Work Text:
@🚕🏠🔜
Mira feels her phone buzz twice in the brief moment she looks up to greet her driver as he gets in the front of the car. When she looks back down at the screen, Zoey and Rumi have already devolved into trying to outdo one another with an increasingly loud array of celebration emojis. Mira scoffs quietly, but can’t keep the smile off her face. She’s almost positive they’re sitting next to each other on the couch, being ridiculous.
She leans back in her seat with a deep breath, watching the arrivals terminal disappear into the city lights as the car drives on. The idle thought to put in her earbuds to pass the time floats by, but is quickly dismissed when weighed with the effort it would take to liberate them from her bag. She doesn’t sleep on planes, and after a twelve hour flight she’s feeling especially wrung out.
The last part of a long trip always makes her the itchiest. She’s been away for more than a week, endured multiple airports, and the last thing between her and relief is twenty empty minutes in a car.
With a deep breath, she closes her eyes and tries to focus on what she’s looking forward to instead of where she’s stuck. She lists for herself all the things she’s missed, her bed, her shower, real food, and all of it pales next to the burning, sparking anticipation of them. They talked constantly while she was away, endless texts and at least an hour of FaceTime every day, and it wasn’t even close to enough. Once upon a time she would have found herself pathetic for it, but today she can pass that thought by and linger in the daydream of what she’ll do when she sees them again.
She’s surprised to feel the car pull to a stop much sooner than she anticipated, to the point where she glances out the window to confirm they’ve arrived at the right building. They have, and with the driver tipped and bags in hand she makes her way in and towards their elevator. She forces down a surprising flutter of nerves as it starts to rise.
When it arrives, the door doesn’t even open all the way before she’s been tackled to the back of it by two separate blurs.
“Oh my god,” she grunts, wrapping an arm around each of them. “How have you both managed to barnacle me at the same time?”
“Dedication,” Zoey says, the sound of her voice muffled by Mira’s jacket. Mira feels Rumi make a noise of agreement where her face is tucked against her neck. She staggers out into the hallway with both of them still wrapped around her.
“I’ve gotta get my stuff,” she tries to say, only for Zoey to squeeze her even tighter.
“Screw your stuff. I’ll buy you new stuff.”
“I brought presents,” Mira offers.
“Don’t care,” Zoey replies. Rumi, always the more sensible one, does in fact start to relinquish her hold on Mira and land back on her feet. She reaches a hand up to either side of Mira’s face with an excited smile.
“Hi,” she says, pulling Mira down slightly into a gentle kiss that reverberates through her whole body. “Are you hungry? Zoey made food.”
“Zoey made food?” Mira repeats slowly, yelping and jumping when one of Zoey’s hands that has wormed its way under her jacket pinches at her.
“You’re pronouncing ‘Zoey made food!’ wrong,” she says smartly, finally hopping off Mira only to grab her hand and start dragging her towards the kitchen. “C’mon.”
Mira opens her mouth to try to explain that her internal clock doesn’t know which way is up right now, but stops herself when she sees what’s on the island. The rice cooker is out, surrounded by three different containers of varying sizes. Something is bubbling on the stove, smelling of doenjang and anchovy broth.
She looks over when Zoey nudges at her shoulder. “Don’t look so amazed,” she says with a smile. “I know what you need.” Rumi walks by and pulls down some bowls from the cabinet, popping the rice cooker open as she passes and releasing a cloud of steam. It smells like the home Mira has spent so much of her life desperately craving, leaves her standing there staring with eyes stinging at the edges.
“Bobby’s mom says hi and sent this over just for you,” Zoey continues, pulling her to the edge of the island and patting the squat brown box closest to the edge. “She also says to tell her when you’re traveling again so she can send more with you because too much of the world is uncivilized and a good Korean girl shouldn’t be expected to thrive in kimchi-less conditions.”
She moves her hand over to the next container, chunks of radish visible through the plastic. “Rumi was in the mood for kkakdugi a few days ago, so we’ve got some of that leftover, too.”
“And I know it’s not super hot here right now, but it got so hot in France while you were there that I thought these might be nice,” Rumi adds, cracking open the last container to reveal some very fresh looking seasoned cucumbers.
Mira swallows. She loves them both so much she doesn’t know how it can all fit inside her body.
“Go hit the couch,” Zoey encourages, sliding her hands around Mira’s waist and turning her in the direction of the living room. “I know you missed it. We’ll get you something to eat.”
Mira lets herself be gently shoved in the direction of the couch, making her way over to sit and relaxing back into it with a sigh. It’s a great couch, and she did miss it quite a bit.
She looks up when they both come around from the kitchen, accepting a small bowl of rice with a little bit of each kind of kimchi piled on top, watching another bowl of soup get left on the coffee table to cool.
“So,” Zoey says, plopping down next to her and passing a pair of chopsticks. “Tell me you got to put the smackdown on Obnoxious Brazilian Guy before the conference ended.”
“Zoey,” Rumi scolds as she sits on Mira’s other side. “She’s been working for more than a week straight. Give her some room to breathe.”
“But I need to know if I need to start interviews for long-distance assassins,” Zoey protests. “An important pillar of supportive relationships is that her enemies are our enemies.”
“Didn’t have to,” Mira says, sighing in delight at the first bite. “The Eurovision girls took him down. I thought about recording it for you, but it seemed like it might be in poor taste.”
“Damn. If you had, I could’ve killed on TikTok with that.”
“So let’s all be grateful that Mira’s constant professionalism has once again kept our socials from exploding,” Rumi says, nudging Mira playfully before digging into her own bowl.
Falling back into sync with them is as easy as breathing. Before long, she’s finished her food and settled back into the couch, more than content to just listen and feel them near her. Her eyes slip closed without her noticing, and she must drift off just enough to be startled when she feels a hand rub at her shoulder.
“Poor thing,” Rumi murmurs, sliding her hand around the back of Mira’s neck to rub gently. “How long have you been awake now?”
“At least twenty-six hours from the text record,” Zoey answers before Mira’s bleary brain can even begin the calculation. She scoots closer and ducks under Mira’s arm, wrapping both arms around her middle. “I wish you’d let us send you with something to help catch some sleep on the plane.”
“Less jet lag this way,” Mira says. She knows neither of them believe her, and also knows she’s not demonstrating the best facets of her theory by melting into a sleepy puddle under Rumi’s hand.
“I want you to be able to sleep in your own bed, but I also don’t think I can let you go yet.” Mira frowns when she feels the hand against her neck pull away, but takes a short, surprised breath when she feels Rumi lean in and press her lips to her throat.
“Sleepover,” Mira manages to force out, breathing shakily when Rumi’s amused hum buzzes against her skin.
“You sure you trust Zoey to restrain herself?” Rumi asks.
“Zoey knows what Zoey’s about,” Zoey says, leaning deeper into Mira’s shoulder. “She would also like to point out that Rumi is the one half-way into Mira’s lap right now.”
“I can’t help it.” Rumi’s voice is almost a groan as she gives up the pretense and pulls herself fully on top of Mira. “I missed her, and she smells really good.”
“That is objectively false; I reek of jet fuel,” Mira says, unable to resist sliding a hand over Rumi’s back all the same.
“Just your clothes,” Zoey says, stretching up to nose against the other side of Mira’s neck. “You still smell like you. Which I do have to admit is very good.”
Mira is too tired and too turned on to hold in a whimper when Rumi pulls back.
“I’m sorry,” she says with a rueful smile, bringing her hands up to Mira’s face. “You were just falling asleep and I’m all over you.”
“It doesn’t seem like she really minds,” Zoey says, hand smoothing low enough on Mira’s stomach to make her squirm. She picks her head up enough to nip at the edge of Mira’s ear. “Did you miss us, baby?”
“So much,” Mira breathes. She can’t keep her eyes open when she feels Rumi start gently tracing the line of her cheekbone with her thumb. Zoey chuckles, low and dirty.
“She puts up a good front, but you know our girl.” Her touch grows firmer, fingers sliding along the waistband of Mira’s jeans, fingertips circling the button. “I bet she lost a good day or two of work thinking about this.”
Mira whines when Rumi pushes herself back to sitting on her lap, Zoey echoing the sound when she pulls her hand away from the catch of Mira’s pants.
“Let’s at least hit the brakes long enough to get ready for bed,” she says. She reaches up to pull Mira by the chin into a slow, soft kiss. “That way you can just crash after.”
“One day you’re gonna have to teach me that trick of saving enough brain power to be sensible when we’re about to do it,” Zoey sighs, pressing one last kiss to Mira’s cheek before releasing her and climbing off the couch to gather their dishes.
“It’s not easy,” Rumi admits, tracing her fingertips down the length of Mira’s neck with a dreamy, distant look. Mira swallows when Rumi bites her own lip, looking for all the world like she’s deeply reconsidering her proposal. They both jump when a loud clattering of dishes hitting the sink comes from the kitchen.
“Let’s go then!” Zoey says, coming back around to the front of the couch and hurrying them both to their feet. She grabs Mira by the hand and starts pulling her towards the stairs.
“You have ten minutes to get ready for bed before I’m climbing you like a tree.”
Rumi shifts her overnight bag to her other shoulder as she rounds the last turn onto their street. It’s been a good walk from the station, given her time to move her body towards a purpose after hours of sitting with her thoughts on the train. She doesn’t get time like this to herself often, and she vastly prefers it that way after the lonely, isolated life she led until far too recently, but she’s grateful for a few more minutes to decompress. She’s learned it’s never good to linger in the in-between, but it’s also important to understand it while you’re there.
Before long she’s at the building’s door. It glides open, and she waves at the doorman in the lobby as she passes through. Their elevator dings cheerfully as it opens, just like it always does. She feels herself start to relax as it rises.
When the doors open again, it’s to what she feels in her bones is home.
She steps into the dim hallway, dropping her bag by their pile of gym stuff to deal with later, looking up when she hears footsteps.
“Hey there,” Zoey says, smiling but radiating anxiety. Where Mira was calm to the point of almost being detached about Rumi’s decision to go, Zoey couldn’t help but exude her anger and distrust at what Rumi planned to walk into. Rumi is sure that she argued hard to collect her at the station as soon as humanly possible, and was only talked down with a great amount of effort. “Are you okay? We were getting worried.”
Rumi keeps walking towards her until she walks directly into her arms. She smiles at the soft, surprised sound Zoey makes, meets Mira’s eyes where she was hovering just around the corner, and tilts her head to encourage her over. When Mira’s long arms wrap around both of them, she melts.
“I think I could get through anything as long as I got to come home to you,” she says with a sigh. “But I’m really glad that’s over.”
“I bet,” Mira says. Rumi feels her press a kiss to her temple. “What do you need first?”
“This.” She lets her head drop down against Zoey's shoulder and breathes in deep. “Then PJs. Then dinner maybe? It smells really good in here.”
“That’s just because it’s real food,” Mira says dismissively. “Celine can’t cook for shit. It’s a miracle you made it to adulthood.” Rumi huffs with laughter, pressing her lips to Zoey’s shoulder before pulling back.
“Can we talk over dinner?” Zoey asks nervously. “I promise to behave.” Rumi raises an eyebrow at her, and can feel Mira’s skepticism without even looking at her. Zoey frowns and sighs, “I promise to try to behave.”
“Okay,” Rumi agrees, smiling when she feels Mira kiss her head once more before turning her towards the stairs with a gentle shove.
Her room is dark and quiet when she arrives, but not quite as she left it. Someone’s done her laundry while she was away, left it folded in a basket at the end of her bed. Her favorite sleep clothes are on top of the pile. She swallows at the sight, and changes quickly to get back to them.
The table is set when she makes her way back downstairs, a bowl of bokkeumbap already waiting in her usual spot and several of her favorite banchan sitting in the middle of the table. She lets her hand run along the back of Zoey’s shoulders as she passes where she’s sitting, smiling when she feels her lean back into the touch. When she settles in her seat, she glances over when Mira slides a glass of tea over.
“Figure you’ve got about three minutes to eat in peace before she can’t stand it anymore,” she says conversationally, laying a slice of radish over her spoonful of rice. Zoey makes a garbled noise of protest through a mouthful of food.
Rumi reaches under the table to squeeze Zoey’s knee with one hand while stirring her rice around with the other. “It was…” she hesitates, not having put a qualifier to the last three days yet, despite her hours of overthinking. “I won’t say it was good, but it wasn’t bad, either. We talked a lot, about a lot of things. She said to say hello, and that she wants to talk to you both, too, if you’re ready. I said you weren’t yet.” Mira stays quiet and impassive, but Rumi feels Zoey’s leg go tense under her hand.
“Were you able to do what you needed for your mom?” Zoey asks, voice tight. Rumi nods, which seems to settle her a bit. Everything happened last year just before Chuseok, and the lingering guilt of not tending to her mother’s grave in the way she had for her whole life had followed her ever since. The return of the holiday seemed like a good chance to put it to rest, even if she knows Zoey still thinks it was just a way for Celine to lure Rumi out into trying to make amends.
She opens up slowly about what they covered, peeling back each layer as much for herself as for them. It will never change what was done to her, what she thought she had to do to herself, but knowing the why…it’s too abstract to be called a comfort, but it makes her feel like she sees more of the picture.
She’s scooping up her last spoonful of rice by the time she’s recounted everything she can think of. As she eats it, she sees Mira sit back in her chair and fold her arms over her chest.
“So,” she says plainly. “What’s the verdict?”
Rumi huffs and can’t help but smile a little at the directness. “I think it’s worth trying still,” she says, setting her spoon down and absently tracing her finger over the tabletop. Unease rises up the back of her throat. “Is…is that okay? I know you’re both still pretty mad.”
She looks up when Mira’s hand settles over hers, warm and grounding. “That’s not gonna change anytime soon,” she says, pausing to give Zoey a pointed look. By the time Rumi looks in her direction she’s already closing her mouth, but has her eyes narrowed at Mira. She takes a deep breath and reaches to rest her own hand on Rumi’s leg under the table.
“It’s your relationship and your call,” Mira continues, stroking her thumb over the back of Rumi’s hand. “We’ll back anything you want to do.”
Rumi feels strangely close to tears. They’ve always done this, trusted her judgement, her instincts, her, even after everything that’s happened. She’s never felt worthy of it, and they stubbornly do it all the same. She didn’t know love could feel like this.
Zoey leans into her shoulder, nudging close enough to kiss her cheek. “Do you wanna hang out and watch TV? I won’t even make you watch a documentary.”
“I always wanna hang out with you,” Rumi says, nudging her back. Zoey smiles and reaches over to grab her dishes, stacking them on top of her own and standing. She makes a ‘stop that’ noise when Mira starts collecting her own. “You cooked,” she says, lightly smacking Mira’s hands away and adding her dishes to the pile. “It’s my night for dishes anyways.”
Mira rolls her eyes, but Rumi sees her smiling. “C’mon,” she says, standing and pulling Rumi along by the hand. “Let’s get in there before she changes her mind. You missed an impressive lineup, and I don’t have any more brain capacity for more Australian animal facts.”
“You both knew what you were getting into!” Zoey calls from the kitchen.
Rumi lets herself be led into the living room, laughing when Mira playfully manhandles her into her spot on the couch, only to sit close enough next to her to curl her arm around Rumi’s shoulders. She flicks on the television and starts scrolling through channels, settling on an episode of some drama series Rumi found interesting enough to start, but not enough to finish.
She’s vaguely trying to remember who’s who when Zoey comes around the couch and promptly climbs into Rumi’s lap. “Dinner’s over, so I don’t have to behave anymore,” she says by way of explanation, draping her legs over Mira and making herself comfortable. Rumi chuckles and wraps her arms around her.
They sit together for a quiet minute. Rumi leans her head against Mira’s shoulder, stroking a hand up and down Zoey’s arm.
“She didn’t hurt you, did she?” Zoey asks, quiet and sudden.
“No,” Rumi answers quickly, straightening to try to meet Zoey’s eye. She looks pale and serious in a way that makes Rumi’s chest hurt. Rumi holds herself still as Zoey shifts, reaching up a hand to either side of Rumi’s face.
“Just,” she starts unevenly, moving her thumb across Rumi’s cheek. “Just promise me you won’t let her set you back to how things were, okay?”
“Zoey,” Mira says gently beside them. Zoey shakes her head.
“No, this is important.” She swallows before pressing on. “You’ve worked so hard, and you’re so much more you now, and it’s so easy to go back when you’re around—”
“Zoey,” Rumi interrupts, bringing up a hand to rest over hers. “I promise.”
Zoey stares at her for a long minute, reading. Rumi looks back at her, as sure and steady as she can manage to be. She isn’t ready to close the door on Celine, or all the complicated things that built the base of her, but she refuses to relinquish the strange, beautiful direction she’s grown beyond it all in.
“Okay,” Zoey says, visibly deciding to believe her once again. Rumi feels her body start to untense, her heavy seriousness breaking as she leans in just enough to kiss the tip of Rumi’s nose before releasing her.
“I’m not sorry for bringing it up,” she says firmly, nestling herself more comfortably against Rumi. “As a group we are collectively shit at this.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to deny you the one opportunity you have to be the voice of reason,” Mira sighs, grabbing Zoey’s foot to make her squirm and yelp. Rumi laughs and holds her tighter.
“The things I put up with,” she grumbles, turning her attention to the television. “What garbage are we watching? Oh wait, is this that one with the–” she cuts herself off with an outraged gasp. “Oh, I have some opinions about this.”
Rumi wouldn’t have it any other way.
Everything hurts.
She’s been masking so hard all day that her body aches. The deep, unsettling terror of being a ten-year-old disappointment that being around her mom always causes still hasn’t faded, even having escaped the viewing hall for the day. Her clothes are overly new, starched and itching and still radiating the sterile smell of the air she had to occupy. She can barely think through the high-pitched drone of grief refracting through her brain.
And on top of it all, she’s going back to an empty hotel room because she’s a goddamn coward.
Everyone in her mom’s family is deeply uncomfortable with her public visibility, and even more unwilling to begin recognizing her relationship. After a childhood’s worth of visits being the weird cousin on the sidelines she likes to pretend it doesn’t phase her anymore, and when they don’t talk about it, it almost doesn’t. But the unexpected call from her mom and the flat ultimatum it contained is still throbbing in the back of her mind.
Your halmeoni is dead. Come alone, or don’t come at all.
A day and a half later, she can see now that she basically dissociated. With Rumi gone at Bobby’s office to work through paperwork and Mira at the studio, it was easy to blow through packing and getting a ticket on the next train before she even understood what she was doing. She had already called the elevator before the singular bolt of clarity that they would panic when they found an empty apartment with no explanation hit. The note she left was short and rushed. She’s too pathetically scared to face what she’s done, and hasn’t turned her phone on since she left.
No one ever bothered to understand her here. No one but her. So many summers alone in the crowd, a constant disappointment to everyone around her, and her halmeoni never failed to ask what she was writing, what she was reading, what she could sing for her. She laughed at her jokes, held her when she was overwhelmed, never let her feel like she was less than, or half, or anything but a normal kid.
She had to say goodbye.
The hotel hallway stretches out in front of her, the visual texture of the carpet settling behind her eyes as a piercing headache. She pulls the keycard out of her suit jacket pocket, looking for the room number that simply will not stay in her head. It’s as far down the hall as it can be, because how could she have possibly earned anything being easy. When she pushes open the door she immediately notices the lights are on. She must have forgotten to turn them off when she left this morning.
It takes her five seconds to register that she’s not alone.
She stares at them, frozen and terrified. They stare back at her, visibly on edge, waiting.
“Why are you here?” comes out of her mouth. Her voice sounds confused, scared in a way she’s never been with them before.
“Because it wasn’t right to ask you to do this alone,” Mira says. Her voice sounds like home. Zoey suddenly can’t feel her legs.
They both catch her, like they always have. “Hey, it’s okay,” Rumi says softly. “We’ve got you.”
“I’m sorry,” Zoey grinds out, shaking all over. “I didn’t…she wouldn’t…I had to—”
“Shut up,” Mira says, so gentle and so her at the same time that a hysterical half-laugh rips out of Zoey’s chest. “We’ve got time. Let’s get you into real clothes before you peel your skin off, okay?”
Zoey nods into her shoulder, still unsteady on her feet as they both let her go. Rumi wraps a hand around hers and gives her an encouraging smile, pulling her over to the bed she didn’t bother to make this morning. She hovers nearby as Zoey struggles out of her suit piece by piece, pulling out the white ribbon holding back her hair and tossing it onto the pile last. When she feels movement on her other side, she turns and accepts a pile of soft, comfortable clothes from Mira without thinking.
“Go wash your face,” she says, smoothing a steady hand down Zoey’s back. “You’ll feel better.” Zoey nods weakly, heading into the bathroom. She keeps the water cold, and the shock of it on her skin does make her feel a little closer to being a person again. She shuffles into the sweatshirt and gym shorts she was given, eyes watering when the smell of both of them wraps around her. She can’t tell who wore this last.
When she moves to reenter the hotel room, she hesitates in the doorway. Rumi turns to look at her from the edge of the closet, where she’s finishing hanging up the garment bag Zoey had left empty on the bed. Mira is standing by the small desk, watching Zoey intently.
“Was there anything you could eat today?” Rumi asks. Zoey is still for a moment before shaking her head. She choked down enough to keep her blood sugar from crashing, but stress always drives her texture sensitivity through the roof and it was a challenge. Mira nods like she was expecting that answer, turning to a bag on the desk.
“Crunch or squish?” she asks, holding up a bag of Zoey’s favorite brand of shrimp chips and a glass container of what looks like cold sweet potatoes. Zoey swallows hard, completely beyond words. She manages to make her legs work enough to walk over to Mira and tuck herself against the sweet potato side.
Mira moves decisively, dropping the chips back in the bag before handing the container off the Rumi and wrapping an arm around Zoey. She pulls her over towards the bed, climbing in and sitting against the headboard before pulling Zoey into her lap. Zoey watches Rumi hop up on the other side, pulling Zoey’s legs into her own lap before cracking open the container and peeling back the wrinkly skin of a small sweet potato. She offers it over with a smile.
Zoey takes it, bringing it up to take a tentative bite. For the first time since she left home, she doesn’t immediately recoil from the texture. She takes another bite with a deep breath of relief.
They sit quietly together, Rumi peeling and passing potatoes until Zoey suddenly stops halfway through the third. “Do you want any?” she asks, looking between the half-eaten potato and the two of them with sudden urgency. Mira smiles and shakes her head.
“We got food before we got here.” She runs her hand along Zoey’s arm. “If it tells you how much Rumi loves you, she endured convenience store coffee to get here as fast as we could.”
Zoey looks over at Rumi, genuinely shocked. Rumi says with deadly seriousness, “I would do anything for you. Even drink bad sweetened coffee out of a bag.”
Zoey breaks completely.
“Oh no!” Rumi immediately tosses the container aside and scoots closer, reaching for Zoey with a look of distress. “That was supposed to make you laugh, I’m sorry. It really wasn’t that bad, I promise.”
Zoey makes a terrible, choked sound, edging towards hyperventilation. “You’re fucking perfect, both of you, and I didn’t even have the guts to tell you I was leaving.”
Mira’s arms wrap around her, tight enough to border in pain. The pressure makes it easier to breathe, easier to start trying to think through the constant screaming in her brain. It’s enough that Zoey starts to cry for the first time since she got the call.
“There we go,” Mira murmurs, shifting just enough to tuck Zoey’s head under her chin. “Don’t fight it. You’re okay.”
The force of everything hits like a wave, like something bigger than her body and far beyond her control, but with time it starts draining out of her until she can almost breathe again. Mira doesn’t let go, and eventually she starts being able to register the feeling of Rumi’s hand running up and down her leg.
“That’s my girl,” Mira says softly into her hair when she calms enough to take a deep, steadying breath. Zoey looks up when she feels Rumi moving, accepting several tissues she’s grabbed from the box on the nightstand.
“You’re doing so good, Zo,” she says. “You’ve got two days left, and they’re really gonna suck, but you can do anything. You just don’t have to do it all by yourself.”
Zoey feels Mira’s lips against the top of her head. “Whatever you think you have to do, you can always come home to us. Got it?”
She forces herself to nod, taking one more shaking breath and she wipes her face off. “I’m sorry,” she says again, voice rough and forced. “I panicked.”
“I know,” Mira says. She doesn’t let go, but loosens her hold enough to settle Zoey more comfortably against her shoulder. “Pretty sure everyone here has some experience with shitty family expectations.” Zoey half-smiles when she sees Rumi nod solemnly.
After another few minutes of sitting quietly, wrapped up between them, Zoey is amazed to realize she almost feels like herself again.
“You ready for the plan?” Mira asks.
“There’s a plan?”
“Of course there’s a plan,” Rumi responds with mock-offense. “I’ve been working on it since about thirty seconds after we realized you were gone.”
“There have been several iterations as more information became available,” Mira clarifies, smiling when Rumi pushes half-heartedly at her other shoulder. She brings a hand up the brush against Zoey’s cheek.
“First step is to get you steady. I want you to try to eat a little more and drink at least a liter of something; there are options in the bag.” Zoey looks back over towards the desk, noticing more bags piled on it than she did before.
“Next is call your dad,” Rumi says with a squeeze to Zoey’s leg. “We let him know what was up when you wouldn’t pick up your phone, and he’s pretty freaked out.”
Zoey winces at the thought of having hurt someone else in all this. Her parents haven’t spoken in years, but she knows her dad always respected her halmeoni. She should’ve thought of him in this, too.
“Stop that,” Mira says with a light pinch to Zoey’s arm.
“This room is officially an ‘Everyone Has To Be Nice To Zoey’ zone,” Rumi continues. “Especially Zoey.”
“I don’t like that,” Zoey says sullenly.
“Tough,” Mira says. It’s hard to feel anything but tired and safe when she feels Mira press a kiss to her forehead.
“When are they expecting you back tomorrow?” Rumi asks. Zoey swallows.
“Early.” She wasn’t planning on doing much but failing to sleep between now and then, but now the thought of returning feels like staring off the edge of a cliff.
“That’s okay,” Rumi says, stroking her hand along Zoey’s leg. “I brought some extra coffee to help you get to sleep. We’ll get up and get you ready in the morning.”
“There’s a library three blocks from the hospital,” Mira continues. “Because you’ll have your phone back on and keep it on,” she pauses to emphasize each word with a gentle poke that makes Zoey squirm. “You can give us a heads up when you need a sanity break and we’ll meet you there. The garden looks nice and the internet says it’s quiet.”
“Bobby wanted to send a car to get home, but we told him you’d be more comfortable on the train.” Rumi wraps one of her hands around Zoey’s and brings it up to her mouth to press her lips to it. “We took care of tickets and gave the hotel manager a little extra so we have as much time as you need to leave.”
“How did you find me?” Zoey asks as the thought abruptly occurs to her.
“You are the literal worst at remembering to lock your computer,” Mira answers. “The webpages for everything were still open.”
“Aw, you ruined it,” Rumi says. “I was gonna sell it like I’m the world’s greatest detective in my spare time.”
“That would imply that you one, even come close to budgeting that amount of spare time and two, don’t regularly lose your phone, your keys, and your headphones in our own home.”
A laugh bubbles out of Zoey’s chest before she can even think to stop it, and she can’t help but keep giggling at Rumi’s exaggerated noise of outrage.
“You called a ‘Be Nice To Zoey’ zone,” Mira says with a shrug. “Didn’t say anything about Rumi.”
“I’m only allowing this disrespect because you made Zoey laugh,” Rumi says primly, watching Zoey with a little smile as she toys with her fingers. Mira sighs and nudges her nose against Zoey’s hair.
“I love you guys.” Zoey doesn’t think the words are big enough for everything she feels, but she’s too raw and frayed to manage the sentiment any other way.
“We love you too,” Mira says. Zoey could build the rest of her life on the certainty in her voice.
“We’ll get you through this,” Rumi promises, pressing a kiss to Zoey’s knuckles. “We can get through anything together, right?”
“Yeah.” Zoey closes her eyes, safe and held tight. “We can.”