The morning air hung crisp and cool, drifting in through the half-open window. Outside, dawn painted the world in muted colors; soft grey clouds settled across the skyline, stretched thin by a breeze that promised the day would remain gentle, chilled. It was a quiet kind of beauty, the sort that asked to be admired in stillness rather than speech. Snow dusted the earth in patches, and branches glistened as if adorned with diamonds under the fragile morning light. But nothing—not the first sight of dawn or the allure of winter outside—held my attention for long.

I turned to her, lying close, her face framed by stray strands of dark hair. My love, asleep beside me. Her steady breathing filled the quiet; her eyelids fluttered ever so slightly as though the dreams behind them were tugging her somewhere soft, warm. The warmth of her presence grounded me. This face, so familiar yet endlessly enchanting, held the promise we had exchanged—a promise that neither time nor distance could alter.

A sudden feeling swelled within me, almost too profound for words. It was awe, relief, and joy intertwined, knowing that this beautiful soul had agreed to wake beside me, to share her every morning with me, and one day, even her last. And here, as morning began to unfold, I felt the strength of that promise wrap around me like armor. As long as I woke to her face, as long as I opened my eyes to find her here, everything else in the world could fade to white.

“Good morning, my love,” I whispered, letting my voice wrap softly around the two of us, like a secret meant only for her. My nose brushed against the tender curve of her ear, a whisper-light touch that invited her into the morning. She stirred faintly, eyelids fluttering in the quiet way she always did, caught somewhere between her dreams and the warmth of dawn. There was an innocence in her half-awake face, as though she held onto a part of night’s tenderness, unguarded and free.

I brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, savoring the moment, and murmured, “Wake up, love; it’s morning already.” The words came out so softly, it felt as if the world around us held its breath.

“No, five more minutes,” she mumbled, still wrapped up in the drowsiness of sleep, nestling herself deeper into the pillow, refusing to leave the softness of her dreams. I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips; her “five minutes” was a lullaby that meant she’d likely remain tangled in her slumber for another hour, and I cherished every minute of it. It was a part of her rhythm, this slow, gentle awakening—a rhythm that had become part of me, too.

Quietly, I slipped out of bed, the chill of the morning air waking me as I tread softly across the room, careful not to break the serene cocoon around her. I headed for the bathroom, where solitude awaited, my mind brimming with the warmth of the thought that she was here, just a room away, a presence that anchored me more deeply with every passing moment.

The water cascaded over me, each droplet an embrace in its own right. It washed over my skin, easing the weight I hadn’t known I carried, dissolving the strain and scars that yesterday had etched into me. It was as if the water itself whispered comfort, like an unspoken promise, one that was woven into our connection—a sense that no matter how much the world demanded, this shared quiet, this morning peace, would always be ours.

With every breath, the clarity of that feeling grew—a certainty, as soothing as her presence beside me. In that moment, beneath the warmth of the water, I felt it resonate in my core: she was my beginning and my end, my shelter, my sanctuary, the part of me I could no longer live without.

“Good morning, love!” A cheerful voice floated toward me the moment I stepped into the kitchen, and there she was, Miss Perfect herself—Antonella. She was already awake, bright-eyed despite the early hour, moving seamlessly around the kitchen, her every action full of purpose and care, as if dawn existed just for her.

“Good morning, noona,” I replied, my voice carrying a mix of curiosity, mild confusion, and a trace of amused judgment as I noted her barely concealed exhaustion. She looked tired, but not with the heaviness of sadness—more like someone carrying the comforting weight of fulfilled duty.

“What are you doing?” I asked, watching her effortlessly whisk ingredients together.

“Making you all breakfast,” she replied smoothly, flashing me a quick, knowing smile. “And what are you doing?”

“Well,” I began, settling against the counter with a grin I couldn’t suppress, “I was thinking I’d take over breakfast duty today. But… since you’re here, I may as well tell you something far more interesting than food.” Excitement surged through me, as warm and electric as a child’s pride on the first day of school, eager to share every moment.

Antonella had, somewhere along this winding journey of ours, become as important to me as a mother is to her children. She was the anchor that kept me grounded, the one who brought out the boy I rarely allowed myself to be.

“What happened?” she teased, eyebrow raised with playful suspicion. “Did you make friends with a new snail?”

“Nope!” I replied, my grin widening. “I made a wife!” Her mixing bowl came to a halt mid-air, her eyes widening as the words sank in.

“Careful,” I said, laughing as I pointed to the bowl she was precariously holding. “You’ll drop that.”

She quickly set it aside, her thoughts visibly catching up with her. “That can go to hell.” Her gaze sharpened, her expression lighting up in a way that seemed to brighten the whole room. “What are you saying, JK? Did she… did she really?” The question hung in the air, and her voice bubbled with such delight that it seemed to echo.

“Yes, noona! She did!” I exclaimed, hardly able to keep still as I held her gaze. “She said yes!”

In the next instant, her arms were around me, pulling me into a tight embrace that felt like home. All the joy and pride I had felt moments before multiplied tenfold in her warmth. For a moment, there was no need for words. We were simply wrapped in the shared elation of dreams realised, promises made, and a new journey unfolding.

We moved through the kitchen together, an effortless song in our steps as if we’d rehearsed it for years. Antonella was stirring a pot on the stove while I was chopping vegetables beside her, sneaking in a smile or a laugh with every small banter. The air around us was light and filled with the scent of warm spices, the clinking of dishes, and our quiet laughter.

I glanced at her, noticing a slight weariness beneath her lively gaze. “Noona,” I said gently, a soft smile pulling at the corner of my lips, “you need more sleep, you know? If you keep this up, you’ll wear yourself down.”

She chuckled lightly, stirring the pot. “Just one night, JK. I’m not that old yet.” She shot me a playful glance but then her face softened, the laughter slipping away as she gazed off, lost in thought. “Actually... last night was a little different.”

I paused, sensing the shift in her tone. “What happened?” I asked, my voice quieter.

Antonella’s eyes dropped, a faint shadow passing over her face. “When I came back from work,” she began, “I found Jimin curled up on the sofa, looking so small and hurt… like a wounded puppy. He didn’t even hear me come in. He was just there, his hands gripping his arms, his eyes filled with so much… weight.” She took a shaky breath, the memory tugging at her as she stirred absently.

My hands stilled over the cutting board, listening intently.

“I approached him slowly,” she continued, “and as I got closer, I saw it all more clearly. There were tears he hadn’t allowed to fall, his nails dug into his arms as if holding himself together. And when I reached him…” Her voice grew softer, almost a whisper, “He didn’t say a word. Just… wrapped himself around me, like a boy reaching out for his mother. He clung to me, JK, and he just kept murmuring, ‘mum,’ over and over.”

She stopped stirring, her gaze fixed somewhere distant, her eyes glassy. “I didn’t ask anything. I just held him, and he cried himself to sleep in my arms, so worn, so broken. I stayed awake until almost two in the morning, watching over him, trying to put my own heart back together.”

The kitchen was quiet, her words still echoing in the silence as I took it in. Gently, I placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her back to the present. “Thank you, noona. For being there for him.”

She offered a soft smile, the warmth returning to her face as she gave my hand a grateful squeeze. “Family looks after each other, JK. And with you, with Jimin, with all of us… well, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

I couldn't bring myself to talk about yesterday but I'm sure Y/n will do that when she sits with her for their afternoon tea. She would know it a way or other.

The morning light spilled into the dining room, gentle and warm, as Y/n and Jimin finally joined us, each moving with a quiet ease, still hazy from sleep. Antonella and I had set the table, every detail meticulously placed, awaiting the late risers we’d teased would miss breakfast entirely.

Jimin rubbed his eyes, glancing over at Antonella with a puzzled look. “How did I end up in your bed?” he asked, his voice still laced with the sleepiness of dawn.

Antonella tilted her head, feigning surprise. “Why? I carried you there, of course!”

He stared, half in disbelief, half in awe. “Carried me?” he asked, as if picturing the whole ordeal for the first time.

“Exactly! Like this,” she replied mischievously, before abruptly bending down and, with remarkable ease, scooping me up by the knees, hoisting me off my feet as if I weighed no more than a feather.

“Hey! Put me down, you incredibly strong gremlin!” I squirmed, trying to keep my balance as her laughter rang out. The entire scene must have looked absurd—me, a full foot taller, dangling in her arms like a rag doll.

“Come on, Kook, you’re not that heavy.” She grinned, unfazed, holding me steady with practiced strength. “Jimin was even lighter.”

“What do you mean, not heavy?” I protested, barely managing to keep a hold on my dignity. “I’m a solid 72 kilos! And Jimin’s at least 65! That’s not exactly featherweight.”

“Right, well, I can bench 90, if you remember,” she shrugged, levitating my body even higher. “You’re light in comparison.”

“Geez, Antonella!” Jimin finally burst out laughing, eyes wide with admiration and disbelief. “I already had enough reasons to be a little scared of you, but this—this definitely tops the list!”

“Well,” Y/n chimed in, a mischievous sparkle lighting up her eyes, “if Kook here fails to pick me up on our wedding day, maybe you should step in, Antonella.” Her playful smile sent a blush crawling up my neck.

Antonella winked, throwing an arm around Y/n’s shoulders. “Absolutely, darling. I could be a better boyfriend.” she teased, only furthering my mock misery.

“Alright, alright! Enough! Put me down, and stop trying to steal my girl!” I grumbled, though laughter couldn’t help but escape me. The sound of our shared joy filled the room, as easy as the morning light that washed over us. Moments like this made even the strangest of mornings feel like home.