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Mira had officially reached the stage of boredom where even staring at the cracked, weathered popcorn ceiling felt productive. The ball she had been throwing up in the air for the last five minutes had finally missed her hand and rolled away on the wooden panels beneath her. “How much longer, Zoey?” She asks herself, way too quiet for anyone outside of the maknae’s room to ever hear her.
In reality, Zoey had only been gone for five minutes after Rumi practically dragged her downstairs with her by the ear all to talk about what takeout they’re going to be ordering tonight. But in Mira’s eyes, she had been snatched from her grasp for eight business days.
The teal-coated bouncy ball was still in her peripheral, slowly rolling under the dusty cabinet Zoey swore she never used. “Ugh, come here you bastard.” She huffed after a moment’s contemplation of finding the bed too comfy to move off, stretching her limbs skywards before lifting off the scrunched up duvet.
The stale wood creaked under her feet with each heavy step the dancer took, dust particles rising from the cracks and dancing lazily in the streaks of light spilling through the half shut curtains. “Where the hell are you?” She demanded softly, grunting as she got on her knees, waving her arm aimlessly between the cabinet and the turtle covered vanity.
After feeling for air for what honestly felt like an eternity, Mira’s hand prodded at cardboard and cellotape. “What the~” her brows furrowed as she felt around more, eventually finding the courage to remove the box.
“Zoey’s Box” She reads aloud, “Don’t touch.” She continues, tracing her finger across the crumpled paper smacked carelessly across the front of the box with “Keep Out” crossed out from a spelling error. She smiles with the corner of her mouth at her discovery before noticing the date on the bottom right corner, barely legible with Zoey’s rushed handwriting. “April eighth… two-thousand-and-nine?” She croaked out quietly, her voice small as she realised she struck gold. “She would’ve only been, like, eight.” She told herself, shrugging her shoulders as she pulled back the wooden flaps on top.
A battered VHS tape sat on top, its label written in streaky black sharpie. Beneath it - folded wristbands from the countless times she forced her mom to take her to the sealife centre back in Burbank just to stare at the turtles for four hours before deciding to head back home without wanting to see anything else. A cracked helmet flourished in deep blues and sea turtle stickers plopped next to the wristbands, the bruised metal reflecting the first time she ever rode on her skateboard. Mira could physically see the wonky teeth behind blue braces in her girlfriend’s cheeky smile when she ran to her mom to yap about how she landed her first ollie. To the right was a beaten Polaroid camera discarded next to a small photo album thick with nostalgic photos she always used to beg Zoey to let her look through when the maknae accidentally brought it up once in a conversation during their second date as a couple.
“Oh my God,” Mira whispered as a tear fell from her right eye in awe of what’s in front of her. “She is so fucking cute.” She hummed, crossing her legs and giving the photobook her full, undivided attention. Page after page showing the same bubbly smile she has grown accustomed to over the six years of knowing her. A specific picture caught her eye — a young, smiling Zoey showing the camera her first ever skateboard she was gifted for her birthday dated “June seventeenth, two-thousand-and-ten” Mira read, tracing her finger over the thin plastic layer of film with a soft smile. Mira found herself strangely affected by how Zoey always used to have those overly short bangs, “Oh, my baby girl.” She cooed, hugging the simple piece of card to her chest tighter as if fearing that it would disappear if she didn’t cherish it in the right way.
”Okay, thank you, Ru!” Mira heard from a distance as the sounds of footsteps crescendoed right behind her as Zoey approached the room again. “Mira, what~” she began, unable to finish her sentence before approaching her girlfriend, still clutching tightly onto the small piece of card.
“…What are you doing?” She finished softly, crouching down to the dancer’s level before flicking her eyes to the open box beside her before looking back to Mira’s face searching for some sort of explanation.
”I uh.” Her voice gentle as she opened her eyes again, meeting Zoey’s with furrowed brows. Her hands began to untangle from the photo in her hand, caressing it one last time with a quick thumb stroke across young Zoey’s face. “I-I didn’t mean to,” she murmured looking into the box again to see the damaged helmet. “You were so cute.” She whispered, busying her hands by sieving through the old cardboard.
Zoey sits down next to her, bending her legs to her chest and holding them in place at the shins. She lets out a low breath as she leaned her head onto Mira’s shoulder, peering over them at the picture she still has in her hands. “You found this one first?” She muttered, almost embarrassed as she stared at the younger, more innocent self.
Mira shook her head gently before pointing to the blue wristbands at the top right of the box, each showing the same fish and turtle as the one before.
The dancer could feel the soft vibrations on her shoulder as Zoey let out a small chuckle at the memories — the same route she would always drag her parents down as she made her way to the variety of sea turtles she’d always used to admire with an open mouth. “I forced my eomma to take me there every Saturday when they’d open at eleven o’clock.” Her hand instinctively reached out to hold one of them, moving her thumb over the ridges of each bump of the fish she’d mindlessly fiddle with when searching for her green creatures. “The place closed down the same year I moved to Korea for Huntrix.” She admitted after a shaky breath as it dawned on her that she can no longer go back to her past. “That’s why I kept this crappy box in the first place.” She says, placing the wristband back where she found it and patted the box with her palm.
The room fell into a peaceful silence as the two of them just sat there in each other’s embrace, the only noise being the hum of the heater in the maknae’s room and Rumi’s hushed voice in the living room beneath them. “It’s not a crappy box if it holds all of your childhood.” Mira reaffirms, tugging her girlfriend closer at the waist, “If anything it’s the most important thing you own, honestly.”
A small sigh escaped the rapper’s nose in a small laugh as she raised her hand to rub lazy circles on her girlfriend’s shoulder, kissing at it every so often. “You mean that?” She asks quietly, looking into Mira’s eyes in search of validation. Her head settled neatly onto the dancer again, holding her smaller hands over Mira’s one around her torso. “Y’know-“ her voice was soft on the dancer’s skin as she spoke into it through a tender kiss. “I remember when eomma would cheer me on and clap every time I landed the smallest trick.” She opened up, pointing at the picture her mom took of her riding her skateboard for the first time. Mira’s face grew into a soft smile as she stared at the polaroid image — the green helmet that barely fit Zoey, hanging on her head at an angle with small turtle stickers stuck onto it at every angle. The focus on her face as she stood stationary on the wooden board and a small tongue escaping her lips was everything to Mira. “It didn’t matter if I fell five seconds after I landed one either.” The maknae opened up whilst playing with the sharp corner of the photo with the bedding of her fingertip. “September sixteenth, two-thousand-and-ten.”
“You are so cute, did you know that, my sweet turtle angel?” Mira whispered calmly, her voice just as warm as the makna’s unfiltered, true smile in the photo. Zoey’s eyes scrunched at the corners as she felt the soft lips of her girlfriend’s on the top of her head. She could smell the cologne Mira had been wearing as her nose inched closer to the dancer’s pulse point of her neck. The same one she wore when they both went out for their one year anniversary to a simple Italian restaurant Zoey was always desperate to go to.
“Hmm… You’re wearing that perfume again, huh?” Zoey muttered as she folded her head into the crevice of Mira’s neck - savouring the scent for herself.
Mira just giggled to herself as she held Zoey by the back of her head, scrunching gently at her scalp, “Only because my angel loves it so much.” She answered, leaning her head down to see the rapper already planting kisses to the base of her neck where it met her collarbone. “Careful” Mira murmured, though her voice betrayed her smile she was trying to hide. “Can’t be bruising me already, we still have some dinner to eat, babe.” She teased, poking the rapper in the cheek she puffed up, letting a breath of air escape from her lips in a small raspberry.
Zoey’s eyes lit up with excitement at the mention of food, “Yes! I convinced Rumi to order us some pizza for dinner!” She mumbled, sprouting up quickly and holding a helping hand out for Mira to anchor onto to pull her up - if that’s even possible with the maknae’s smaller frame.
“Pizza sounds perfect, baby. Good shout!” Mira hummed with gratitude, gratefully taking her hand in Zoey’s. Dinner could wait — but pizza couldn’t.
The open scrap of cardboard remained on the floor beside the bed, its contents resting quietly under the warm glow of the setting sun — untouched, but no longer the centre of attention.