The apartment felt emptier by the hour, boxes half-packed and suitcases open like gutted animals, luxury scattered alongside tangled bras and chargers. Min-Kyung stood in the chaos, her phone clamped between shoulder and ear as she jabbed a makeup brush through her tangled hair. Yura leaned on the bedroom door, arms folded, smirking at the mess.

Min-Kyung swore in English at her New York assistant, "No, I said the brown boots. Brown. Not taupe, not beige—" She rolled her eyes. "You'd think these people have never seen winter. Ugh."

Yura snickered. "You're packing like you're staging a one-woman invasion."

"Bitch, I AM. New York fashion week is war. And don't judge me—you have more shoes than I have panties."

Yura padded in, grabbing a blouse that looked more like bondage gear than high fashion. "Will you actually be back for Christmas, or is Tom Ford keeping you on a leash again?"

Min-Kyung snatched the blouse, face annoyed but softening. "Honestly, probably not. End-of-year dresses, Oscars, Met Gala prep. I don't even know which timezone I'm in anymore. But I'll try. I promise."

"Liar," Yura teased, flicking a scarf at her. "Delegate, woman. Burnout is not a good look, no matter how much Prada you own."

Min-Kyung stuck out her tongue. "Says the queen of overwork herself. I'm not taking self-care advice from the woman who launched three brands and slept four hours this week."

Yura shrugged. "At least I'm learning. I'm joining Joon-ho when he goes with the national team—pretending it's a vacation. You could try it. Take a week off. Let someone else run your boutique for once."

"If you're calling that a vacation, I'm a nun," Min-Kyung shot back, grinning. "You'll be on the phone the whole time, barking orders at your assistant."

"Only if you promise to FaceTime from your closet, naked except for pearls."

They both cracked up, the old tension and affection smoothing out. In the background, Yura's phone chimed with group chat chaos—Alina's European agency drama, Natty's wild selfies from a French runway, Yumi's shy messages about new choreography and missing everyone already.

As Min-Kyung zipped her suitcase, Yura pressed her close, arms lingering in a rare embrace. "Come back when you can. Or I'll fly over and steal you."

Min-Kyung smiled, brushing her lips over Yura's cheek. "I'll try. For Christmas, maybe. Tell your mom I'm still a good girl, okay?"

They were still laughing when Joon-ho appeared in the doorway, sunglasses perched in his hair, a bemused smile on his lips. "Packing for three months or just a particularly slutty weekend?"

"Both," Min-Kyung snapped, flipping him off. "You'd be amazed how far a woman can go with the right boots and a solid supply of lube."

Yura rolled her eyes. "Don't wait up, we'll be back late." She and Joon-ho gathered their coats, waving as Min-Kyung yelled, "Text me if your mom cooks that seafood stew—seriously, save me some!"

The elevator doors closed on Min-Kyung's voice echoing, her presence bright and chaotic until the last second.

The drive out of Seoul was a small escape from the city's unrelenting pulse. Autumn had swept in overnight; fiery trees lined the hills, the sky a clear, cold blue. Yura watched the world blur by, her reflection pale in the passenger window, fingers curled tight in her lap.

Joon-ho drove with one hand on the wheel, the other drifting to her thigh, squeezing gently. "You nervous?"

She snorted, glancing at him sideways. "For what? You're the one facing the parents today."

He grinned, cocky as ever. "I can handle your father's death glare. It's your mother I'm terrified of. She always knows when I've done something wrong."

Yura poked his shoulder. "She's just got good instincts. She likes you, you know. She says you make me… softer."

He made a show of preening. "I do what I can. Someone's got to balance out your demon queen energy."

She smacked his hand, but she was smiling, warmth breaking through her nerves. "You're not worried they'll ask about grandkids again?"

He pretended to shudder. "I'm expecting a full interrogation. Your mom already asked if I was feeding you properly. Should I be nervous?"

Yura sighed, rubbing her temples. "I've just been tired lately. Not sleeping well. Maybe it's the weather, or maybe I just miss… home, sometimes."

Joon-ho's grip tightened. "You're not alone. You have me. And the world's most dysfunctional found family group chat."

She laughed, head tipping back, the city fading behind them. "God, that chat. Min-Kyung sends more nudes than my OnlyFans DMs."

He snorted, squeezing her leg. "You know I'm not complaining."

By the time they pulled into the gravel lot, Yura felt a little lighter, though a low ache lingered in her stomach—a strange, fluttery nausea she tried to ignore.

The restaurant stood alone, an old hanok perched on the edge of the forest, golden ginkgo leaves drifting down. Sliding doors parted to reveal Yura's parents already waiting, the air fragrant with roasted barley tea and woodsmoke.

Yura's mother swept her into a tight embrace, holding her as if afraid she might disappear. "You look beautiful," she whispered, fingers tracing Yura's cheek. "Your complexion is better than ever. Are you eating well?"

Yura grinned, stepping aside so her mother could fuss over Joon-ho, who accepted the attention with theatrical patience. Her father offered a brisk handshake, then pulled Yura close, patting her shoulder.

"Work is busy?" he asked, voice low and proud.

Yura nodded. "Lumina's prepping for the winter line. Dad, you should see the new BboBbo plushies—they're perfect for the holiday campaign."

He perked up. "You know, a Lumina x BboBbo crossover would clean up for year-end gifts. We could do exclusive packaging, limited runs—"

Her mother interrupted, mock-scandalized. "Work, work, work. Is that all you two ever talk about?"

Joon-ho chimed in, playful. "If it makes you feel better, ma'am, I don't understand half of what they're plotting. I'm just here for the food."

Her father grinned, sliding a platter across the table. "You should join us more often. We need fresh blood."

Yura's mother poured tea for everyone, eyes lingering on her daughter, concern hidden beneath pride. She nudged Joon-ho. "Has she been eating? Sleeping? She looks tired."

"She's always beautiful," Joon-ho said quietly, but the mother's eyes were sharp, as if she could see everything Yura was holding back.

They settled in, dishes arriving in waves—steamed fish, rice cakes, Yura's favorite savory pancakes. She laughed, sharing family jokes, letting herself relax for the first time in weeks.

When it was her turn, Yura filled her parents' bowls, careful and attentive, making sure her mother got the mushrooms she loved, her father's rice perfectly fluffed. Joon-ho nudged her plate closer, stacking her favorites in a neat pile.

She smiled, lifting a bite to her lips—then stopped, frowning. A sour twist rolled through her stomach. She forced the bite, but halfway through chewing her face drained of color. The world spun, food turning to ash on her tongue.

She set her chopsticks down, swallowing hard. "Excuse me," she mumbled, standing up fast.

Joon-ho was on his feet instantly, arm around her waist as she stumbled. Her mother followed, concern turning to fear. Yura barely made it to the bathroom before she doubled over, retching.

Her mother rubbed her back, murmuring soft words. "Sweetheart, when did this start? Are you feeling feverish? Headache?"

Yura shook her head, breath ragged. "No fever. Just—sudden nausea. It's so weird, I always love that dish. I was fine until just now."

Her mother's eyes narrowed, concern morphing into suspicion. "Have you checked for pregnancy?"

Yura froze, mind spinning. "What? No—I mean, I haven't even thought—"

Her mother pressed a cool hand to her forehead. "How late are you? Any other symptoms?"

Yura stammered, realizing she hadn't paid attention for weeks—her period had always been irregular, but…

Her mother's face softened. "Let's not wait. We'll go to the hospital, just to check."

Back at the table, Yura's father looked up as they returned, her face still pale. "What's wrong?"

Her mother leaned in, voice urgent. "We should go. Now. Call the waiter—ask him to pack everything up."

Within minutes, the staff had bundled their meal, offering polite bows as the family hurried out. Joon-ho hovered at Yura's side, eyes darting between her and her mother, uncertainty and fear twisting together.

The hospital was bright, sterile, unnervingly calm. Yura sat in a private room, her parents on one side, Joon-ho's fingers laced through hers. The family doctor arrived, gentle but businesslike, running tests and asking questions with practiced efficiency.

Minutes ticked by like hours. Joon-ho paced, stopping only to squeeze Yura's shoulder, whispering, "No matter what, I'm here."

Yura's mind whirled. She stared at her reflection in the glass—dark circles, lips bitten raw, uncertainty etched deep. Her mother stroked her hair, humming a childhood lullaby. Her father cleared his throat, trying to hide his worry.

At last, the doctor returned, holding a clipboard, eyes bright behind his glasses.

"It's good news," he said, voice warm. "Yura, you're pregnant. Roughly two or three weeks. All your tests look healthy."

Time froze. Yura blinked, the words bouncing off her, unreal.

Pregnant.

Joon-ho's face crumpled, joy and shock tangled as he pulled her into his arms, holding tight. "You're serious?" he choked out.

The doctor nodded, smiling. "Congratulations."

Yura started crying—quiet at first, then deep, body-shaking sobs. Her mother hugged her from behind, tears running silently down her face. Her father, ever-stoic, wiped at his eyes.

Joon-ho held Yura's cheeks in his hands, voice thick. "You—you're giving me a family. I didn't even dare hope—"

She shook her head, laughter bubbling through tears. "I thought it was too late. After everything—how could this happen?"

Her mother stroked her hair, gentle. "Miracles happen, Yura. Maybe it's time for you to rest a little more. No more late nights."

Her father cleared his throat, voice rough. "You're our daughter, but you're his family now too. Both of you, promise me you'll take care of yourselves—and this child."

Joon-ho pressed his forehead to Yura's. "I promise. I'll do anything. Anything you need."

They huddled together, a tight knot of love and fear, the world outside forgotten for a few heartbeats.

As the news settled in, Yura's phone lit up again—a message from Min-Kyung:"You alive? Or did Mom feed you into a stew? Spill the gossip or I'll riot."Yura's shaking fingers sent back a simple photo: her hand on her stomach, Joon-ho's arms wrapped around her.

The group chat exploded—Alina with a string of heart emojis and "SEE, IT'S THE SOJU!" Natty sending a selfie with a baby bottle filter, Yumi's sweet "I want to be the cool aunt!" flooding in behind.

Joon-ho kissed Yura's forehead, voice soft and awed. "You're glowing. I mean it."

She giggled, wiping her eyes. "I think I'm just sweaty and terrified."

Her mother squeezed her shoulder. "No more business meetings for a while. Your father and I will help with anything you need."

Her father beamed, pride and relief softening every line. "You've given us everything, Yura. Let us take care of you now."

Yura leaned into Joon-ho, breath steadying. The future was wild and uncertain—a newborn heartbeat fluttering beneath her ribs, a world ready to shatter and be rebuilt.

Outside, autumn leaves whirled in the cold wind. Inside, their little family huddled together—tender, overwhelmed, but whole. And for the first time in years, Yura allowed herself to believe: maybe she really could have it all.

The message threads kept lighting up with chaos and love, Min-Kyung's snark, Alina's filth, Natty's hearts, the world spinning on. But here, in the small circle of arms and hope, Yura closed her eyes and breathed it in—the unexpected blessing, the impossible happiness, finally hers.

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