A place to land
A sharp knock at the door startles Zoey so violently she almost slips off the couch. Her heart lurches. She glances at the clock. Eight o'clock. Who on earth is knocking at this hour?
Another rap sounds through the apartment, louder this time.
“It's me.” Mira's voice, muffled by the front door.
Zoey frowns. What is Mira doing here at this hour? Did she miss a message? She reaches automatically for her phone on the coffee table — there’s nothing. What — another knock interrupts her thoughts.
“Zo?” The single syllable is quiet, small enough to tighten something in Zoey's chest.
She is hurrying across the room before she's fully aware she's moving. She swings the door open. The greeting waiting on her lips dies the instant she sees her.
Mira stands on the doorstep, drenched. Dark hair clings to her face and neck, water dripping steadily from the ends. Her jacket is soaked through, the fabric plastered to her shoulders, and tiny beads of rain glisten on her eyelashes.
Zoey hadn't even realised it was raining. She looks beyond Mira into the darkness. The rain is little more than a drizzle, barely visible beneath the streetlamp. Hardly enough to leave someone looking like they've stood out in it for hours for the few steps it takes to walk from Mira’s car to Zoey’s front door. Her stomach knots.
“Can I come in?” Mira rubs absently at her elbow, her eyes fixed somewhere over Zoey's shoulder rather than on her face. The sound of her voice pulls Zoey back into herself again.
“Right. Sorry. Of course.” She steps aside.
Mira slips past without another word.
Zoey reaches instinctively for her jacket, ready to help her out of the dripping thing.
Mira flinches.
A quick, instinctive jerk away from her touch. It’s over in a heartbeat. But the sharpness of it is enough. A cold weight settles low in Zoey's stomach. She suddenly has a very good idea why Mira has turned up on her doorstep.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Zoey asks gently.
Mira gives a small shake of her head. “No.”
Zoey nods once. She can ask more later. “Okay.” She lets the silence settle between them for a heartbeat before asking, “do you want to warm up?”
Mira shifts her weight from one foot to the other, fingers worrying at the cuff of her sodden sleeve. “Yeah.” She hesitates. “Is that okay?”
The question catches Zoey off guard but she shakes it off quickly enough. “Yeah,” she says, smiling as warmly as she can. “‘Course it is.”
She leads Mira down the short hallway to the bathroom, flicking on the light as they go. She fetches a fresh towel from the closet, hangs it within easy reach, then quietly slips away to her bedroom. A drawer sticks for a moment before giving way, revealing the familiar collection of clothes Mira has gradually left behind over countless nights.
A pair of sweats. An old T-shirt. A hoodie Zoey’d claimed was more comfortable than her own and never quite returned. She leaves the hoodie behind, just in case Mira would want it back for good.
By the time Zoey gets back, the bathroom door is closed. She knocks softly. After a moment, the door opens just enough for a hand to appear through the gap. Zoey passes the clothes over.
“You okay?” She asks.
It's an easy question on the surface. Mira knows where everything is by now. Knows which way to turn the tap, where the spare toiletries are kept, which cupboard holds what. But maybe she'll answer the other question instead. Maybe she’ll tell her what happened.
For a moment, all Zoey hears is the quiet hiss of the shower warming up.
“Yeah,” Mira says at last, her voice muffled by the door. A beat passes. “...no.” The single word lands heavily. “But I will be.”
Zoey closes her eyes for a second and bites the inside of her cheek. Mira has never been good at asking for what she needs. Even now, she has turned up soaked through rather than sending a message or calling. Whatever has happened, Zoey knows better than to crowd her with questions. At least not yet. If she really doesn't want to talk, no amount of asking will change that.
So, she offers the one thing she knows Mira could always use hearing. “I love you.”
For a few seconds, there is only the faint rustle of fabric from the other side of the door.
Then, “I know.” Soft and fragile. Another pause. “I love you too.” The words are quieter still, thick and strained with something Mira is trying very hard to swallow down.
Zoey's chest tightens. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
A tiny huff of laughter drifts through the door. “Yes, ma'am.”
Despite everything, Zoey can't help smiling. A quiet laugh escapes her, easing the tightness in her chest, if only for a moment.
While Mira showers, Zoey drifts back into the living room and switches on the TV. She could wait in her bedroom, but they're the only ones in the house, and the TV out here is bigger. Not to mention, the couch is far more comfortable for two people.
She rummages through a chest of drawers for blankets, pulling out the thick fleece throw Mira always steals first, then another for herself. The film is already playing quietly in the background by the time she starts arranging an assortment of soft plushies along one end of the sofa. She is deciding which one Mira would reach for first when someone clears their throat behind her.
Zoey startles, hand flying to her chest as she spins around.
Mira winces. “Sorry.” The apology comes with a sheepish little smile.
It's been years, and Zoey still hasn't learnt to hear Mira coming. She moves through a room with the sort of quiet that always catches people off guard.
Mira lifts the damp towel in both hands. “Where should I...?”
“Oh.” Zoey lets out a breathless chuckle. “You can just drape it over one of the chairs.” She gestures towards the dining table.
“Thanks.” Mira crosses the room, spreading the towel carefully over the back of a chair.
Zoey watches without really meaning to.
Freshly washed, Mira's hair hangs loose around her shoulders, still dark and damp at the ends. The oversized sweatpants sit low on her hips, the old T-shirt hanging from one shoulder just enough for her to tug it back into place.
“Are your parents out?” Mira asks as she turns back.
“Yeah. Mom won't be back until tomorrow evening.”
Mira lets out a quiet sound of understanding. “Ah.”
Silence settles again, usually easy, heavier tonight.
“Have you had dinner?l Mira asks after a moment. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, again.
A nervous habit, Zoey thinks. She wishes she could do something to ease it.
“Yeah. I made something earlier.” Zoey tilts her head. “Do you want some?”
Mira brushes a damp strand of hair behind her ear before looking up. “Yes, please.” Her voice is so small it barely carries across the room. Under different circumstances, the shyness would almost be endearing. Instead, it makes Zoey's chest ache. She's seen this before. Not often. Almost exclusively after the sort of argument where only one person gets to be angry, and the other is left apologising simply for existing.
Zoey fixes Mira a plate and pours her a glass of water before they settle in front of the TV. The room is warm, lit only by the soft flicker of the screen and the amber glow from a lamp in the corner.
Once Mira has found a comfortable position, she pulls one of the blankets around her shoulders. It's the thicker one, heavy enough to feel grounding, and she offers Zoey a small, tired smile that makes something in her chest ease.
She eats slowly, saying very little. Zoey doesn't rush her.
When the plate is finally empty, Zoey takes it from her without a word and returns a moment later with one of her turtle plushies instead. She gently presses it into Mira's hands.
Mira lets out a quiet giggle, the sound soft and surprised, before curling her fingers around it. She hugs it against her chest. Zoey wishes she could wrap her up in a tight hug. Although doing it right now might startle her so she refrains.
Zoey sinks back onto the couch beside her, tucking one leg underneath herself. “Did you walk here?” she asks, her gaze lingering on Mira's hair. It's still damp, loose strands clinging to her temples despite the warmth of the apartment.
Mira hums, drawing the plushie a little closer. “Yeah.”
Zoey frowns. She expected that answer, and yet... “But... your car?”
Mira clicks her tongue, her grip tightening around the turtle until the fabric creases beneath her fingers. “Little shitstain crashed his, which means I don't get to have one for the foreseeable future.”
Heat flares in Zoey's chest. One day, she's going to punch Mira's brother. She doesn't waste breath asking if he's all right. She already knows the answer.
“Is that what you fought about?”
Mira inhales sharply through her teeth. For a moment, her fingers go rigid around the plushie before slowly relaxing again. “I still don't want to talk about it.”
Zoey nods, but her eyes never quite leave Mira's face. She thinks about trying again, asking differently this time. Softer. Less direct. Sometimes, when Mira says she doesn't want to talk, what she really means is that she doesn't want to take up space with her feelings — as though sharing them could ever be a burden.
Then Mira shifts, absently tugging at the sleeve of her shirt. The movement exposes a bruise spreading across her upper arm, deep violet bleeding into angry blue.
Zoey's stomach drops. Whatever question sits on the tip of her tongue dies there instead.
Zoey clears her throat, searching for something lighter for them to focus on. “I nearly had a heart attack when you knocked,” she blurts out, offering a tentative smile.
Mira doesn't look at her. She murmurs a quiet, “sorry,” into the turtle and draws her knees up to her chest, folding herself into the corner of the sofa.
Zoey immediately shakes her head, waving both hands. “No, no. Don't apologise. It's okay.” She lets out a small laugh. “It was actually kind of funny.” She tilts her head, searching Mira’s eyes. “Why didn't you call me, though?”
Mira's voice is muffled by the plushie. “Mother took my phone.”
“Oh.” The word hangs between them. An apology rises instinctively to Zoey's tongue, but she swallows it. Mira hates being pitied, and sorry feels far too small for something like that anyway.
Instead, she nods towards the now empty plate. “Did you like the food?”
That, at least, gets Mira to look up at her. “Yeah.” She sits a little straighter, almost sheepish. “Sorry. It was really good. Thanks, Zoey.”
Warmth spreads through Zoey's chest. “No problem.”
She glances back at the TV. The film has reached the inevitable low point, the heroes have split up, everyone's arguing, and the world is apparently ending. “Have you seen this before?”
Mira blinks at her, then lets out a snort. “Yeah.” She looks sideways at Zoey, amusement creeping into her expression until it blossoms into a quiet chuckle. “We watched it together.”
Zoey’s eyes widen. “We did?”
“Yeah.” Mira laughs this time. “When we stayed over at mine, after Jinwoo's party.”
A familiar warmth creeps into Zoey's cheeks. “Oh... right.” She rubs the back of her neck. “I don't really remember much after the, er...”
Mira raises an eyebrow. “The penis game?”
A laugh escapes Zoey. She shakes her head frantically. “Don't call it that!”
“What?”Mira grins, the expression softening every sharp edge she'd been carrying since she arrived. “You literally answer questions to build a penis. What else am I supposed to call it?”
“Trivia.”
For a second there's quiet.
Then they both dissolve into laughter. The sound fills the living room, easy and bright, chasing away the heaviness that has been sitting between them all evening. Mira sinks further into the cushions, her shoulders finally loosening beneath the blanket, and Zoey catches herself smiling just because Mira is.
After a while, she nudges Mira gently with her elbow. “Do you want something warm to drink?”
Mira hums thoughtfully. “What do you have?”
“Tea.” Zoey glances towards the kitchen. “And hot chocolate.”
Mira rests her chin on top of the turtle, looking up at Zoey through her lashes. “Will you share the hot chocolate with me?”
Zoey's heart promptly forgets how it's supposed to work. “Yeah.” Her voice cracks. Neat.
She winces as Mira's eyebrow lifts in quiet amusement, then clears her throat. “Yeah,” she repeats, trying for something resembling composure. “‘Course. We can share.”
Mira's smile widens. “All right, then. One hot chocolate, please.”
Zoey grins despite herself and pushes herself off the sofa. “Coming right up.”
When she returns with one big steaming mug, the rain is tapping softly against the windows, the blanket has somehow ended up covering both of them, and when they settle shoulder to shoulder to finish the movie, the room feels warmer than it did before.
