"Guess who's back?" Jimin announced, striding into the room with his suitcase in tow. In his right hand, he waved a knitted jute bag with a flourish.

"Troublemaker number two," Antonella greeted him, offering a passive-aggressive hug. Despite the veneer of irritation, there was a warmth in her eyes. They had always shared a unique bond.

"Come on, my beloved," Jimin chuckled, dropping his suitcase at the foot of the sofa. "Why am I number two?"

"Because JK is number one," she replied, shooting me a playful look. Why was I suddenly the target?

Jimin's laughter rang out, a melodic sound that filled the room as he peeled off his socks. He acknowledged my presence with a smirk, an unexpected but welcome gesture.

"So, how's my man doing?" Jimin asked, nudging my shoulder lightly as he continued to smirk.

"Great. Everything's been really cool. How was your stay, Mr. Therapist?"

"Indeed, you had a splendid time while I was away," he replied, his smirk morphing into playful laughter. He shrugged off his long coat and hung it by the door.

As I turned to face him, my gaze was arrested by a single, vivid detail. Jimin was wearing a white shirt made of what appeared to be an old, yet exquisitely fine piece of imported cotton that retained its elegance. The white fabric, tinged with a faint yellow hue, stirred a distant memory.

"What are you looking at?" Jimin asked, glancing around as he brushed snow off his earmuffs. Tiny crystals clung stubbornly to the collar of his shirt.

I stepped closer, gently brushing away the remaining snow as I examined the intricate embroidery on his shirt. The craftsmanship was breathtaking; a yellow silk-threaded flower, bordered in red, adorned the fabric. The leaves, stitched in a different pattern, extended from the collar down to just below the chest pocket.

I marveled at the artistry, feeling an inexplicable connection to the design. "The embroidery is beautiful," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"Halmeom made it," Jimin replied softly.

"Beautiful," I repeated, almost in awe.

"Your halmeom can still create such exquisite work?" Antonella's surprise mirrored our own. It was astonishing to think of an elderly woman, over seventy, painstakingly crafting something so intricate.

"Halmeom told me this was made in the mid-1970s when our founder's granddaughter still lived with them. It was part of her birthday dress that Halmeom had stitched. After that day, the story goes that she ran away with a man she loved, and they never heard from her again."

Jimin's smile held a trace of nostalgic pain, a story woven with longing and loss. How many children have abandoned their elders for love? The question seemed unanswerable, a common but heart-wrenching reality. I could only hope she found happiness in her chosen path.

"How does it feel to be wearing a piece of your founder's beloved granddaughter's legacy?" Antonella teased, attempting to lighten the mood. Jimin paused, the question hanging in the air for a beat before he broke into laughter, his eyes crinkling in that familiar, disarming way. The sound of his laughter filled the room, easing the gravity of the moment and inviting us all into its warmth.

As the echoes of our shared amusement lingered, I couldn’t help but feel the depth of the connections between us—bonds forged through time, shared history, and the intricate threads of our intertwined lives.

Jimin, still smiling, responded, "It feels special, very special. But I'm not the only special one here." He kept his gaze on Antonella as he reached for the jute bag at his side, methodically pulling out its contents.

The contents began with simplicity —a bunch of fruits. "These apples and persimmons are from our orchards," he said, rummaging through the bag, "and these tangerines are from Jeju, where I took the kids for our trip this year."

Antonella turned to me with a grin. "Mr. Therapist here spends a quarter of his annual income every season on the kids there," she said, her tone carrying both affection and amusement. I only laughed at that.

Jimin wasn’t done yet. He dug deeper into the bag and pulled out more treasures. "Ms. Cha sent these sweet potatoes and peanuts as well," he added, his voice filled with a quiet pride.

Antonella’s eyes lit up at the sight, clearly pleased. The gifts, though simple, were thoughtful, and I could tell they meant a great deal to her, perhaps even more so than she let on.

"My New Year's expenses are down by 25%."

"And now," Jimin continued, pulling a white plastic bag from his suitcase, "here's something special for you, Antonella."

There was a flicker of surprise in Antonella's eyes as she watched Jimin, unsure of what to expect. To be honest, I hadn’t imagined that Halmeom would go to such lengths for people she’d never met. But then again, that’s the way of the elderly, especially in Asian cultures—kindness and generosity extended beyond borders and bloodlines.

Jimin’s gaze urged Antonella to unwrap the plastic bag, a silent nudge wrapped in a soft smile. She hesitated for a moment before sinking into the single couch, her hands carefully lifting out a large cardboard box adorned with velvet wrapping and golden embellishments.

"A dress?" she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

"Yes, ma'am. A dress. Open it," Jimin replied, that familiar smirk dancing on his lips.

The room seemed to pulse with the energy he brought—a magnetism that drew everyone in, leaving no one untouched.

"Go on, open it," Jimin encouraged, his tone light but tinged with a subtle urgency.

Antonella glanced at me, her wide eyes reflecting a blend of excitement and hesitation, before she finally lifted the lid of the box. The first thing that struck all of us was the color—a deep, rich blue that seemed almost alive, its hue shifting and shimmering as the light caressed the silk. Even from where I stood, the fabric’s quality was undeniable, its lustrous surface catching and holding the light like a precious gem. It wasn’t just expensive—it was exquisite, a dress that whispered of something beyond mere material value.

Antonella lifted the dress from the box, the silk cascading through her fingers like liquid, each fold and ripple a testament to its craftsmanship. The A-line silhouette was classic, elegant, with a V-neckline that I could already imagine accentuating her collarbones with the utmost grace. The bodice, structured yet soft, seemed designed to embrace her figure before flowing out into delicate waves that promised movement and grace.

As she held the dress against herself, the deep blue fabric contrasted beautifully with her golden tan, the rich hue enhancing the warmth of her skin until she seemed to glow from within. Her naturally curly hair, falling just below her neck, framed her face perfectly, and her big, elongated eyes sparkled with a mix of admiration and awe.

"Jimin, this is… it’s beautiful," she whispered, her voice soft and reverent, as though she were in the presence of something sacred.

Jimin’s smile widened, pleased with her reaction. "I knew it would suit you," he said simply, his tone revealing a quiet confidence in his choice.

Watching the scene unfold, I couldn’t help but feel a swell of admiration. The dress, even before it was worn, seemed to have a transformative power, as if its very presence had unlocked something within Antonella—a deeper awareness of her own beauty, her own grace. She hadn’t even put it on, yet in a way, she was already wearing it, embodying the elegance it promised.

There was something almost magical in the moment—Jimin, with his uncanny ability to see into the heart of someone, had chosen a gift that went beyond style or fashion. It was a gift that revealed something deeper, something that perhaps even Antonella hadn’t fully realized about herself until now.

"Try it on," I found myself saying, my voice softer than usual. I wanted to see the transformation, to witness her step into the dress and become the woman it seemed destined for.

Antonella looked at me, then at Jimin, her lips curving into a smile that was both shy and radiant, a new confidence shimmering in her eyes. But instead of slipping away to try it on, she carefully placed the dress back in the box, closing the lid with the same gentle reverence she had shown when opening it.

"Later," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of mystery, as though she wanted to savor the moment a little longer, to let the anticipation linger in the air.

Jimin nodded, understanding the sentiment, before he turned his attention back to the suitcase. "Now, something for Y/n. Where is she?"

"She’s out with Lisa, doing some Christmas shopping," I replied, watching as Jimin nodded, unsurprised by the news.

"Then I’ll give it to her on Christmas Eve," he said, rummaging through his suitcase once more before pulling out a sleek black box. "But this one, JK, is for you."

The idea of receiving a gift was foreign to me. Our Christmases had always been more about experiences than material things. Y/n took charge of the decorations, cakes, and food, Antonella planned our outings, I painted or sculpted, and Jimin told stories or took us for long drives. Gifting wasn’t part of our tradition, and I had never really received a gift before.

"Go on, open it," Jimin urged gently. I stood there, momentarily frozen, trying to process the simple but profound gesture. It reminded me of the time Y/n had handed me a bunch of flowers for the first time—a mixture of surprise and deep appreciation.

I wasn’t sure if it was excitement I felt, but there was something intensely meaningful about being cherished in this way. I loved that they reciprocated the feelings I held for them, yet I had never really learned how to express my emotions or react to such moments.

"Open it, buddy," Antonella prompted, placing the box into my hands. I took it slowly, my fingers brushing over the edges, feeling the smooth surface. A tear almost escaped, but I blinked it away, focusing on the present.

Carefully, I opened the box. Inside was a tailored suit set, complete with a crisp white shirt. The shirt was embroidered at the collars, much like Jimin’s, though it looked newer. The embroidery was imperfect, the stitches uneven and slightly mismatched, yet those very flaws made it more beautiful, more personal, more significant.

"You made this?" I asked, looking up at Jimin. He shook his head with a smile, but his eyes told a different story.

"In the last four years, I’ve never been able to take you and Y/n with me," Jimin began. "You always had a trip scheduled with your class. So whenever I visited Halmeom, I shared stories about you, our memories together. She took this out and told me she’d stitched it for her husband when she was pregnant. She dearly wants to meet both of you. This shirt is her gift. The rest of the suit is from me."

I ran my fingers over the fabric, overwhelmed by the gesture, by the thought that someone I had never met wanted to gift me something so precious.

"Thank you, Hyung," I murmured, the word slipping out naturally. I had never called Jimin ‘Hyung’ before, but in that moment, it felt right. The connection I felt with him, the depth of our bond, made it feel like the most appropriate thing to say.

Jimin chuckled, his hands gesturing as if to brush off the significance of the moment, though I could see the warmth in his eyes, the quiet appreciation of being acknowledged as ‘Hyung.’

"Where’s the receipt?" Antonella’s practical question broke through the sentimentality of the moment, making Jimin’s smile falter just a bit.

"Don’t worry about that," he replied with a dismissive wave. "I’ve started making enough to gift the three of you once in a while. After all, you all are my only immediate family, even without sharing blood."

What I have finally realised over the time spent with them was that being a family was often more than marital ties or sharing a kin.