Mizuki, too preoccupied with figuring out the circumstances which led her up to this point, lying in bed with slimy medicine-slathered arms, doesn't pay heed to the importance of Hinata's presence. She massages her head, trying to jog her foggy thoughts.
Mizuki can only remember so much amongst her throbbing headache—how she fell onto her back when her arms stung excruciatingly, victorious in her fight nonetheless. She flashes a weak smile for herself.
Ah, it hurts again. Mizuki's thoughts vanish for the umpteenth time. It's best she doesn't dwell on this for much longer.
Hinata stands, hobbling over to the cabinets at the side in hopes of finding anything edible he can prepare for her, perhaps a canister of biscuits or a kettle with which he can start some hot water. Mizuki, meanwhile, sways on the bed, coming to terms with how bad her arms are stinging.
