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“Nothing in the real world is as beautiful as the illusions of a person about to lose consciousness.”
— Haruki Murakami
Chika
Chika suggests the party in spite of having near-nil experience with events that involve alcohol—spends more of the time happily acting out the part of a young woman at a get-together than actually being a young woman at a get-together. She was told once that mixing soju and beer will get you drunk faster, but doesn't glean that it was said in the form of a warning and not a suggestion. She is one of the first ones to get hammered, and the first one to pass out (she will get yelled at by her mother for being a terrible host). Inexplicably, she's not hungover, in the slightest, when she wakes up.
Yō
Yō is a well-balanced drinker—she was the first in Aquors to have tried and embraced alcohol, and she becomes the surrogate host after failing (perhaps somewhat intentionally) to keep Chika awake. She is so proficient at pacing herself that she keeps a blissful buzz throughout the night. Spends much of the first half of the night talking to Riko under the pretense of taking care of her; she feels vaguely disingenuous, but doesn't understand why. That feeling, and the fact of seeing Yoshiko spend the second half of the night on Riko's lap, are the only two imperfections of what she'll otherwise call a picture-perfect night.
Riko
Riko is cajoled into drinking; she reckons that she is a lightweight, and two glasses of wine quickly confirm her suspicions. She is grateful to Yō for taking care of her, but worries about Chika; she insists they put a backpack on her to keep her on her side as she sleeps. She's on the couch alone for some time and, now on her third glass of wine, feels an incredible lightness—a good feeling, though she will never admit to it. She blinks and finds Yoshiko sitting next to her, stealing glances in her direction, and she fidgets a bit. She hopes that she's drunk enough to forget what Yoshiko later whispers into her ear before collapsing onto her lap. They spend the rest of the night in that position, neither of them acknowledging it, until that lightness reveals itself to be the source of an indelible joy.
Mari
Mari is physical without the aid of alcohol—under its influence, she feels all semblance of self-control rapidly fade away. She watches Kanan take care of Dia with an intensity bordering on desperation that only registers when Kanan returns her gaze. And if Kanan appeared afraid of what that look might entail or even suggest, it is nothing compared to the fear that bubbles from the bottom of Mari’s chest. She remembers the night when Kanan carried her like a bride down the boardwalk by her house, and spends an indeterminate amount of time longing for it to happen again tonight—ideally ending in either of their bedrooms. Maybe, she figures, she can give Kanan a hint with a kiss on her cheek.
It’s too bad that it lands on the crook of her neck instead.
Dia
Dia spends the entire day telling Ruby to drink to her heart's content; the younger Kurosawa need fear not, for her older sister will watch over her as has been her duty from the day she was born. Dia, after all, fancies herself the designated driver, as it were, of the group—though nobody has taken that seriously for some time now. Dia loves sweet drinks and Chika has the foresight of bringing flavoured soju to the party—Dia's undoing. She does not remember at what point she was transferred from the living room to one of Chika's guest rooms, nor is she very sure by whom, but she holds on to their hand for dear life throughout the rest of the night, as if to safeguard her passage into another day in a life that she is eternally thankful for.
Kanan
Kanan does not drink—though tonight, for the first time, she wishes that she did. It isnot because she spends the majority of the night trying to keep Dia on this side of the abyss—not this time, anyway—but because she feels herself being edged over a different, infinitely deeper, kind of chasm. Mari plants a kiss on her neck and, though her better judgement would have her recoil in indignation (feigned, or not? She still has not been able to figure that one out), she instead sinks herself into the soft warmth of Mari's lips. She feels guilty as a sleeping Dia holds her left hand, muttering unintelligibly, only because her right hand is entrenched deep in Mari's hair—their mouths preoccupied elsewhere.
Ruby
Ruby does not drink—though tonight, she reckons she'll allow herself the pleasure. She holds the glass up to Dia's for a toast, making sure to strike it just under her older sister's, as she was told was custom overseas. She's surprised at herself, more than anything else. Dia has been drunk in just about every capacity during their family's holiday parties, so humouring her tonight takes little energy. She finds it infinitely more compelling to watch Yoshiko be egged on by Hanamaru—Ruby herself gives her a gentle push towards the couch. Love sometimes springs from short and delicate distances, through lines of tenderness drawn from a dark well of courage in one's chest. She wraps her arms around Hanamaru and lays her head on her shoulder as they watch their friend take her first step—a love letter to a wonderful person.
Yoshiko
The others would never find out, but Yoshiko has a natural tolerance to alcohol almost on par to Yō's—and she absolutely hates it. She reads online that drunk words are sober thoughts, and is really banking on those words to make themselves known at some point tonight (or, you know, ever). When they don't (because, with matters of the heart, alcohol never forced one to do anything one had not already been intent on doing in the first place), she resorts to desperation. Telling Hanamaru about her feelings for Riko isn't anything but the irreversible catalysis of a chemical reaction that she hopes will leak light into the dark negatives of her undeveloped affection. Trying her best not to cry, she lets three words scurry from the tip of her tongue into Riko's left ear, and brusquely collapses onto soft fabric.
Sweet release: the smell of floral detergent ribboning off the hem of a skirt, and a soft hand running a thumb back and forth over her flushing ear.
Hanamaru
Hanamaru sees it all, and shuts her eyes with a twinge of guilt and the nostalgia of someone counting down the days for something. She urges Yō to join her and Ruby for a quiet game of cards—away from both couches and the guest room. She watches Yō fend off apologies from Chika's mother. Does she realise the way sadness leaks out with every bright, leaden smile? She wonders if Ruby sees it too when she switches sides and lays her head on Yō's shoulder; they had both seen her stand still, looking into the room where the others slept, before closing the door with a certain finality. When Yō finally falls asleep, Ruby curls up to Hanamaru as easily as the sea absorbs itself into the darkness. In the double exposure of a waking dream, she wonders why things have to be so difficult for the others when they were so simple for them.