[ Dinner ]

… And perhaps it was in some strange attempt to compensate exactly for said hollowness (click 'PREV' if you need a refresher; yeah, you're welcome), emotional or otherwise (because who knows why she did half the stuff she did these days) that Miyazawa Misaki, upon returning from the bath with the rest of the FAC(T), the four others having dipped into the water between one private rumination or another ("No, really—you okay, Micchan?" "… … … Yu-uup!!!!!"), and after the five of them had eaten their way through each of the many (many) kaiseki courses lovingly prepared by the proprietor ("Did she really make all these by herself?" "Surely, there's at least … one helper back there?"), and after a fair amount of, ahem, imbibing had taken place between them ("Tsuka-chan, you're such a lightweight, as always! …" "Sshh-shut up! I'll drink both of youse under the table, you—… OW! Ow, hey, who put thissh chair here!?"), stood up in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, and began addressing the room in the exact same tone and mannerisms she used when portraying her fictional, middle-school-aged alter-ego, the very 'heart' in the center of Umehara Middle's very own (Tentative) Flower Arrangement Club.

"Waaaii!!!" declared Miyazawa Misaki, beaming Midori-ly. "Being with the FAC(T) members is so fun! … What a great idea for a trip! Misaki looo-ooves Karasutome!!!"

To which the other four, arranged about the rest of the room, some more inebriated than others, (… some not at all), understandably perplexed, exchanged nervous glances amongst themselves.

Then:

"… Wh-what's up, Micchan?"

"Oh, we're roleplaying? Or … rehearsing? Is—Is that what's happening?"

"Hey, th-that sounds like fun. … Let me try. Ahem. 'The Great Sana approves. … Humu-humu.'"

"I'm, uh … too wassh-ted for thish right now. … What'sh going on? What's Mish-aki doing?"

Miyazawa Misaki crossed her arms. "Ehh-hh?" Pouting, theatrically. "You gu-uuys! Aren't we the Flower Arrangement Club (Tentative)??" With a flourish she points a finger downward, at the voices behind her fictional counterpart's fictional clubmates. "Where's your FAC(T) club energy, everyone!!! Eh-heh!!!"

Met with a few nervous chuckles, but mostly stunned silence.

… All of which gave way to a collective alarm, and a sudden sobering-up among those who needed it to face the bizarre turn reality had taken, as Miyazawa Misaki hopped up onto the kotatsu, her pupils widening as she (… playfully?) began stamping her feet on the wooden surface.

"Ehhh?" continued Misaki, "why's everyone being so awkward??? Flower Arrangement Club (Tentative), banzai! Flower Arrangement Club (Tentative) … saikou!!!!! Yay! We're the best!"

Silence.

"Micchan—you okay?"

Forced laughter from the woman atop the table. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? I'm happy! I'm so happy that I can have so much fun with my best friends!"

"M-Micchan … Maybe … Are you sure—Are you sure you should be mixing … alcohol … with … you know?"

Ah, they were referring to the cute little white and orange capsules she was forced to take with breakfast, lunch and dinner. Anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, anti-X, anti-Y, anti-this and anti-that, (anti-fun, more like, am I right?), all with those funny-sounding molecule chains that she couldn't pronounce.

"Eh-heh! Don't worry, Tsuka-chan! Misaki flushed them all down the hot spring earlier!" Thumbs up, a wink. "Daijoubu desu!"

More silence. Worried looks.

… So concerned for their friend's well-being that, among all the eggshell-wary suggestions delivered in that delicate yet pitying tone, most of which urged her to at least get off the table, as a first step, why don't we start there?, her friends completely overlooked the glaring verbal conflation of 'hot spring' and what was obviously meant to be 'toilet'.

"… Just joking, guys," muttered Miyazawa Misaki, face darkening. "Just a joke." Shoulders drooping, head hanging low. Hopping off the table, "Funny joke."

The others watching as Misaki shuffled over to her futon, laid out earlier by the innkeeper, and crawled in.

Lying on her side, hugging her knees, facing away from the others:

"Don't worry. I'm just joking around."

And then she closed her eyes.

*

… And didn't open them again ("Micchan?"), until several hours later, after having fallen asleep, when she was awakened by the sound of someone calling her name ("Micchan!"), or nickname to be precise, and the gentle shaking of her shoulders, which she naturally, and quite reasonably, assumed to be the work of one ("Micchan!!!!"), or more, of the individuals she'd come to the inn with, but turned out to be ("Micchan, it's really you!!")—when Miyazawa Misaki's groggy view of the room, morning (… it's morning, right?) light shining in from the windows, finally resolved into something a bit more manageable—another's entirely.

Misaki shot up straight in her futon, more awake than she'd ever been in her entire life, and stared wide-eyed at the four faces smiling back at her.

… Not unfamiliar visages per se (quite the opposite, in fact), but very much unexpected, and in some ways quite terrifying, because it meant that ("Oh yeah! … There was the cross-promotion, where they had the cardboard cutouts of the FAC(T) set up in the rooms," echoing in her mind from the previous day, which Misaki later assumed was her brain’s desperate, some would say merciful, attempt to reach for the most plausible explanation to reconcile what it was seeing now … but then, cardboard cutouts don't talk, do they? their lips don't move in sync to the sounds they were making) she had either A) lost her mind completely, or B) reality had utterly collapsed upon itself.

Tomoe.

Hanako.

Sana.

Lotte.

Four-fifths of the Flower Arrangement Club (Tentative), in the flesh. (In the … ink? … Or maybe pencil. … At the very least, not paint, since the industry switched over to digital …)

Miyazawa Misaki rubbed her eyes.

… Nope.

They were still there.

Lotte smiled wide, beaming. "Micchan. …"

Then she pounced on the speechless Misaki, wrapping her arms around her, hugging her tight.

"… You're back!"