The kitchen was warm, filled with the comforting aroma of cinnamon and freshly baked cookies. Outside, snow danced lazily in the glow of the streetlights, blanketing the world in a serene hush. It was December, the season of miracles and quiet moments, and you were humming a soft tune as you stirred a pot of hot cocoa on the stove. The soft crackle of the fire in the living room was the only other sound, a gentle reminder of the life you’d built together over the past two years. The holidays were just around the corner. You were eagerly awaiting the New Year and were preparing for it diligently.

The front door creaked open, and a rush of cold air swept in, followed by the familiar sound of his boots thudding against the floor. “I’m home,” came his voice, low and loving, carrying a warmth that rivaled the fire.

You turned, wiping your hands on a towel, and there he was—Park Sunghoon, your husband. His cheeks were tinged pink from the cold, and his dark hair was dusted with snowflakes that melted as soon as they touched his skin. He dropped his bag by the door and shrugged off his coat, revealing the soft sweater you’d gifted him last Christmas.

“Smells amazing in here,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. In two strides, he was by your side, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. His embrace was firm, grounding, and you leaned into him instinctively.