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The penthouse sits above the city like a quiet secret.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the living room, Seoul glowing beneath them. Neon signs blurred by winter fog, traffic humming softly far below. It’s late, well past midnight, but the lights inside are still on. Not harsh, not bright. Just warm, golden, lived-in.
This is Huntrix’s home now.
Not the dorms they once squeezed into during trainee days. Not hotel rooms between tours. A real home, earned with sweat, bruised knees, and sold-out arenas.
And tonight, it’s filled with suitcases.
Zoey stands in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, staring at the organized chaos like she’s trying to solve a crime scene.
Two large suitcases by the couch. One smaller one near the door. Three diaper bags. A folded travel crib.
A tote labeled BABY ESSENTIALS (IMPORTANT) in Rumi’s handwriting.
Zoey exhales slowly.
“…There is no way,” she says, voice low and serious, “that two babies need more luggage than an international tour.”
Rumi doesn’t look up from where she’s seated on the couch, Haneul curled against her chest, tiny fingers gripping the fabric of Rumi’s sweater like it’s the only solid thing in the world. Rumi’s hair is loosely tied, soft strands framing her face, eyes tired but glowing.
“Eomma disagrees,” Rumi murmurs gently, rocking. “Eomma says babies are delicate.”
Haneul lets out a soft, milk-drunk sigh, cheek pressed against Rumi’s collarbone.
Zoey’s expression immediately melts.
“Oh. Hi, baby,” she says, crossing the room in three long steps. Her voice drops into that softer register she only uses for the twins. “You siding with Eomma now?”
Haneul responds by drooling.
Zoey laughs under her breath and reaches out, thumb brushing the baby’s cheek with reverent care, like she’s touching something sacred.
Across the room, Mira sits on the floor atop a plush rug, her back against the couch, Areum firmly planted in her lap. Areum is alert, too alert. Dark eyes sharp, little hands clenched around the sleeve of Mira’s hoodie like she’s ready to fight God.
Mira holds up two tiny sweaters.
“One has reindeer,” she says calmly. “The other has snowflakes.”
Zoey squints. “Which one screams ‘first Christmas with Appa’s family’ more?”
Mira considers this seriously.
“Reindeer.”
Rumi hums. “Snowflakes look cuter in photos.”
Zoey groans. “See? This is why we need three parents.”
Areum chooses violence and shoves the reindeer sweater into her mouth.
Mira sighs. “She has spoken.”
Zoey laughs, crouching down in front of them. She presses a kiss to the top of Areum’s head, breathing her in. Warm milk. Baby powder. Home.
“You ready to meet Grandma and Grandpa?” Zoey murmurs.
Areum kicks.
Zoey beams. “That’s a yes.”
The penthouse is quiet in that rare, fragile way. No schedules buzzing, no managers calling, no rehearsal alarms. Just the soft hum of the city outside and the quieter, more important sounds inside.
Rumi shifts slightly, adjusting Haneul. “You’re pacing.”
Zoey straightens. “I am preparing.”
Mira raises an eyebrow. “You’ve checked the passports six times.”
Zoey bristles. “They’re important.”
“They’re babies,” Rumi says fondly. “They’re not going anywhere without us.”
Zoey rubs her face, dragging her hands down slowly. “I know. I just—”
She stops. The words get stuck somewhere in her chest.
Rumi watches her carefully. Mira does too. They both know that look. The way Zoey’s shoulders tense just a little too much. The way her jaw sets when fear tries to disguise itself as control.
Zoey turns toward the windows, the city reflected faintly in her eyes.
“This is the first time,” she says quietly, “that my family is meeting all of us.”
Not just Zoey the idol. Not just Zoey the daughter who left home young and came back famous.
Zoey the appa. Zoey the mate.
Zoey the center of a family that didn’t exist before but now defines her entire universe.
“What if they think we’re… too much?” Zoey continues. “Three parents. Two omegas. A career that never slows down. Babies raised between tours.”
Mira stands, Areum balanced expertly against her hip. She steps close, close enough that Zoey can feel her warmth.
“They’ll see how loved those babies are,” Mira says softly. “That’s all that matters.”
Rumi rises too, carefully, Haneul still sleeping. She presses herself into Zoey’s side, free hand sliding into Zoey’s.
“You came from a loving home,” Rumi murmurs. “You’re building one now. They’ll recognize it.”
Zoey swallows hard.
“I want this to be perfect,” she admits. “Their first Christmas. Their first time in Burbank. I want them to feel safe.”
Rumi tilts her head up. “They already do.”
Mira nods. “Because you’re here.”
Zoey closes her eyes.
For a moment, she just stands there anchored between her mates, surrounded by the quiet evidence of a life she once thought impossible.
A knock echoes softly from the nursery door.
Zoey freezes. “Please tell me that’s not crying.”
Mira listens.
Silence. Then a tiny, offended squeak.
Zoey exhales. “False alarm.”
Rumi laughs quietly. “You’re wound tight, Appa.”
Zoey huffs. “I have to be.”
She gently lifts Haneul from Rumi’s arms, cradling her against her chest. Instinct takes over immediately one arm firm, the other supporting her head, body swaying without conscious thought.
“You’re gonna love Christmas,” Zoey whispers to her. “Lights. Trees. Grandma’s food. Appa might cry.”
Haneul sleeps on.
Mira watches them, heart aching softly. “She trusts you completely.”
Zoey looks down at her daughter. “I don’t take that lightly.”
Outside, snow begins to fall just barely, dusting the city in white. Rumi notices first. “Zoey.”
Zoey looks up. The city glows beneath drifting snow. Rumi smiles. “Looks like Christmas already followed us home.”
Zoey’s chest tightens.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Guess it did.”
Behind them, the penthouse stands warm and bright Huntrix’s success carved into marble and glass, softened by baby blankets, toys, and love. Tomorrow, they’ll fly.
But tonight
Tonight, they are exactly where they’re meant to be.
————-
The tarmac is quiet.
No crowds. No screaming fans. No flashing cameras. Just the low hum of engines, cold air biting at skin, and the sleek black-and-silver private jet waiting at the end of the runway like it belongs to them. Because it does.
“HUNTRIX” is etched subtly near the door. No loud branding. No need to prove anything.
Zoey steps out of the car first.
She scans the area automatically. Security at the perimeter. Crew waiting at a respectful distance. No unexpected movement. No threats. Her shoulders loosen only a fraction when she’s satisfied.
“Clear,” she mutters.
Rumi steps out next, bundled in a long coat, Haneul secured against her chest in a soft cream carrier. The baby’s cheek is pressed into Rumi’s collarbone, her breath warm and steady. Rumi’s free hand tugs her scarf higher, eyes flicking up at the jet with a soft smile.
Mira follows, Areum perched confidently on her hip like she owns the runway. Areum is wide awake, eyes sharp and curious, tracking everything the plane, the lights, Zoey.
Zoey’s expression softens instantly.
“There you are,” she murmurs, stepping forward. She presses a kiss to Areum’s temple, then to Rumi’s forehead. “Cold?”
Mira nods. “She hates the wind.”
Zoey shrugs off her coat without hesitation and drapes it over Areum instead.
Mira blinks. “You’ll freeze.”
Zoey doesn’t care. “She won’t.”
The pilot greets them warmly, already familiar. “Good evening. Everything’s prepped. Bassinet secured. Cabin warmed.”
Zoey nods once. “Thank you.”
The words bassinet secured make something in her chest unclench.
They board quickly.
Inside, the jet is quiet luxury. Soft leather seats arranged in a spacious lounge layout, warm lighting, thick carpeting. A small crib-like bassinet is secured near the window, surrounded by plush blankets. Another is set up across from it.
Zoey stops walking. She stares.
“They’re… perfect,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.
Rumi smiles. “We sent measurements.”
Mira adds dryly, “You triple-checked them.”
Zoey clears her throat. “As one should.”
Rumi carefully transfers Haneul into the bassinet, movements slow and practiced. Zoey hovers close, hands twitching like she might intervene at any second.
“She’s fine,” Rumi murmurs, not looking up.
“I know,” Zoey says immediately. “I know. I’m just you know observing.”
Mira snorts. Areum, meanwhile, is unimpressed. She squirms in Mira’s arms, little fists clenching.
“She wants you,” Mira says.
Zoey’s face lights up like she’s been handed the universe.
“Oh. Oh, okay.” She takes Areum gently, settling her against her shoulder. Areum grips Zoey’s shirt instantly, satisfied.
“Traitor,” Mira mutters fondly.
They take their seats Zoey in the center, Rumi on one side, Mira on the other. The jet begins to taxi.
Zoey’s leg bounces.
Rumi notices immediately. She reaches over, placing her hand on Zoey’s knee, thumb rubbing small circles.
“You okay?”
Zoey nods too fast. “Yeah. Just. first flight. For them.”
“They’ve flown before,” Mira reminds her. “Just not this far.”
“That’s different,” Zoey says quietly. “This one matters.”
The engines roar softly as the jet lifts.
Areum fusses, startled.
Zoey reacts instantly, standing halfway out of her seat before Mira gently pushes her back down.
“She’s okay,” Mira says firmly. “Hold her.”
Zoey does, rocking slightly. “Appa’s here. Appa’s here.”
Within minutes, Areum settles.
Zoey doesn’t.
She keeps her arm curved protectively around her daughter, eyes flicking between the bassinets, the windows, the seatbelt signs.
Rumi watches her, heart aching. She leans in, resting her head against Zoey’s shoulder.
“You don’t have to carry everything alone,” Rumi murmurs. Zoey exhales, slow and shaky. “I know. I just want to do this right.”
Mira reaches across, squeezing Zoey’s forearm. “You already are.”
The cabin lights dim. The city disappears beneath clouds. Zoey finally sinks back into the seat, Areum warm and heavy against her chest, Haneul sleeping peacefully nearby.
For the first time since leaving the penthouse, Zoey allows herself to breathe.
She looks at her family, her mates, her daughters, safe and warm on a jet that exists solely to protect their privacy and peace.
“We’re really doing this,” she whispers.
Rumi smiles. “We are.”
Mira smirks. “Burbank won’t survive us.”
Zoey chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to Areum’s hair. “First Christmas,” she murmurs. “With all of us.”
The jet hums steadily onward, carrying Huntrix not as idols, not as legend but as a family heading home.
The jet lands smoother than Zoey expects.
Still, she doesn’t relax until the wheels touch down, until the engines slow, until the cabin settles into that quiet, grounded stillness that tells her they’re here.
Burbank.
Zoey exhales slowly, pressing her forehead briefly against Areum’s hair. “We made it,” she murmurs, more to herself than anyone else.
Areum responds by attempting to shove Zoey’s collar into her mouth.
Mira snorts. “She agrees.”
Rumi peers out the window, eyes soft. California sunlight spills across the tarmac, pale gold and warm even in winter. It feels different from Seoul less sharp, less crowded. Like the world is breathing a little slower here.
The door opens. Cool air rushes in.
Zoey stands first, instinctive, Areum secured against her chest, eyes already scanning. Security is in place, discreet but solid. No press. No fans. Just a black SUV waiting a short distance away.
And
Zoey freezes.
Her mother is standing just beyond the security line. She’s bundled in a coat, scarf pulled high, hands clasped together like she doesn’t know what to do with them. Beside her is Zoey’s father, quieter, posture stiff but eyes shining. A little farther back Zoey’s older brother, leaning against a car with his arms crossed, trying and failing to look casual.
They’re all staring at the jet.
At her.
At them.
Zoey’s chest tightens so fast it almost hurts.
Rumi notices immediately. She steps closer, shoulder brushing Zoey’s. “That’s them?”
Zoey nods once. “Yeah.”
Mira adjusts Haneul’s carrier, steady and calm. “Go slow.”
Zoey takes a breath. Then another. Then she walks. The moment her mother really sees the babies, everything changes.
Her hand flies to her mouth.
“Oh,” she breathes. “Oh my god.”
Zoey stops a few steps away. “Mom.”
Her mother moves first careful, hesitant, like she’s afraid of scaring something fragile. “Zoey,” she says, voice already breaking. “Are those—?”
“These are my daughters,” Zoey says, and the words feel unreal and solid all at once. “Haneul and Areum.”
Her mother’s knees nearly buckle.
Zoey’s father steps forward, placing a steadying hand on her back. He looks at Zoey, really looks at her, and nods once. Pride. Awe. Something like regret softened into relief.
“Can I…?” her mother asks, eyes fixed on Areum.
Zoey glances at Mira.
Mira smiles gently. “Of course.”
Zoey carefully transfers Areum into her mother’s arms, hands hovering until she’s sure she’s secure.
The second Areum settles, Zoey’s mother starts crying.
Not quiet tears.
Full, shaking sobs.
“Oh my baby,” she whispers, rocking slightly. “Oh, you’re real. You’re really real.”
Areum blinks up at her, unimpressed but tolerant.
Zoey laughs weakly, eyes burning. “She does that to people.”
Rumi steps forward next. “I’m Rumi,” she says softly. “Haneul’s Eomma.”
Zoey’s mother looks up at her like she’s seeing something sacred. “Thank you,” she says immediately, voice fierce through tears. “Thank you for loving her.”
Rumi’s throat tightens. She bows slightly, respectful but warm. “She’s easy to love.”
Mira follows. “I’m Mira.”
Zoey’s father turns to her, offering a hand. “Thank you,” he says simply.
Mira shakes it, nodding. “She’s family.”
Behind them, Zoey’s brother finally breaks.
“Oh my god,” he says, stepping closer. “They’re tiny.”
Zoey huffs a laugh. “You should see the diapers.”
Rumi gently lifts Haneul from the carrier and offers her. Zoey’s mother hesitates again, then carefully takes her, cradling her close.
Haneul stirs, eyes fluttering open.
She stares up at her grandmother.
Then smiles.
Zoey’s mother makes a sound that is absolutely undignified.
“She smiled at me,” she sobs. “She smiled at me.”
Zoey’s father laughs quietly, rubbing his eyes. “We’re done for.”
The drive to the house is quiet but full.
Zoey sits in the backseat, one baby strapped securely beside her, the other in her arms. Rumi rests against her shoulder. Mira watches the scenery pass by.
Palm trees. Quiet streets. Familiar turns Zoey hasn’t seen in years.
When they pull up to the house, Zoey freezes again.
It looks the same.
The same porch. The same steps she used to sit on as a teenager, headphones on, dreaming of something bigger.
But the front door opens before she can say anything.
“LET ME SEE THEM.”
Zoey barely has time to react before her grandmother barrels forward, shawl flapping, eyes sharp and wet.
“Ma—!”
Too late.
Her grandmother is already peering into the car, gasping. “Two?! You didn’t say two!”
“I did,” Zoey protests weakly.
“No, you said ‘surprise .’ This is indeed a surprise.”
Her grandfather appears behind her, smiling softly. “You did good, kid.”
Zoey swallows. Inside the house, the air smells like cinnamon and pine. A Christmas tree stands proudly in the living room.
Four stockings hang on the mantle. Zoey stops dead.
“…You didn’t know their names yet,” she says quietly. Her mother smiles through tears. “I knew there would be two.”
Rumi presses a hand to her mouth.
Mira’s chest tightens.
Zoey doesn’t trust herself to speak.
They lay a blanket out by the tree. The twins are placed gently on it, surrounded by light and color.
Haneul babbles at the ornaments.
Areum reaches for one and immediately tries to eat it. Zoey laughs, dropping to her knees. “Nope. Not food. We’ll work on that.”
Her family watches her really watches her as she moves, as she soothes, as she parents with an ease that once seemed impossible.
Her father murmurs, almost to himself, “She found her place.”
Rumi leans into Mira, whispering, “She did.”
Zoey looks up, catching their eyes.
Her family. All of them.
For the first time, the weight on her chest eases.
She’s home.
The living room doesn’t stay neat for long. It starts with one blanket.
Then a second, layered on top because “the floor is cold” even though it absolutely isn’t.
Then toys appear. A plush reindeer.
A soft crinkly book. Something that squeaks when squeezed, which Areum immediately decides is her mortal enemy.
Zoey sits cross-legged on the floor, sleeves pushed up, fully grounded, one hand braced behind her while the other supports Haneul as she wobbles in a seated position.
“Okay,” Zoey says seriously, like she’s briefing a team. “No eating ornaments. No licking the dog. And no—”
Areum squeaks the toy aggressively.
Zoey winces. “—no screaming contests with Grandma.”
Grandma ignores this entirely. She is already on the floor, knees creaking, waving a set of jingly keys in front of Haneul like she’s discovered fire.
“Look! Look at this!” she coos.
Haneul’s eyes go huge. She lets out a delighted babble and tips forward, hands slapping the blanket.
Zoey’s brother watches from the couch, arms crossed, completely undone.
“She’s smiling again,” he whispers, like it’s a miracle that might vanish if spoken too loud.
Zoey smirks. “She does that.”
Mira sits nearby, Areum propped securely between her legs. Areum is attempting to crawl with pure determination and zero coordination.
“You’ve got it,” Mira murmurs calmly. “Left hand. Right hand.”
Areum faceplants.
Mira doesn’t even flinch. “Good attempt.”
Rumi laughs softly from where she’s seated near Zoey, handing her a clean cloth without being asked. Zoey takes it automatically, wiping drool from Haneul’s chin.
Zoey’s mother hovers, torn between wanting to help and wanting to let them be.
“Can I—?” she asks for the fourth time.
Zoey nods immediately. “Yeah. Sit with us. ma”
Her mother lowers herself onto the floor carefully, settling beside Zoey. She watches her daughter interact with the babies how Zoey adjusts Haneul’s posture without thinking, how her voice softens, how her body curves instinctively around them.
“She’s so gentle with them,” her mother murmurs.
Rumi smiles. “She always is.”
Grandpa clears his throat and plops down on the other side, holding a small stuffed bear.
“I brought reinforcements,” he announces.
Areum locks onto him instantly.
Her eyes narrow.
Zoey laughs. “Oh no.”
Grandpa squeaks the bear. Areum squeals back loud, sharp, victorious.
Zoey claps her hands. “That’s my girl.”
Her brother shakes his head, finally moving closer. He crouches awkwardly, clearly terrified.
“What if I break them?” he asks.
Zoey deadpans, “Then you’ll answer to three parents.” Rumi pats the floor beside her. “Just sit.”
He does, stiff as a board. Haneul reaches out. Grabs his finger and he freezes.
“Oh,” he whispers. “Oh no.”
Zoey grins. “You’re done.” Hanuel giggles.
Grandma presses a hand to her heart. “I’m never recovering from this.” Mira glances up from Areum, who has successfully grabbed Grandpa’s sleeve and refuses to let go. “She’s strong.”
Zoey nods proudly. “Alpha energy.”
Rumi hums. “Chaos energy.”
Areum chooses that moment to lunge forward again. Zoey lunges faster, catching her mid-wobble. “I got you.”
Areum squeaks in protest. Zoey lifts her up, blowing a raspberry against her cheek. Areum shrieks with laughter.
The room fills with sound baby laughter, adult laughter, the soft clink of ornaments, the crackle of the fireplace.
Zoey’s father watches from the doorway, arms crossed, eyes shining.
“She’s happy,” he says quietly.
Rumi hears him and nods. “She is.”
Zoey sets Areum down again and scoots closer to Rumi, their shoulders brushing. “You okay?”
Rumi smiles softly. “I am.”
Mira leans back against the couch, exhaling contentedly. “This is nice.”
Zoey looks around at her family sprawled across the floor, at toys and laughter and warmth where tension used to live.
“Yeah,” she says. “It really is.”
Haneul babbles loudly.
Areum responds with a shriek.
Zoey sighs fondly. “And loud.”
Grandma beams. “Perfect”
“We should put them in pajamas,” Zoey’s mother says casually, holding up two tiny folded bundles of fabric.
Zoey looks up from the floor where she’s helping Areum recover from an intense battle with a plush snowman. “It’s not bedtime yet.”
Her mother smiles. Slowly. Dangerously.
“They’re Christmas pajamas.”
Zoey freezes.
Rumi’s eyes widen. “Oh.”
Mira tilts her head. “Zoey.”
Zoey exhales. “You planned this.”
Her mother doesn’t deny it.
From the hallway closet emerge more pajamas. Adult-sized. Matching.
Red and green plaid. Soft cotton. Ridiculously festive. Zoey stares. “Absolutely not.”
Grandma gasps like she’s been personally wounded. “It’s their first Christmas.”
Zoey opens her mouth. Closes it.
Rumi gently touches her arm. “They’ll look really cute.”
Mira adds, far too calmly, “You’ll look even cuter.” Zoey squints. “You’re conspiring.”
“Yes,” both omegas say immediately.
The changing process is… chaos.
Haneul is cooperative, blinking sleepily as Rumi changes her, fingers occasionally curling into the fabric like she doesn’t want to let go.
Areum, on the other hand, fights like she’s being drafted into battle. “Why is she so strong?” Zoey groans, holding one tiny leg while Mira wrestles the other into pajama pants.
Areum screeches triumphantly.
Zoey sighs. “That’s my fault, isn’t it.”
Mira smirks. “Genetics.”
Eventually or rather miraculously both twins are dressed. They are perfect.
Tiny plaid pajamas. Little socks. Soft hair sticking up in places that refuse to be tamed.
Zoey stops breathing.
“Oh no,” she whispers. “Oh no, they’re adorable.”
Rumi laughs quietly, eyes shining. “Appa’s doomed.”
Zoey changes last. She refuses at first, standing rigid while everyone stares at her.
“Zoey,” her brother says, holding his phone already raised, “I will never forgive you if you don’t do this.”
Zoey glares. “I hate you.”
“You love me.”
Zoey does not deny it.
She disappears into the guest room and returns reluctantly in matching plaid, sleeves pushed up, hair a mess, expression grumpy in a way that fools absolutely no one.
Rumi and Mira join her same pajamas, softer colors, hair loose.
When they stand together
Something shifts.
Zoey’s mother presses a hand to her mouth.
“Oh,” she whispers. “You look like… a family.” Zoey swallows hard.
They sit on the couch Rumi in the middle with Haneul, Mira beside her with Areum, Zoey flanking them both, one arm stretched behind their shoulders, the other resting protectively near the babies.
“Okay,” her brother says, backing up. “Smile.”
Zoey stiffens.
“I don’t—”
Haneul lets out a happy babble.
Areum squeals.
Rumi laughs.
Mira smiles softly.
The camera clicks.
Again.
And again.
Zoey doesn’t realize she’s crying until Rumi squeezes her hand.
Zoey blinks, breath hitching. “I’m fine.”
Mira leans in. “You’re not.”
Zoey exhales shakily, pressing her forehead against Rumi’s hair. “I just this is more than I ever thought I’d have.”
Her mother lowers the camera.
“You deserve it,” she says firmly.
Grandma wipes her own eyes. “She really does.”
Later, the twins start to tire fussing softly, rubbing their eyes.
Zoey carries both of them upstairs, one on each shoulder, moving carefully, reverently, like she’s holding something holy.
She lays them down in the travel cribs.
Haneul sighs.
Areum grips Zoey’s finger before letting go.
Zoey stands there for a long moment, just watching them breathe.
Rumi appears quietly beside her, slipping an arm around Zoey’s waist.
“You okay now?” she whispers.
Zoey nods. “Yeah.”
Mira joins them, leaning against Zoey’s shoulder. “Good.”
Downstairs, the house hums with quiet joy.
Upstairs, Zoey kisses each tiny forehead and whispers, “Merry Christmas, my loves.”
And for the first time in her life she truly believes it.
————-
Dinner takes longer than planned.
Not because anything goes wrong but because everything keeps pausing.
Zoey stands at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, rocking Areum gently against her chest while stirring a pot with one hand. The motion is smooth, practiced, like she’s done this a thousand times.
Her mother watches from the doorway, arms folded loosely, eyes soft.
“You don’t even think about it anymore,” she says.
Zoey glances over. “About what?”
“Doing two things at once,” her mother replies. “You used to get overwhelmed just setting the table.”
Zoey huffs quietly. “I had practice.”
Mira is at the stove, plating carefully, Haneul seated securely in a high chair beside her. Haneul babbles happily, kicking her feet.
“Careful,” Mira murmurs calmly. “It’s hot.”
Haneul immediately stills, staring at Mira like she’s being given sacred instruction.
Zoey laughs under her breath. “She listens to you.”
Mira shrugs. “I speak calmly.”
Rumi moves between them all, adjusting, assisting, checking wiping Areum’s cheek, handing Zoey a towel, brushing Mira’s sleeve where sauce splashed.
They don’t need to speak much.
They orbit each other effortlessly.
The table is set slowly extra chairs added, baby spoons placed beside adult ones, napkins folded with care.
Zoey straps Areum into her seat beside Haneul, making sure both are secure before sitting down herself.
“Okay,” Zoey announces softly. “Everyone ready?”
Her father watches her from across the table.
Not the famous idol. Not the daughter who left early and came back rarely.
But this steady, grounded and most importantly present.
“Zoey,” he says gently, “when did you learn to be like this?”
Zoey pauses, fingers resting on Areum’s tray.
She thinks for a moment.
“When they needed me,” she answers simply.
The room goes quiet.
Rumi reaches over, brushing her thumb over Zoey’s knuckles.
Mira lowers her gaze, smiling faintly.
Dinner begins.
There’s laughter, stories, teasing—Zoey’s brother complaining about childhood scars, Grandma insisting Zoey ate better as a baby than these two (Zoey disagrees loudly).
Areum throws a piece of carrot.
Zoey catches it midair without looking.
Her brother stares. “What the hell.”
Zoey smirks. “Reflexes.”
Midway through dinner, Haneul grows fussy.
Before anyone else can react, Zoey’s chair shifts. She lifts Haneul smoothly, settling her against her shoulder, swaying gently.
Conversation continues around them like it’s normal.
Like this has always been the rhythm.
Zoey’s mother watches, chest tight.
She leans toward her husband, whispering, “She’s not running anymore.”
He nods slowly. “No. She’s rooted.”
After dinner, the twins are cleaned up faces wiped, pajamas checked, soft blankets wrapped around them.
Zoey carries them upstairs again, moving quietly.
She hums under her breath a low tune she used to hum as a teenager when she thought no one was listening.
Rumi pauses at the foot of the stairs, hearing it.
Mira’s eyes soften.
When Zoey returns alone, her parents are waiting in the living room.
“Sit,” her mother says gently.
Zoey does.
Her father clears his throat. “We worried,” he admits. “About the pressure. The fame. Whether you’d lose yourself.”
Zoey swallows.
Her mother reaches out, taking Zoey’s hands. “But you didn’t. You found yourself.”
Tears sting Zoey’s eyes.
“I didn’t know I was allowed to want this,” Zoey whispers. “A family. Something quiet.”
Her mother squeezes her hands. “You always were.”
Zoey exhales shakily, nodding.
From the stairs, Rumi and Mira watch silently, giving her this moment.
Later, as the lights dim and the house settles, Zoey curls on the couch between her mates, exhaustion finally catching up.
Rumi rests her head on Zoey’s shoulder.
Mira drapes a blanket over them.
Zoey stares at the Christmas tree, lights blinking softly.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
Rumi hums. “For what?”
“For staying,” Zoey says. “For building this with me.”
Mira kisses her temple. “Always.”
Outside, the night deepens.
Inside, Zoey feels something she hasn’t felt in years.
Peace.
//
Christmas morning announces itself loudly.
Not with an alarm but with a sharp, indignant cry from upstairs.
Zoey bolts upright on the couch like she’s been launched.
“I got it,” she says instantly, already on her feet.
Rumi blinks sleepily. “Zoey—”
Too late. Zoey is already halfway up the stairs, hair a mess, pajamas wrinkled, fully in Appa mode.
Areum is the first one awake, standing unsteadily in her crib, fists clenched, cheeks flushed with the sheer offense of being conscious.
Zoey scoops her up immediately. “Okay, okay, I hear you. You’re awake. It’s a crime.”
Areum calms the second she’s in Zoey’s arms, resting her head against Zoey’s shoulder like she won the argument.
Haneul wakes next, rubbing her eyes, letting out a small whine.
Zoey balances both of them with practiced ease. “Good morning, my stars.”
Downstairs, the house is already stirring.
The Christmas tree glows softly, lights still on from the night before. Wrapping paper waits beneath it, pristine and untouched.
Zoey’s mother gasps when she sees them come down.
“Oh my goodness,” she whispers. “Look at you.”
Rumi and Mira follow more slowly, coffee in hand, eyes still heavy with sleep.
Zoey settles onto the rug, twins between her legs, arms curved protectively around them.
“Okay,” she announces. “First Christmas.”
Areum grabs wrapping paper.
Haneul stares at the lights.
Zoey’s brother hands over the first gift. “This one’s from all of us.”
Rumi opens it carefully.
Tiny shoes.
Zoey’s breath catches.
“Oh,” she says, voice rough. “They’re going to walk.”
Mira swallows. “Soon.”
Haneul squeals when Zoey gently taps the box.
Areum immediately attempts to eat the ribbon.
Zoey laughs. “Bold choice.”
Paper flies. Gifts pile. Toys light up and make noise and cause immediate regret.
Areum screams in delight. Haneul claps. Zoey’s parents sit back, just watching.
“They don’t even need anything else,” her mother murmurs. “They just need her.”
Zoey lifts Haneul, spinning her gently. “Careful,” Rumi laughs.
Zoey grins. “I’ve got her.”
The camera clicks again.
And again.
Zoey doesn’t stop smiling once.
The house is quiet again.
Christmas dinner has come and gone warm food, shared stories, seconds taken without guilt. The twins are asleep upstairs, bellies full, cheeks flushed.
Zoey stands alone in the kitchen, rinsing plates slowly.
The window reflects her back older than she remembers, softer than she expected.
She doesn’t hear Mira approach until arms wrap gently around her waist.
“Long day,” Mira murmurs.
Zoey leans back into her. “Best one.”
Rumi joins them, resting her head on Zoey’s shoulder. “You were perfect today.”
Zoey shakes her head. “I was terrified.”
Rumi smiles. “Both can be true.”
Zoey looks toward the stairs, where her daughters sleep. “I used to think success meant stages and crowds.”
Mira hums. “And now?”
Zoey’s voice is quiet but certain. “Now it’s this.”
Rumi presses a kiss to her cheek. “You built a good life.”
Zoey closes her eyes, breathing them in.
Outside, Christmas lights glow softly against the night.
Inside, Zoey finally understands something she never did before:
She isn’t running.
She isn’t proving anything.
She’s home.
And she’s exactly where she’s meant to be.