Chapter Text
Even with her phone’s light assaulting her eyes, Mira struggled to stay awake. Her eyelids drooped like they were weighed down with lead. She was supposed to be the punctual one; she couldn’t be up at this hour, on her phone no less. They’ve got an upcoming tour for crying out loud. On nights like these, however, some unseen force compelled her to stare at her screen and wait.
The chats stared back. They reflected in Mira’s eyes like some digital abyss. They were timestamped a decade ago. Abeoji: “Coming home now.” 10 days before she was kicked out. Eomeoni: “Call me.” A week before. Seojoon: “Are you here yet?” A month before.
She read the messages over and over. Stared at the chat boxes until the dividing lines burned into her retina. Hoped to see typing dots magically appear. She knew better than to scroll through the messages; the preview was enough for her.
Unseen force? Bullshit—although Mira would never admit it. She wouldn’t think it. She just stared and let the blinding screen consume her—now that, she could think about.
I should probably stop. My eyes won’t appreciate this one day.
She didn’t stop. She always had a convenient excuse when Zoey inevitably noticed her red eyes the morning after: couldn’t sleep, too many movies, binging dramas (“Without me?!” cried Zoey), or video games. Hell, sometimes Zoey even believed she was working. Does she think I’m Rumi? Guess I didn’t die a hero, and lived long enough to become the villain. Mira let out a dull exhale at her own joke.
It wasn’t really a ritual, but once or twice a month, she sat awake at night and waited. Watched. It was comforting, in a strange way. At least, she thought it was. Maybe she was lying to herself. Maybe if she believed hard enough, a fabled “1” would fall out of the sky and appear next to one of the three chats, and it would say exactly what she wanted to hear, and a decade-long counter would reset. If she believed hard enough, she wouldn’t have to send it.
When her eyes opened up to meet the sunrise, she noticed her phone on the crisp gray bedsheets—the side where she never tossed and turned. It was like that every morning. The pristine part of the bed almost glowed in the sun’s rays, and the Seoul skyline greeted her behind the full glass wall. It was a canvas of orange and blue every morning. It felt peaceful.
Thank God the bed is big enough for like a billion people. Someday my phone’s gonna fall off the edge.
She shoved the stray hairs out of her face and spit the rest out of mouth. Then she grabbed her phone and checked the notific—the time. The time. She checked the time.
09:44
No Older N—
She was out the door by 10.
Zoey’s hand oscillated between her cereal bowl and her mouth like clockwork, while her eyes were hypnotized by sealife YouTube shorts on the TV. Her posture was bizarre and contorted, and her hair looked more tangled than Rumi’s did in the morning. Mira couldn’t help but snort at the sight, as if Zoey had teleported to the couch mid-slumber. She could faintly hear a hair dryer from Rumi’s room.
She called it Apple Bran or something? Apples sound pretty good. She, for whatever reason, checked to make sure Zoey was absolutely, definitively, positively not looking. She turned back to reach for the cereal. Better eat this in my room and quick. Her hand froze on the box when she saw the actual name. Oh. That’s not apple. Hm. Guess I’ll—
“Mira!” Rumi shouted. Mira flinched and nearly dropped her porcelain bowl on the ground.
Fucking hell, how does she do that? Some kind of demon aura, probably.
Rumi giggled. “Sorry. Hey, that’s Zoey’s American cereal! Can you pour me some of that? I’ve been meaning to try it.” She walked away to go join Zoey on the couch.
Think think think think! “Okay.” No!
Survival instinct triggered. She whipped around to meet Zoey’s gaze, who was already looking back, mouth half-open and full of half-chewed cereal. She saw Mira’s hand still holding the cereal box and formed an uncannily large grin. Mira gave a sheepish smile in response. Zoey swallowed the cereal and returned to being mesmerized by the TV.
“Thanks Mira!” said Rumi as she plopped down next to Zoey. Her long, voluminous unbraided tapestry of purple leaned on a rat’s nest of black.
I better get something else.
Mira’s embarrassment subsided, and she joined the rest. That really wasn’t a big deal and I’m not sure why it feels so weird but it’s probably nothing at all and it’ll just go away—she sets down Rumi’s cereal and her own gukbap a little too hard. The soup swelled over the edge, and a little splashed onto the table.
Zoey suppressed a laugh. “Mira,” she groaned. She opened her mouth wide to continue but then noticed Mira’s body language, then posture, then face, and then, eyes. Zoey squinted at her. “You up ‘till 4 again?
“No. It's nothing. Really. Just got a little too engrossed,” said Mira. “At night, I mean.” She got up to go grab a napkin.
“Um, are you sure?” said Rumi. “It’s been happening a little more often.”
Uh oh, has it gotten more frequent? I’m slipping up. She sat back down on the floor and wiped away the evidence of her brief trance.
“Come on, Mira. As your friend, I orderyoutostopbingingdramasorwhateveritisyouredoingthesedays! I mean nights.”
“Says the reels addict,” Mira retorted, tilting her head back and rolling her eyes toward Zoey.
Zoey lightly kicked her in the back. “Hmph! They’re educational!” Mira’s head recoiled and snapped forward.
“Riiight,” said Rumi.
“See, you’re not fooling anyone. And Rumi’s the most gullible one here.”
“I am no—”
“Hey! Look, we need our lead dancer at her peak for this next tour.”
Zoey was visibly uncomfortable after delivering that line. Zoey getting down to business this quick, huh? Is she reciting a script? Or, oh—had they planned for this? But why would she choose the assertive lines?
“Just, let us know if something’s going on. The last time we avoided that, well, you remember,” Zoey said.
Mira wanted to. Her heart pleaded at her to do it. They would understand. She knew it was the right thing to do. It still didn’t feel like enough—she needed (or wanted?) someone relatable. Sometimes, Mira wondered if one of them could actually relate. Regardless, it would mean addressing the guilt from pushing Rumi and Zoey away in search of someone relatable, when they promised no more secrets to each other. No, they probably don’t relate. It’s silly. Why would anyone except me do something stupid like this?
Mira loved spending an hour (or three) at her vanity desk. Today wasn’t one of those days. She just stared at the tiny shelves and the mirror and the drawers and the accessories and felt… fine. She sat up in her chair, letting her mind wander for ten minutes. Ten became fifteen, then twenty, thirty, sixty—
“Hi Bobby!”
“Hi! Yeah, hi, hey.” he chirped. Mira could make out some loud shuffling and talking in the background when she brought the phone right up to her ear. “Mira? Great news!”
“What is it?” She mindlessly rearranged some nail polish bottles and fidgeted with a brush.
“I know you take this more seriously than you let on, so—I moved some things around and called in a favor. Okay, maybe like seven favors. I can get all the backup dancers to the studio for the next run of sessions! But only 6 out of the 7 days. Sorry! It was the best I could do.”
Thanks, appa.
“Thanks, Bobby. Really, you’re the best.”
You didn’t have to go that far. I should have—
“Anytime! Okaygottago!” Beep.
Mira’s hand, phone still in, collapsed onto her leg. She melted back into the chair. She gave a heavy sigh and stared at her reflection. However, the light green walls looked a little more attractive.
Sixty became a hundred.
It’s gonna be a long tour.