Homecoming
After the sedan left the Lightward escort lane and turned into the neighborhood, two Lightward soldiers at the building entrance gave a crisp salute. Junheon returned it politely. A minute later, as he unlocked the apartment door, the wind and street noise cut off; inside the building the familiar city hum vanished. The corridors were as quiet and empty as a museum after closing.
"Looks like everyone ducked out early today," Junheon said, toeing off his shoes.
"Empty building = fast elevator," Mira replied. "Plus one."
The moment they stepped in, Mira dropped her schoolbag by the door, swept through the living room like a queen, and collapsed onto the couch. "My life could end here," she declared into a pillow.
Junheon opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of cold water, set it on the coffee table, then rolled up his sleeves and headed for the kitchen. He pulled a frozen pizza from the freezer and slid it into the microwave.
"Chef Junheon's daily special: 'Pride of Poverty,'" he muttered. "With seasonal greens… and morale."
He took out tomatoes, cucumbers, and a few leaves of lettuce. Tck tck tck on the cutting board. A drizzle of olive oil into a small bowl, a shake of salt and pepper. He plated the salad and set it on the table. Napkins, forks, two plates. He moved the water to the table's edge.
The microwave chimed: ding.
"Work of art is ready," Junheon said. He pulled on an oven mitt, lifted the pizza out with care, set it on the counter, and cut precise slices. Steam and basil filled the room.
Mira still lay on the couch like a decorative fossil.
Junheon took a slice and waved it two centimeters under her nose. "Ms. Mira, initiating cardiac massage—with pizza."
She inhaled and cracked an eye. "Is that… basil? Did I die and ascend?"
"Heaven doesn't go 'ding.' Up you get."
"You can drag me," Mira said. "I'm basically unconscious."
"Nope. Procedure is: you arrive at the table of your own free will. Otherwise the pizza goes to our 'ghost guest.'"
"Who's the ghost guest?"
"Me," Junheon said, pretending to bite.
Mira sprang upright on reflex. "Wait! Fine, I'm coming." She fussed with her hair and slid into a chair. "See? I came entirely of my own free will."
"Yes," Junheon said solemnly. "Your willpower deserves applause." He set a slice on her plate, added salad, and fixed a plate for himself.
They ate the first bites in a gentle, satisfied silence. Then Mira couldn't hold it.
"My day: new class, new desk, new drama—but the good kind. Friends are great, teacher's sweet. Yours?"
"Mine…" Junheon considered, then kept it broad. "School's big; the halls are a maze, but I didn't get lost. Teachers are strict. Classes are interesting—we started a new topic in math, something 'resonance'—I liked it. The cafeteria… soup was more balanced than I expected. People are curious; they ask questions. Not bad at all."
"'Not bad at all' = 'something happened,'" Mira said, lifting a brow. "I'll let it slide to protect your handsome face, but I expect the full version when the time is right okay?. Quick topic switch: were the questions good at least?"
"Curiosity questions," Junheon said. "Curiosity's good—exercise for the brain."
"Hm." Mira nabbed a second slice. "By the way, Naves is a legend. I like my friends already. And the chem lab—no exaggeration—looks like a Christmas tree waiting to be exploded."
"It will not be exploded," Junheon said on instinct. "Rule one: safety first."
"Safety," Mira echoed, waving her slice like a flag. "And then fun."
"They can coexist," Junheon said. "Seatbelt first, ice cream after."
Mira grinned. "Let's not skip ice cream today. I still carry the Dessert Rights Charter in my bag."
"Article One: Everything at home belongs to the sweetest person?"
"Yup," Mira said, proud. "Signed: The High Court of Mira."
"Very well, High Court," Junheon said. "Ruling: tonight's dessert—fifty–fifty."
"Make it two–thirds," Mira bargained.
"Fifty point five."
"Deal," Mira said. "Fifty point five."
They ate in companionable quiet for a while. Junheon poured water into two glasses and handed one to her.
"Tomorrow," Mira asked, "are you picking me up from school?"
"I don't know yet," Junheon said. "We got out early today because a teacher was out; tomorrow might be tight. Focus on your homework first."
"Homework," Mira sighed. "Fine. And you… um… going to talk to my future sister Harin?"
Junheon's sip caught in his throat. "We're just acquaintances," he said when he recovered. "Class, projects, that sort of thing…"
"Sure, sure," Mira said with a sly smile. "Class, projects, that sort of thing."
"Look," Junheon said, unable to hide a laugh, "long-term plan: smooth days, solid grades, dessert."
"Dessert," Mira confirmed. "Dessert fixes everything."
The microwave clock cast a faint glow across the kitchen. Far outside, a distant siren traced a single line through the night and went still. For a moment the apartment felt like the safest place in the world.
"That's it for today," Junheon said. "I'll do the dishes."
"No," Mira said. "Dishes are on me. High Court ruling. Because my brother performed heroism today."
"I… made pizza and salad," Junheon said.
"Pizza is heroism," Mira said. "Let's put that in the history books."
Junheon laughed, gathered the plates, and set them by the sink. Mira stood, straightened the napkins, and carried the glasses.
"Tomorrow," Mira said at the hallway, "can we stop by KN after school? I promised someone a discount."
"Hopefully not the opposite gender?" Junheon teased.
Mira winked. "That doesn't work on me, big bro. My girl friends want to see where you work—and it's great for work."
"For work, huh?" Junheon said with an overly serious look. Mira bit her lips to keep from laughing, her whole face straining.
"Deal," Junheon said. "Tomorrow—seatbelt, homework, dessert. In that order."
"Aye aye, boss!"
As the lights dimmed, the apartment stayed warm and quiet; from the empty hallway outside, only the crumbs of their laughter remained.