The late afternoon light filtered softly through the trees in Gapyeong, casting long shadows against the stone path that led to the neighborhood chapel. The crisp December air, faintly scented with pine and chimney smoke, tugged gently at scarves and coat hems as the two families emerged from Lexie's home, their voices overlapping in warm laughter.
Christmas Mass wasn't something the Jungs decided on last minute. It was a ritual, lovingly kept for as long as Lexie could remember. Her mother had always made it the centerpiece of Christmas Eve: a moment of stillness amid celebration. Even during years when the family was scattered across cities and continents, they tried to return to the same chapel tucked into the hillside. Lexie remembered falling asleep on a pew as a child, her head resting on her mother's lap, the choir's echoing hymns curling around her like a lullaby.
This year felt different. Not just because it was Ethan's first Christmas in Korea, or the first time in years the Jungs and Lees would sit in the same pew together—but because it felt like a beginning. Like this Christmas would echo into the future.
Lexie tightened Ethan's scarf gently as they stepped outside. He beamed up at her in his puffy navy parka with tiny bear ears on the hood, matching mittens, and fleece-lined boots, his small hand warm inside his cute mittens. "We're going to the church?" he asked, bouncing on his toes.
"Mm-hmm," she murmured, brushing his hair aside.
Matthew coordinated the caravan of cars: Xander drove their fathers, their dad, Haejun, and Seungmin abeoji; while Alexis took their mothers, their mom, Maureen, and Woori eomoni together with Lexter. Mark, Ethan, and Lexie rode with Matthew.
Mark had been quietly present all afternoon—carrying Lexie's small handbag without being asked, hoisting Ethan up when he grew tired. There was nothing loud or showy about it, just steady gentleness. And Lexie noticed.
The chapel was already buzzing softly when they arrived. Inside, it was warm with community and candlelight. Lexie slid into the pew between her mother and Ethan to her side. Mark took the seat next to her, alongside Matthew, Seungmin abeoji, Woori eomoni, Lexter, Xander, and Alexis.
The Mass passed in gentle waves: the soft carols in Korean, the scripture echoing from the wooden rafters. Lexie found herself reaching for Ethan's hand halfway through, and at one point, Mark leaned forward to adjust the boy's scarf. His fingertips brushed her coat.
She turned.
Their eyes met.
Just a small smile from him—a familiar curve, warm and steady.
When the final hymn faded and the priest offered his blessing, the congregation spilled into the evening with soft goodbyes and respectful bows.
Outside, Xander grinned. "Lexter, do you think Mark is just claiming squatters' rights next door?"
"Worse," Lexter deadpanned. "He's migrated."
"New toothbrush next to Lexie's and Ethan in the bathroom," Matthew added. "That's permanent."
Lexie shook her head, but a smile tugged at her lips. "You're all impossible."
Back at the house, the warmth inside was immediate. Cinnamon lingered from her mother's morning baking. Snowflake cutouts still clung stubbornly to the windows, the handiwork of Ethan.
In the kitchen, Lexie moved with purpose. She and Matthew prepped side dishes. Mark plated with exaggerated seriousness, sneaking roasted vegetables between tasks. The noise around her—the clatter, the teasing—was comforting. Normal.
Dinner unfolded in layers. Her mother's Filipino spaghetti, Woori Eomoni's japchae and jeon, Lexter carving ham, Alexis uncorking wine. Ethan insisted on helping his Daddy Mark and handed out forks, proudly declaring himself the "head server."
Eleven voices rose in toast.
"To the ones who came from Canada and Philippines," Matthew began.
"And the one who moved in without asking," Xander added, grinning at Mark.
Lexie caught her father smiling quietly across the table.
Later, after dessert, Ethan crawled into Mark's lap and whispered, "I like this Christmas. I finally have a daddy." before yawning into his shoulder.
* * *
Everyone drifted to their rooms. Lexter noticed Mark lingering outside his sister's bedroom. He was still folding the blanket that had been draped over Ethan. They had been watching a children's Christmas animation when the little boy dozed off.
"Hey," Lexter passed by, Ethan asleep in his arms. He raised a brow at Mark. "Are you planning on standing there all night?"
Mark scratched his neck. "Didn't know if I should say good night now or—"
Lexter opened the door next to him, nudging it with his elbow. "You're staying, right? So stop pacing like it's a high school sleepover."
Mark blinked. "I thought you'd want to keep Ethan with Lexie tonight."
"We'll be fine. Usually sleeps with me back in Canada" Lexter paused, then added with a smirk, "Besides, he already saw his Mom and 'Dad' cuddling this morning. The damage is done."
With that, Lexter disappeared into his room with Ethan, leaving Mark standing in the hallway, the quiet weight of his heart now much lighter.
Seconds later, Lexie's door opened. "I'm waiting," she said.
Mark stepped forward.
The room was dimly lit, the soft amber glow of the nightlight catching the gentle curves of the furniture.
Lexie had changed into one of Mark's hoodies — the navy one he thought he'd lost — sleeves tucked over her palms, her damp hair curled slightly at the ends. There was a quiet serenity in the way she stood there barefoot, looking at him like he was meant to be in this exact spot, in this exact hour.
Mark toed off his shoes and shrugged off his hoodie, suddenly feeling the weight of the long day settle in his shoulders.
She stepped aside to let him in, then closed the door softly behind them.
"Is Ethan still watching with Lexter?" she asked, settling on the bed.
"With Lexter," he said, sitting at the edge of the mattress beside her. "Your brother basically pushed me in here."
She smiled softly, pulling one leg up as she sat cross-legged. "That boy's been watching too many dramas. I swear, one day I'm going to return the favor—force him into a closet with someone and see how he likes it."
A pause stretched between them, filled not with awkwardness, but with peace — the kind that wraps around you gently like a wool blanket.
Mark leaned back against the headboard, eyes closing momentarily. "Your house is louder than I remember. In a good way."
Lexie scooted closer and leaned against his shoulder, cheek brushing against the fabric of his shirt. "It's been years since we had a full house like this."
He tilted his head, resting it lightly on hers. "Thanks for letting me be part of it."
"You always were," she whispered. "We just... stopped saying it out loud for a while."
They stayed like that for a long moment — no rush, no timeline. Just breathing in the warmth of something finally right. When she shifted to pull the blanket over both of them, Mark hesitated.
"You sure?" he asked.
Lexie gave him a look. "You spent half of last night trying to beat the traffic just to be here. Pretty sure you've earned the spot."
He chuckled and eased down, lying on his side while she curled up next to him, head against his chest.
Her hand absentmindedly traced small circles over the hem of his shirt. "Do you remember the last Christmas we spent in Vancouver?"
Mark nodded. "You fell asleep in the middle of the Christmas movie marathon."
"You braided my hair while I slept."
"Badly," he laughed. "It looked like a bird's nest."
"I kept it til the next morning."
The laugh faded into a hum between them. Then Lexie murmured, "You didn't say goodbye back then."
Mark swallowed. "I know."
"I used to think I dreamt that whole day. Because one second you were beside me, and the next... nothing."
His arm tightened around her. "I didn't know how to say goodbye to you. I still don't."
Lexie's breath hitched faintly, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she reached for his hand and laced their fingers together beneath the blanket.
Outside, the wind rustled faintly through the trees, and inside, the silence was sacred — not awkward, not cold. Just quiet. Holy, even.
Somewhere near the foot of the bed, Lexie's phone buzzed — a holiday text from one of the Dream members in the group chat. She ignored it.
Mark spoke again, quieter this time. "I don't know what comes next, but I know I don't want to disappear again."
"Then don't," Lexie nodded against his chest. "I wouldn't even let you disappear again without a fight—not now that you've accepted Ethan, and he keeps calling you Daddy."
Mark let out a shaky breath, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That word used to terrify me," he admitted softly. "But coming from him... it feels like home."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy—it was full. No promises. Just breath, and presence.
She turned to him. He looked at her lips, lingered.
Lexie shifted slightly beneath the covers, turning to face him fully. The weight of his gaze lingered on her lips for a second too long, and when she leaned in, it wasn't hesitant — it was inevitable.
The kiss was soft at first, more memory than urgency. But the second time, when Mark cupped her jaw and pulled her closer, it deepened — all the years of silence melting into that quiet collision.
Fingers brushed skin — tentative, then certain — as she let the blanket slip slightly down her shoulder. Mark's hand followed the curve of her arm, then her waist, warm and reverent. There was nothing rushed about the way he held her, nothing reckless in the way their bodies aligned — just a quiet ache that had waited far too long.
Clothes didn't fall away in frenzy, but piece by piece, between whispers and unspoken questions answered with soft nods and slow breaths. Her hoodie, his shirt, the space between them — all gently undone.
Lexie exhaled against his neck, grounding herself in the press of his skin against hers, in the warmth and tension and safety all at once. Mark kissed her temple, then her collarbone, every touch asking permission and every sigh answering.
And when they finally let go — of hesitation, of fear, of the weight of everything they'd carried — it wasn't wild or loud. It was slow, quiet, sacred.
Like forgiveness.
Afterward, they stayed tangled under the covers, her fingers tracing slow lines across his chest, his thumb brushing over the curve of her hip. The room had stilled, but their breathing hadn't synced yet — like their bodies were still learning to be this close after so long apart.
Mark pressed a kiss to her forehead, letting his lips linger there as if afraid she might vanish again. "Still with me?" he asked quietly.
Lexie nodded against him, sleep threading through her bones. "Still with you. Always."
By the time their eyes grew heavy and the hush returned to the room, nothing had changed outwardly. But inside, something had cracked open — not broken, but freed.
The moonlight sifted gently through the curtain edges, and in the hush of that moment — as sacred as a prayer — it felt like something lost had finally found its way home.
~~ 끝 ~~