Chapter 32

The scent of cinnamon and pine lingered like a promise in the air, threading through the garlands draped over the mantle and dancing between the soft notes of Nat King Cole crooning from the Bluetooth speaker tucked behind a stack of books. The apartment didn't just look like Christmas—it felt like it. Full. Lived-in. Ready.

Beth smoothed the last edge of the throw blanket across the arm of the couch, fingers pressing into the plush fabric. It was one of the soft ones, the kind Alex always reached for when she was too tired to pretend she wasn't. Someone—probably Felix—had lit the cinnamon-sugar candle on the shelf, and its warmth curled into every corner of the space like a held breath. The tree blinked in slow pulses of gold and red, glass ornaments spinning slightly where they hung, catching the light like tiny, deliberate constellations.

Behind her, the chaos buzzed on.

Han was arguing—loudly—with Hyunjin over some ridiculous hypothetical. "Briefs," Hyunjin said, chin lifted, unbothered. "Tighter. More support."

Han gasped like he'd been insulted. "Boxers. More room. You need room for presents."

"You're disgusting," Seungmin muttered from the kitchen, though there was no heat behind it.

Felix, half-laughing and completely covered in sprinkles, whacked Han's shoulder with the flat of a silicone spatula. "Children present," he warned, though his eyes sparkled.

Cassie had long since been absorbed into their collective orbit—she skidded past them now in socked feet, chasing stray glitter across the hardwood floor like it might unlock a secret. She had a candy cane in one hand and half a sugar cookie in the other, her mouth sticky with sugar and joy.

Beth felt the shift before she heard it.

Ding.

The buzz of the door.

Her phone lit up on the coffee table.

Chan: we're downstairs.

Her hands froze where they hovered over the last stocking. She turned to the room, her voice steady despite the sudden tightness in her chest.

"They're here."

That was all she needed to say.

The change was immediate. The room exhaled and held its breath all at once. Every boy straightened without being told. The mood didn't drop so much as tilt—like snow just before it starts to fall. Seungmin walked over to the speaker and tapped it silent. I.N and Han dropped the candy canes in sync. Felix's smile broke wide across his face. Even Lee Know, who'd spent most of the afternoon with his back half-turned and his face unreadable, stepped quietly toward the hallway like pulled by invisible thread.

Beth bent low and gathered Cassie into her arms. The little girl squealed, not in protest but pure delight, her limbs wiggling with leftover sugar and too much glitter. She hooked an arm around Beth's neck and clung tight, her tiny fingers warm against the nape of Beth's skin. Her breath smelled like peppermint and cookie dough as she leaned in close, her mouth pressed just under Beth's ear.

"Mama," she whispered, though her version of whispering was still loud enough to echo off garland. "Do I say 'surprise' now?"

Beth smiled and pressed a kiss to the crown of her daughter's head, her lips brushing a dusting of flour tangled in Cassie's curls. "Not yet, baby," she murmured. "Let her see it first."

Then came the sound—the soft mechanical click of the lock turning.

No knock. No warning.

Just the gentle, unhurried surety of a key turning in a door that had missed its owner.

The handle moved.

The door swung open slowly.

Mac entered first, as expected. He filled the doorway with quiet vigilance, eyes scanning the room in a smooth, practiced arc. He didn't reach for anything, didn't flinch—just took it all in: the string lights glowing warm against the ceiling, the artificial snow drifting lazily from some recent chaos in the corner, the vague smell of cinnamon and scorched chocolate frosting curling in the air.

Something in his stance loosened.

His shoulders dropped just slightly, like the weight he carried—the tension wound into every muscle—had somewhere to settle for a moment.

"Okay," he said, glancing over his shoulder, voice edged with dry warning. "Nobody mob her."

A collective breath seemed to hold.

The door opened wider.

And then—Chan stepped through.

Not with bags. Not juggling coats or fumbling a box of takeout.

He was carrying Alex.

And not the way one might carry something breakable. There was nothing ceremonial in his gait. Just purpose. Just steadiness. Like she belonged there. Like this was how she came home.

Beth's entire body went still. Her breath caught high in her chest, shallow and trembling. The moment telescoped inward, sharp around the edges.

Alex looked like a ghost of herself—and somehow more alive than Beth could stand.

Her frame was smaller than before. Too small. Draped in a fleece blanket that had slipped slightly from one shoulder, exposing the delicate rise of her collarbone and the way her body curled subtly into Chan's arms. Her skin was pale, the kind of hospital white that came from artificial light and days without sun. Her hair, pulled back in a loose twist, had come undone at the edges—soft wisps falling around her temples like smoke.

She looked exhausted. She looked wrecked.

But her eyes—

Her eyes were open.

Bright. Wet. Disbelieving.

Alive.

She blinked—slow, disbelieving, like the act itself might keep the vision from dissolving. Her eyes moved across the apartment in cautious sweeps, taking in every strange, imperfect, beautiful detail: the warm flicker of string lights wrapped clumsily around the curtain rods, the slightly sagging paper snowflakes that clung to cabinet doors with too much tape, the garland draped in swooping loops across the bookshelf. Her gaze snagged on the tree, its low golden-red glow reflected in the window behind it, casting faint halos on the glass like a second, smaller constellation.

And then—her face shifted.

Beth saw it unfold not all at once, but like sunrise easing over frost. First, confusion. Then a slow, dawning wonder. And then something deeper—tender, trembling, unbearably soft. Awe that cracked at the edges as it turned to something raw.

"Oh my God," Alex whispered, her voice fragile as candle smoke.

Chan took another step forward, easing them both further into the room like he was carrying something holy. His movements were quiet, precise, but reverent. Like he knew this wasn't just a homecoming. It was a resurrection.

The lights caught Alex's face, turned her skin gold and her lashes long with shadow. Her hand, the one curled against Chan's shoulder, twitched—grasped just a little tighter, like she needed the anchor. Her fingers, still too thin, too pale, gripped the sleeve of his hoodie with all the strength she had.

"She's here!" Felix called from the kitchen, his voice high with joy, cutting through the quiet like sunlight through snow.

"Welcome home, Alex!" I.N shouted from somewhere near the tree, the Korean inflection thick in his voice, words nearly tripping over each other in his excitement.

The boys moved on instinct. None of them spoke. None of them checked with each other. They just drifted closer, pulled not by noise or plan, but by something gentler—like tidewater returning to shore. It wasn't frantic. It wasn't chaotic. Just... magnetic. Gravity doing its work.

Beth stayed where she was.

Frozen at the center of it all, Cassie perched on her hip like a spark that hadn't quite ignited. The girl's arms were wrapped tight around Beth's neck, her little body practically vibrating with excitement, the remnants of powdered sugar still clinging to her cheek.

The energy in the room shifted again—subtle, breath-held. Like the moment before a choir sings.

No more laughter. No more noise.

Only reverence.

"Careful," Chan murmured, soft but firm, the kind of tone used for broken things that still fought to hold shape. "She just got discharged. Don't scare her back into a coma."

Alex gave a breath of a laugh. "I'm fine," she said, but the words wobbled—thin around the edges.

Then her eyes found something.

Not the lights. Not the tree.

Not even Beth.

Her gaze landed first on her mother.

Elizabeth stood rigid by the fireplace, caught mid-breath, her hand pressed tight to her mouth like it was holding her together. Her other hand clung to the back of the armchair in a death grip, fingers white-knuckled, like if she let go, she'd fall through the floor. Her eyes were shining—wet, unblinking, brittle with disbelief.

Alex didn't speak. She didn't need to. The way her gaze softened said everything.

Then, slowly, she turned her head.

And her eyes met Cassie's.

Cassie didn't hesitate. There was no second thought, no bashfulness. Just joy. Pure and unfiltered. She grinned wide—so wide her cheeks lifted high—and waved both arms with the chaotic, fearless abandon of a child who didn't understand fear.

"Aunt Alex!" she yelled, triumphant. "Hi!"

Alex's face shattered like dawn—breaking and blooming all at once. Her lips curved and trembled. Her eyes welled up.

"Hi, munchkin," she breathed, the words barely there, like her heart had to push them out.

Chan crouched slowly, never letting go of her. Every movement was deliberate. He adjusted his grip, one arm still behind her back, the other steadying her legs. He lowered her gently onto the couch, supporting her as though her body were something fragile, sacred—something entrusted.

Beth caught it before she even knew what she was looking for—the slight tremble in Alex's jaw, the way her mouth pressed tighter as her body adjusted to the cushions. A wince. Quick. Reflexive. But there.

Beth's muscles twitched in instinctive response, her weight shifting like she might go to her. But Chan had already moved. Already seen it.

He didn't speak at first. Just eased his body down beside her with a quiet, practiced grace, the kind born of long days in backstage corridors and far too many nights spent tending other people's exhaustion. He bent to grab a pillow from the floor and slid it beneath her knees, careful not to jostle her too much. His movements were slow, reverent—not theatrical, not performative. Just deliberate.

"Leg up," he murmured, angling his head to catch her eyes. His tone was soft, almost coaxing. "There. Okay?"

Alex exhaled, sharp at first, then slower. "Yeah," she said after a beat, her voice still husky with strain. "Thank you."

Chan didn't move immediately. His hand remained at her shoulder, the pads of his fingers brushing lightly near her collarbone. Just once. Not a pat. Not a squeeze. Just presence. Something quiet. Grounding. A private exchange of breath and skin.

A check-in.

Beth saw it happen—felt the warmth of it settle low behind her ribs.

So did the boys.

They didn't tease. Didn't shift or glance awkwardly between one another. They just noticed. And let it be.

Chan leaned in a little closer, brushed a wild strand of hair back from Alex's temple. His knuckles lingered at the end of the movement—barely there, like a benediction. And then—

"Okay!" Han suddenly burst from behind I.N, arms flailing with uncontained energy. "Now can we hug her? Please? I'm literally dying. We've been waiting for, like, forever."

Alex's laugh broke from her like a cough wrapped in a smile. It wasn't smooth. Wasn't strong.

But it was real.

"Come here, you big baby," she rasped.

Han lunged toward the couch with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever. He flopped into the cushion beside her like he'd been spring-loaded, knocking a throw pillow off in the process.

"Merry Christmas, Alex!" he crowed, voice high with unfiltered joy.

"Careful!" Chan barked automatically, but his grin had already cracked wide across his face. He didn't pull Han back. Just let it happen, eyes soft.

"I know, I know," Han huffed dramatically. "She's the most delicate Christmas ornament on the tree right now. I'm not tackling her. I'm just saying hi."

Felix dropped down to the floor beside the couch and folded his arms over the cushion near Alex's legs, resting his chin on top. "We missed you so much," he said, his voice low and steady. "The hospital visits weren't the same. Not without you in them."

Alex looked down at him, blinking hard. "You came every time."

"Of course," he said. "We always will."

From just behind the couch, Lee Know leaned closer, arms folded across his chest in that casual way that made him look like he hadn't been watching the door for twenty minutes. "You mean the visits weren't as chaotic," he said dryly.

Then, after a pause—softer, quieter:

"Welcome back. This place didn't feel right without you."

A sound escaped from Alex's throat. Small. Involuntary. She reached for him without thinking, just a quick brush of her fingers against his sleeve.

"Now," Changbin chimed in from the far end of the couch, plopping down beside Han with a crooked grin, "we finally have someone to make fun of Chan again. Balance is back."

Alex chuckled, though her eyes shimmered. "It's what I'm here for."

Chan crossed his arms, mock-offended. "You're all traitors."

"Not traitors," Changbin said cheerfully. "Just loyal to whoever can roast you best. And Alex is undefeated."

"I see my reputation's still intact," Alex said, voice warm.

"Intact and thriving," Hyunjin added from the couch arm. "It's good to see you back where you belong."

Beth's throat caught. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. Every voice in the room felt like a welcome home banner. Not just for Alex. For all of them.

"You guys..." Alex's voice cracked slightly. "I missed all of you too. This... this means a lot."

I.N knelt by the opposite arm of the couch, gaze gentle. "Merry Christmas. And welcome home. It's been too quiet."

Alex arched a brow. "Quiet? With all of you here?"

"Quiet for us," Elliot called from the back. "Meaning no one to call them out when they're being morons."

"She's right," Beth said, stepping forward now, Cassie still in her arms. "They were like sad little stray dogs."

"Aunt Alex, me hug!" Cassie blurted, bouncing.

Alex's arms opened instinctively. "Bring her here."

Beth crouched and passed her over gently. Cassie wiggled straight into Alex's lap, curling in like she belonged there—because she did.

"Missed you," she mumbled into Alex's shoulder.

Alex closed her eyes. "I missed you too, munchkin."

The room hushed. Even the lights seemed to glow softer.

Then—

"GROUP HUG!" Han declared.

Beth laughed as the room dissolved into affectionate chaos.

"Wait, don't crush her!" Chan yelped.

"We're being gentle!" Felix called, throwing an arm around Alex's shoulder with exaggerated care.

Hyunjin leaned in, IN and Changbin wedging in beside him. Lee Know ruffled Alex's hair. Elizabeth, smiling through tears now, perched on the armrest and rested a hand on her daughter's knee. Beth stood back, watching it unfold—the ridiculous, tender tangle of arms and affection.

Alex's laughter rose above it all, breathless and raw.

"You're all ridiculous."

"And you love us," Felix grinned.

Alex nodded, eyes glassy. "Yeah, yeah... Merry Christmas, you crazy lot. It's good to be home."

Beth's arms wrapped loosely around her own ribs as she watched them—her found family. The miracle of survival made real in fairy lights and frosting. She felt the weight of it settle low in her chest, warm and slow.

The group hug eventually unraveled in clumsy, overlapping waves—Seungmin muttering something about circulation, Hyunjin elbowing Han off the couch for "being a menace," Felix helping Cassie find her missing sock with ceremonial gravitas. The chaos ebbed just enough to let breath back in.

Alex leaned back into the couch cushions, visibly spent but glowing under the warmth of it all. Her eyes flicked toward Beth—brief, wordless—and Beth gave a small, grounding nod. No rush. No expectations. Just space.

Someone had turned the music back on, softer this time—Nat King Cole replaced by Ella Fitzgerald, her voice curling through the room like steam off a mug. Beth turned toward the kitchen, her fingers brushing Cassie's curls as she passed, then began stacking plates for hot cocoa. There was a rhythm to it now, this gentle dance of belonging: mugs in a row, marshmallows within reach, cinnamon sticks and candy cane stirrers spread out like offerings.

"You okay?" Changbin's voice came from just over her shoulder, quiet.

Beth glanced up at him. He stood close, but not too close, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie like he wasn't sure if he should offer more.

"I'm okay," she said softly. "Better now."

He nodded, a little half-smile ghosting across his mouth. Then he picked up a mug and started unwrapping marshmallows without needing to ask what went where.

By the time they returned to the living room, cocoa in hand, Alex had Cassie tucked against her side and was murmuring something into her curls—low, rhythmic, the kind of cadence Beth recognized immediately. A lullaby? No. A story. One of the ones she used to make up on patrol, with woodland creatures and quiet bravery and a stag made of light that never blinked when stared at.

Beth settled into the chair nearest the couch, elbows on her knees, mug balanced between her palms. The warmth seeped into her fingers.

Cassie's eyes were heavy now. Her limbs slackened in the way that always came just before she crashed—pure sugar, then a drop. Her thumb crept up toward her mouth, but she caught herself and tucked it beneath the blanket instead.

"She's out," Alex whispered, shifting carefully to support her better.

Beth nodded, her heart full and aching in equal measure. "She's been waiting for this all week."

"I know the feeling," Alex murmured.

The conversation around them softened into pockets—Seungmin and I.N bickering about the proper order to watch the Home Alone movies, Hyunjin and Lee Know arguing over whether to light the cinnamon candle again or let it burn out. Felix floated between groups, humming and snagging stray ornaments to "fix" placements on the tree.

Chan had pulled a dining chair up beside the couch. Not touching, but there. Always there.

"You okay?" he asked Alex quietly.

She nodded, slow. "Hurts. But it's good."

"Pain means healing sometimes."

She gave him a crooked look. "That's very wise. You get that from a fortune cookie?"

Chan grinned and reached for her hand, lacing his fingers lightly with hers where they rested above the blanket. "You missed me."

Beth looked away then—not because she felt unwelcome, but because she knew what it meant to be seen like that. To be touched like that and not flinch.

Her gaze landed on the window.

Outside, the sky had dropped into full night. Lights sparkled along the balconies across the courtyard. Snow hadn't started falling yet, but the air had that stillness to it—the kind that promised quiet magic if you were willing to wait.

She heard movement beside her. Changbin again, crouching near the coffee table to set down a plate of extra cookies.

"You didn't get one earlier," he said.

Beth blinked. "What?"

"Cookie," he said, nudging the plate an inch closer to her. "I saw you giving them to everyone else."

She smiled, touched. "Thank you."

He stood and lingered, uncertain for half a breath. Then—quietly, without fanfare—he leaned down and touched her shoulder with the gentlest pressure. Just enough to be felt.

"You did good," he said.

And it meant something, the way he said it. Not like praise. Like recognition.

Beth didn't answer, just gave him a nod that said more than words would've. Her throat was too tight to speak anyway.

A few minutes later, the room began to shift again. Not dissolve, exactly—but soften. Like the edges of the night were being smoothed over by exhaustion and comfort.

Hyunjin curled up in the oversized chair with one of the throw blankets, legs tangled beneath him like a cat. Han was lying fully on the floor now, one arm draped dramatically across his eyes like a silent film heroine. I.N had somehow convinced Seungmin to help him pick a Christmas movie, and the Netflix menu hovered on the screen like a warm invitation.

Lee Know had claimed the edge of the couch like a perch, one ankle propped on his opposite knee, a half-eaten cookie resting on a napkin beside him. He wasn't talking, not really—but his eyes tracked everything. The flicker of the movie menu. The way Alex adjusted her grip around Cassie. The subtle rise and fall of Chan's shoulders as he tried not to nod off beside her. Every detail absorbed, quietly cataloged. Watchful, but not invasive. Like a sentry disguised as a sulking cat.

Beth watched him for a moment, then looked down at her own lap. Her hot cocoa had gone lukewarm in her hands, but she couldn't bring herself to set it down. The weight of it grounded her.

The room was winding down now. The tension—the grief and noise and the ache of survival—had settled into something softer. Simpler. The magic wasn't in the tinsel or the blinking lights. It was here, in the way Hyunjin was softly humming along to the opening chords of the movie, in the way I.N reached over to flick Seungmin's ear with practiced familiarity. In the way Chan held Alex's hand like it was second nature. In the steady comfort of Changbin, who hadn't moved far from Beth's side.

Alex was asleep now, or close to it. Cassie was fully out, mouth open slightly, one hand fisted in the edge of Alex's blanket like she was anchoring them both.

Beth leaned back, finally allowing herself to relax into the armchair's embrace. Her eyes drifted to the window again—still no snow. But the cold pressed against the glass like a hush.

Beth stretched her legs out, the armchair creaking faintly beneath her as the weight of the night finally began to settle in her bones. Across the room, Hyunjin had fully cocooned himself in a blanket, only his nose and a lock of blonde hair peeking out. Seungmin was nodding off beside I.N on the floor, their half-picked movie forgotten on the Netflix loading screen. Han mumbled something unintelligible from the rug and got no response. Lee Know had turned the brightness on his phone all the way down and was scrolling in the glow of the tree lights like a secret cat watching the room wind down.

It was late. Or early. That quiet, fragile hour when the laughter faded into softer rhythms—breathing, the occasional murmur, the sound of someone shifting a blanket just right.

Alex hadn't moved in twenty minutes. Chan had, eventually, slumped sideways until his shoulder was brushing hers, their joined hands nestled beneath the blanket. Cassie was still curled into her lap like a starfish in footie pajamas, a strand of hair stuck to her cheek with sleep-sweat and sugar.

Beth didn't want to move either. But she could already feel the ache setting in from sitting too long, the stiffness creeping into her knees. The emotional kind, too. The come-down. The one that always followed moments like this—good moments—like a shadow.

Changbin cleared his throat quietly beside her.

She turned. He stood a little awkwardly now, arms folded, weight shifting between his feet. Everyone else looked content to pass out right where they'd landed. But not him. He glanced at her, then at Cassie. Then back at her again.

"I was thinking," he said softly in Korean—slow, careful, but sure. "You shouldn't go back to the hotel tonight."

Beth blinked. "Oh?"

"There's a guest room at my place. It's not big, but... it's clean. And warm." He scratched the back of his neck. "You and Cassie would be more comfortable there than in a lobby with vending machines and toothbrush ramen."

She let out a breath of a laugh, more surprise than amusement. "That's generous."

He gave a small shrug. "You've done a lot today. And she's already asleep. I just thought... if it helps, I'd like to."

Beth looked down at her daughter, limp with exhaustion, wrapped up in Alex's arms like an extension of her heartbeat.

"You sure?" she asked.

Changbin nodded. "Very."

Beth looked over the room again—at the messy pile of paper cups, the cookie crumbs on the rug, the glitter still clinging to I.N's sweater. The kind of mess that meant something real had happened here. But the kind of mess that was okay to walk away from too. Because it had done what it needed to do. It had held them together long enough to remember they weren't broken.

She met Changbin's eyes and nodded once.

"Okay."

⸻

Ten minutes later, the apartment was gently unraveling.

Seungmin and I.N left together, trading half-hearted jabs and arguing about who was going to carry the leftovers. Han insisted he needed someone to drag him out, so Lee Know grabbed the back of his hoodie and hoisted him up like a mother cat. Felix kissed Alex's forehead, squeezed Beth's hand, and promised to text in the morning.

Beth helped ease Cassie from Alex's arms. The little girl barely stirred, her limbs lead-heavy with sleep and trust. She murmured something about snowflakes and reindeer and then went limp again, cheek pressed against Beth's shoulder.

Elizabeth stood nearby, pulling the blanket up to Alex's chin and brushing a curl from her forehead. Chan remained seated, blinking slowly, like moving might undo the gravity of the moment.

Beth kissed Alex's temple as gently as if it were sacred.

"We'll see you tomorrow."

Alex nodded, not quite awake, but not asleep either. Her eyes fluttered once, and Beth caught the whisper.

"Thank you."

She didn't reply. Just smoothed the blanket again and turned toward the door.

⸻

Outside, the hallway was hushed. The kind of quiet that made your breath feel louder than your footsteps.

Changbin carried Cassie's bag without being asked. He didn't speak until they were both in the elevator, her daughter heavy in her arms, her back pressed to the cool metal wall.

The elevator doors whispered closed, sealing them inside a small metal capsule wrapped in gold reflections and sleep-heavy silence. The hum beneath their feet vibrated faintly through her boots. Cassie didn't stir—her cheek was tucked against Beth's shoulder, her breath warm and damp through the collar of Beth's coat. Her curls were tangled, sugar-stiff from the day's adventures, and one glittery star sticker clung stubbornly to her temple.

Changbin stood beside them, quiet and steady. He didn't fidget. Didn't fill the space with unnecessary words. Just held Cassie's small duffel in both hands like it was something delicate. Something entrusted to him.

Beth let her head rest against the elevator wall for a moment, eyes closing. Not sleep—just stillness. Her spine ached. Her ribs felt tight from the long stretch of emotional breath-holding. But there was no fight in her body. Not tonight. Just the slow, quiet letting go of everything she'd held up for everyone else.

"Thank you," she murmured into the stillness.

Changbin glanced at her. "For what?"

Beth opened her eyes, but didn't look at him just yet. "For offering this. For today. For the stocking. For letting me breathe without asking why I needed to."

A pause. Then the softest smile in his voice. "You don't need a reason to breathe."

She looked at him then. And he looked back—open, unafraid, unassuming. She could see the fatigue in the curve of his shoulders, but also the calm. Like he was built for this kind of quiet. Not flashy. Just real.

The elevator dinged. The doors eased open.

⸻

The hallway of Changbin's apartment building was warm and dimly lit, the scent of someone's dinner lingering faintly—soy, garlic, toasted sesame. Their steps were slow, careful. Beth adjusted Cassie's weight in her arms and followed as Changbin unlocked the door to his place.

It opened with a soft click.

Beth stepped inside and immediately felt it—different from the apartment they'd just left, but no less comforting. The entryway was clean and uncluttered. Shoes neatly lined up. A coat rack with a well-worn hoodie and a black bucket hat hanging from its peg. The lights were low, casting soft amber along the wood-paneled floor.

"You can put her in here," Changbin said gently, nudging open a small door just off the main room.

Beth peeked in. The guest room was modest—one twin bed, a stack of extra blankets, a lamp casting warm light over a dresser and a single picture frame. A simple space. But clean. Thoughtful. Someone had already folded down the blankets and fluffed the pillow.

"She can have the bed," Changbin added. "And I'll sleep on the couch, so you don't have to—"

"I'm not kicking you out of your bed," Beth said.

Changbin shook his head. "It's not mine. That's always been the guest room. Couch is better for my back anyway. Promise."

Beth smiled, too tired to argue. She crossed to the bed and lowered Cassie down gently, brushing the curls from her face. The little girl stirred, murmured something about snow and Santa's boots, then drifted off again without waking fully.

Beth pulled the blanket up and kissed her forehead. "Sleep well, my girl."

When she turned around, Changbin was still standing in the doorway, hands in his hoodie pockets, gaze low and respectful. He didn't ask questions. Didn't press. Just nodded toward the living room.

"Come sit," he said. "You look like you haven't sat down all day."

She followed him out, grateful.