splash. More white. No, wait. Is green a good color to add?"

"I don't know." I say, shrugging. "I'm just the magician's humble assistant, after all."

A hint of smile appears in the corner of her mouth.

"I have never had an assistant before. I am not sure if I enjoy having one." Rin says, thoughtfully, staring into the mixing bowl.

"For what it's worth, I enjoy it." I say truthfully. Rin is kind of weird, but I like that. I can understand her pretty easily. And I suspect that this isn't something that comes easy to many others.

But she really does have an artist's attitude. And I can understand that, just enough to get what she means.

We might have different attitudes as far as art goes, but we can agree to disagree on that much.

"That's good, I think." Rin says. "Add more white."

"Okay." I put a minuscule amount of white into the bowl and mix. It looks...slightly whiter.

"That's not good. It has to be like...like the color when you wake up and you know that you saw the meaning of life in your dream but can't remember it."

"I don't think that you can see the meaning of life." I interject. "Just in general. No one can."

Rin frowns.

"Alright, we'll try yellow."

Between mixing paints, I sit down and watch Rin paint. Her entire presence emits a completely different air as she patiently works the details, adding layers of paint on top of other layers of paint, steadily moving her foot across the wall to add new shapes.

When I manage to produce a passable mixture of paint, the rare smile on her face feels enticingly rewarding.

Apart from the few words when discussing paint mixes, neither of us says a word for the longest times. And even those short discussions shrink as we slowly develop a shorthand, using weird code words for various paints and hues.

And the truly odd thing is that we understand each other.

We stay there late into the evening until it becomes too dark to paint properly.