Abnormality in normality.

🅲🅷🅰🅿🆃🅴🆁 7: 🆄🅽🆂🅿🅾🅺🅴🅽 🅱🅾🅽🅳🆂 🅰🅽🅳 🅵🅾🅴🆂.

ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕜𝕠'𝕤 ℙ.𝕆.𝕍.

Mitsumi clung to me like a lifeline, her sobs racking her body as she buried her face against my chest, smearing her tears and snot onto my shirt. I kept reassuring her, repeating that I was fine, urging her to let go, but each time I spoke, she only cried harder, her grip tightening like a vice. Though I knew her frail arms could never truly harm me, the wetness seeping through my clothes was beginning to test my patience.

I glanced around the room, desperate for someone to intervene, knowing that if this continued, my frustration might push me to do something I'd regret—like twisting her into a bloody, broken mess. My eyes landed on the woman with brown hair who took me shopping the other day, who had just ended a phone call. Relief washed over me, and I silently thanked whatever higher power was listening.

"Hey, Miss Brownie, can you please get Mitsumi off me?" I called out, trying to keep the growing edge of anger from my voice.

She shot me a look, clearly unimpressed, her voice cutting through the air with unexpected sharpness. "That's what you refer to me as? I have a name, you know?"

I clenched my teeth, my patience wearing thin. "Now is definitely not the time for introductions!" I snapped, pleading with her again to help me before my anger boiled over.

But despite my repeated requests, the woman remained rooted in place, seemingly indifferent to the situation unfolding in front of her. After my third futile attempt, I felt my self-control slipping away. It was as if fate was tempting me to take matters into my own hands, and Mitsumi might just end up paying the price for it.

Just as my hand started to twitch with the urge to grab Mitsumi by the neck, Miss Brownie finally intervened, yanking her away with surprising force. "Mika," she muttered sternly, her voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Rice?" I asked, blinking in confusion, my expression as unreadable as ever. "I said Risa, my name is Mika!" she snapped, clearly frustrated. "I prefer Miss Brownie. It suits you better," I replied flatly. "Don't call me that! I am not a plate of food!" she retorted; her irritation barely contained. "Actually, Brownie is a snack, not a meal. Man, you really don't have much sense," I responded, my voice calm and steady. "Look who's talking!" she shot back, her anger meeting my stoic gaze. Amidst our sharp exchange, Mitsumi, oblivious to the tension, began to sing, "Oh, I am so hungry, I am craving ohagi and green tea." "Okay, we get the point, you can shut up now!" Miss Brownie and I said in unison, the rare alignment of our voices cutting through Mitsumi's tune. Mitsumi, unfazed, simply grinned. "Finally, I was getting tired of watching you two argue like a big old sack of untouched potatoes."

The dinner table fell into an awkward silence, broken only by the clinking of forks and knives against plates. Miss Brownie and I exchanged cold glares from across the table, but my expression remained neutral, as always. Mitsumi, sensing the tension, tried to start singing again, but a sharp look from Miss Risa quickly silenced her. Once she finished her meal, Mitsumi got up and made her way to the sink, her plate in hand. Not wanting to be left alone with Miss Risa, I followed, my movements deliberate and calm.

"You have a really odd timing for singing, Mitsumi," I commented, my tone flat as I watched her hum a tune while scrubbing her plate. "To be honest, it's just become a habit," she replied, not missing a beat. "How on earth did you form that kind of habit?" I asked, my voice devoid of curiosity, as if asking out of obligation. "No clue," she shrugged. "But it beats drowning in awkward silence."

 "I'd much rather die in awkward silence than hear you sing," I stated flatly, my expression remaining as stoic as ever. Mitsumi, unfazed, teased, "Ah, is my voice that bad?" she replied  acting all shocked, but yet her eyes still had it's playful glint. "No, it's not. It's worse than you think." I deadpanned.  "Oh, have you gotten your bed yet?" she asked swiftly changing the topic. When I responded with a simple "No," she cheerfully suggested, "Alright, let's go get it together. It's in the extra supply room." Her smile was infectious as she led me down the hallway. Curiously, I asked, "Why do you have an extra supply room?" Mitsumi's tone grew somber as she explained, "When two people died, my mother couldn't bear to be reminded of them, so she pushed all their things—furniture, supplies, everything—into that room, creating the extra supply room."