#mirake

Mira woke up to the smell of coffee.

When she opened her eyes, she saw the last person she ever expected to be at her bedside.

As if sensing her gaze, Drake looked up from the chair beside her bed, his caramel eyes locked firmly on her. His face, usually relaxed with effortless charm, was tense. Jaw clenched, eyes guarded, posture stiff. 

“Hey, Sorrengail. Welcome back to the land of the living.” He said it with a tiny smile but the eyes did not lie. He looked… perturbed. 

Mira opened her mouth to ask– shit, what did she want to ask? She had so many questions. What was he doing here? When did he get to Aretia? Who let him in her room?

“Before you start in, Brennan warned me that you’re on vocal rest while you’re healing so I come bearing props.” Drake reached for a small leatherbound brown journal and pen, extending it to her.

Mira sat up, letting the blanket fall to her lap. She tried to scrounge up the energy to be self-conscious of Drake seeing her in just a thin cotton nightshirt but getting your throat slit tends to recalibrate your priorities. Drake Cordella bearing witness to her tits through thin cotton won’t hurt anything. 

In fact, if his throat clearing and fidgeting on his chair is any indication, it’s actually helping.

Fighting a smirk, Mira takes the pen and writes down her first obvious question, then turns it around to show Drake.

What are you doing here?

“Chaperoning.” 

A meow sounded from the floor. Scooping Broccoli up, Drake deposited the kitten onto Mira’s bed. He made quick work of burrowing himself into Mira’s side.

“He wanted to jump into bed with you the second we got here, but I made him wait until you woke up.” 

She let out a hoarse chuckle and let the kitten cuddle in close. Stroking his soft ears made her instantly relax. 

Mira picked up the notebook again and wrote down her next question.

What smells so good?

Drake flashed her a sinfully charming smile.

“Me, of course. No cologne. That’s 100% Drake Cordella.” 

Mira rolled her eyes.

Although… Drake did smell good. Men should not be allowed to smell that good after flying from Cordyn to Aretia on a gryphon. Especially not Drake. He can’t be this handsome and still smell nice. It’s patently unfair. 

Drake gestured to the steaming black mug on her bedside table. 

“It’s a good thing I got here when I did.” Drake reaches for the mug and places it in Mira’s hand. “That was lukewarm peppermint tea when I came in.” 

Mira grinned into the mug and took in the rich smell. The coffee, the wisp of caramel that let her know he had sweetened it. Did Brennan or Violet tell him she liked caramel in her coffee? Shit, did they even know? It was something she did on her own. Instead of using cream or milk that can expire, she sweetened it with soft caramel candies. Something she could keep on her person, tucked into small pockets of her leathers so she’d never be without. 

She takes a small sip, then a bigger one. Fuck, that’s good. Did he make that himself? 

Mira picked up the pen and asked him exactly that.

Did you make this? 

Drake seemed almost bashful when he answered. Was that a pink blush rising over his tan cheeks?

“Yeah, well… I mean, I– I didn’t have time to pick up a ‘get well soon’ card.”

Did he just stutter?

Did you just stutter?

Drake ran a hand through his hair. 

“I flew straight here for hours without stopping in the rain, bring you coffee, and a kitten and you’re judging me.” He playfully tsk’d. “Bad form, Sorrengail.”

Mira stopped to consider his words. What him being here truly meant. 

Why did you come? 

Drake frowns. His chiseled jaw clenched. 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t? After I heard what happened to you? Half expecting to find you dead when I got here?” He stumbled over the word ‘dead’ like it was painful to say. 

Flashes of the battle plow through Mira’s vision violently. She shakes off the horror, the phantom pain in her neck, and tries to focus on the here and now. She strokes her fingers along the thick leather of the journal and finds that it’s embossed on the front. DC.

Mira writes another question down. 

Is this your journal?

Drake smiles, but it’s tight and doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Hope you don’t mind a re-gift. I accidentally filled it in starting on the last page and it always bothered me so I never wrote in it again.” He sits forward in the chair and Mira takes a deep, steadying breath from having him so close. “It’s yours now, Mira.” 

She glances down at the journal and thumbs through to the end where Drake’s scrawl fills in a few pages. Just musings about how a day of training went but something about it tugs at her heart. He started at the end, she’s starting at the beginning and eventually, once she fills this journal with the thoughts that are too much for her head… she’ll meet him somewhere in the middle. 

Mira sets the coffee mug down and moves to hold Broccoli in one arm; she needs his delicate weight and comforting warmth to ground herself. Once she writes down two simple words, she slides the journal across the bed for Drake to look at.

You’re here.

Drake reaches over and clasps Mira’s hand in his, a warm thumb stroking her skin.