You Belong With Me

Stay

Johan

"You want me to do what?" Johan Antonio groaned into his phone, at once regretting he picked up the call.

"Please, please, please let Mira stay over tonight."

"Miguel, it's past midnight."

"Yes, so if you don't let her in she will die out there in the cold."

"We live in the Philippines. Hardly gets cold enough for socks in bed."

"You know what I mean."

"Mira is tough stuff. She'll kick your ass."

"Oh that I am sure she will. And since you're speaking in complete sentences, you're obviously awake. Come on, Johan—"

"Did you say let her in?"

Sleep dragging his limbs but with a dull spark in his head, Johan jammed his eyeglasses on and stumbled out of his sheets, lumbered out of his bedroom, down the last few paces to his front door.

She wouldn't be. She couldn't.

Johan looked through the peephole.

He was going to kill Miguel.

He fought through the locks and tore the door open.

Mira Banzon stared at him, eyes blinking fast behind her glasses. Her mouth dropped open then twisted into a scowl, hand snapping to press her phone against her ear.

Johan heard Miguel screaming apologies from his end of the call.

"I am coming for you." Mira cut through her older brother in a low, deathly monotone.

It wasn't Johan in trouble but he felt the hairs at the back of his neck prickle.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I am the worst brother ever. I don't deserve a drop of love from my most precious little sister—"

With a grunt and a stab at her phone, Mira ended the call, turning back to Johan.

She looked tired, dark rings under her eyes, the rims red. Her short hair hung limp, framing her face. She looked dressed for a tough commute—an overlarge windbreaker that swallowed her slight form and Doc Martens he knew she'd owned since college. She probably took the bus straight from Bataan and a few more rides until she arrived at St. Tropez Court condo in Ortigas, thanks to whatever reason her brother had for giving her Johan's address.

She was as lovely as he'd always thought she was.

Mira lifted her arm, scooping a duffel bag from the floor. "I can get a hotel."

"Stay."

His voice came out hoarse, a sleep-laden croak. He wasn't sure Mira heard him right, but she didn't leave, and so he spoke again.

"Your brother already got me out of bed. The door's open. You're here. Stay."

Johan smiled. The spark in his head had transformed into beating drums or was that his heartbeat? He hadn't seen this face in too long. His limbs didn't feel waterlogged anymore. He swung the door open wider and reached for Mira's bag.

She gave a small grin but shook his helping hand off as she stepped inside his home.

"Thanks. It's just tonight...well, the next few hours." Her eyes caught the time on the wall. "I'll be out of your face before you know it."

"It's no trouble," he said, bolting the door and following her into his living room.

She faced him, eyes stern. "Kuya Migs gave me your address without your permission, obviously because he forgot his promise to let me stay with him tonight. Of course, it's trouble."

Damn it, Miguel.

What could be his excuse for missing this? His in-laws were staying over to bond with the grandkids? He and his wife were out of town for a conference? Or were they hosting one of their dinner parties for whomever new friend they'd picked up from the hospital or grad school? Or was it the general state of not being used to having a younger sister around who may depend on him?

The urge to bring his best friend pain for dragging him from slumber and planting a guest inside his home in the middle of the night was dissipating. Johan knew it was hardly a prickle once the facts had registered.

Here was Mira Banzon. The best midnight surprise. He hadn't seen her in two years, since that New Year she'd come from Dubai to visit.

He was smiling again. He couldn't help it.

"It's fine. Shower is that way," he blurted out. "Oh, towels."

"I'm equipped." Mira raised her duffel bag before he could aim for the closet. "I can sleep on the couch, if that's okay with you."

Johan shook his head, turning to the door he left ajar.

"There's a bed in my room. Without me in it. Let me fix you some fresh sheets so it doesn't smell like me. Not that I smell bad. I cleaned up before bed tonight. I do that every night. Hygiene. You know, important." Each word he dropped sounded more embarrassing than the last. He met her gaze with pleading eyes. "I'm still half asleep. This is sleep talking."

She was laughing. How he'd missed making her laugh. Mira laughing at him had its own special drawer of joy.

"I will bunk wherever. Don't fuss, kuya," Mira said, lugging her bag in the direction of his bathroom. "I will take you up on that shower. Ugh. I've forgotten how I hate bus commuting. I smell like Pine Fresh and chicharon vinegar."

"You have to pull on the knob thing until it clicks to get hot water," he called out.

"I will figure it out."

"Hey, Mira."

"Hmm?" She stopped, halfway through the bathroom door.

"How long ago since I've asked you to stop calling me kuya?"

That smile. Her eyes in half moons, the curve of her mouth stretching out, everything in her face lighting up.

"Longer than the last time I've seen you? Longer than the time you spent in doctor school? Okay, Johan."