>Sit by the window and watch the city lights dissapear.
>As Miyuki leaves, you sit down on the edge of your bed and gaze out the window. By now, the lights of Braston are little more than a dim glow through the distant fog, though you still imagine you can see the buildings you know so well retreating beyond the horizon. You watch the clouds slowly drift by and let your thoughts travel with them, the constant hum of the engines almost lulling - already you're growing accustomed to their noise.
>After some time, Miyuki returns awkwardly lugging a sizable wooden chest. You quickly get up from your perch, giving her a hand with the unexpected weighty container, and the two of you deposit it in the corner of your room. You thank her for her efforts and exchange a bit more small talk before she excuses herself to return to the kitchen.
>After she leaves, you gather up your clothing from the end table and pack it away inside the sturdy wooden container, then go back to starring. A few minutes pass and you find yourself increasingly restless, though your fatigue from earlier still weighs noticeably upon you.
>You get up and idly make your way towards the kitchen, looking to find something productive to do. After a token protest, Miyuki puts to you work cutting up vegetables for a pot of stew while she makes onigiri. The quantity of vegetables you're given is considerable, but it is easy work and the mindless mechanicalness of it suits your present mindset just fine. A couple crewmen filter into the galley while you're at it, chattering loudly with each other and then with Miyuki. You exchange a few remarks by way of an introduction as they come up and grab an onigiri or two, then deposit themselves at one of the galley tables to eat them.
>The stew starts to take shape as more and more things get tossed into the oversized metal pot, Miyuki darting in and around the pantry and cupboard with a practiced ease. The smell of it begins to permeate the space, warm and somehow comforting, though nothing fancy was involved in its preparation. By the time you finish all of the work you were given, you are feeling substantially weary on your feet. Miyuki thanks you generously for your help, though you hardly feel as though your contribution was anything special.
>You take another deep sniff of the stew pot and consider waiting for a bowl to be ready, but eventually concede that the call of your bed is too strong at the moment to want to defer it for too many more hours. You content yourself with a quicker snack, and the onigiri you grab turns out not to be a hardship by contrast, having a very satisfying level of tangy sweetness. You remain in the galley while you munch your way through it, then say your farewells to Miyuki and drag yourself back to your room.
>As weary as you feel, you can't honestly say that your bed feels terribly welcoming. It is, rather, unpleasantly firm and rather narrow. The pillow, at least, is fluffy and supportive, but you find it somewhat hard to get comfortable otherwise. The ship sways beneath you from time to time, all the more noticeable when you're lying down, but it is just one nuisance among many.
>You roll over so that you can peer out the window while you attempt to rest. There is little by featureless black to be seen outside now, punctuated by the scattered hazy form of a dim cloud. The engines continue to throb. You feel your thoughts turn inward, towards tomorrow and then the future beyond that, but you soon find yourself too weary for coherent speculation. You shift your position as you feel sleep start to smother your mind, thick and heavy. The sensation of your hip pressing uncomfortably into the rigid bed grows muted and distant and then is gone.
>You awaken with a jolt as you are nearly tossed violently out of bed. You catch on the bedsheets, and have just enough awareness about you to suspect this is all that has kept you from rolling across the floor right now.
