Incheon — 4:30 PM, December 21
The private jet touched down with a whisper, barely disturbing the gray afternoon. Ryan had forgotten how Seoul smelled—cold, dense, alive in a way that Luxembourg never was. He stood at the top of the stairs, hand extended behind him, waiting.
Eilen appeared in the doorway, ducking slightly. She was wearing his coat again, the navy one from Luxembourg, sleeves too long, collar turned up against a wind she wasn't used to anymore.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No," she said. But she took his hand anyway.
Kim Ji-eun waited on the tarmac, black coat snapping in the wind, tablet already glowing in her gloved hands. Two black vans idled behind her, drivers staring straight ahead.
"Boss," Ji-eun said, bowing slightly. Then, to Eilen: "Miss Bae. Welcome home."
"Thank you," Eilen said. The words felt strange in her mouth. Home.
Ji-eun fell into step beside Ryan as they walked. "Lee so-man's office called three times. He wants a meeting. Tomorrow, if possible."
"Tell him next week," Ryan said. "After Christmas."
Ji-eun's fingers paused over her tablet. "He's... insistent."
"So am I." Ryan reached the first van, opened the door for Eilen. "Tell him I need to settle my family. He'll understand."
Eilen heard this, one foot on the step. She turned. "Oppa. Will it be alright? Pushing him back?"
Ryan looked at her. Really looked. The wind was messing up her hair, and she was squinting against the cold, and she looked nothing like the perfect idol from the magazines. She looked better.
"It will," he said. "Nothing will happen."
She studied his face for a moment, searching for doubt. Then she smiled, quick and real, and climbed into the van.
---
Seongbuk — 5:45 PM
The gates opened with a hum, metal sliding against metal. Eilen pressed her forehead to the window, breath fogging the glass.
"Oppa," she said quietly.
"Hmm?"
"You didn't tell me it was this big."
Ryan looked at the house. He had purchased it in 2014, renovated it through 2016, and spent maybe thirty nights total under its roof. It was... large. Stone and glass, traditional rooflines mixed with modern angles, a garden he paid someone to maintain that he had never walked through.
"I didn't think about it," he said honestly.
The van stopped. The door opened. And before Ryan could step out, the front door of the house burst open.
"Appa!"
Jimin was first, because Jimin was always first—seventeen and already treating the world like something to be organized. She was running, actually running, coat flapping open, and Ryan barely had time to brace before she crashed into him.
"You're late," she said into his shoulder. "I calculated the flight time, customs, traffic patterns. You should have been here at four-fifteen."
"Traffic," Ryan said.
"Traffic is a variable. You should have built in buffer time."
"Jimin-ah," he said, patting her back. "I missed you too."
She pulled back, straightening her glasses, already composing herself. But her eyes were red, and she didn't let go of his sleeve. "Appa," she said, quiet enough that only he could hear. "Don't do that again. The math doesn't work if you're not here."
Then Eri was there—also seventeen, Jimin's partner in crime since they were fifteen—and Minjeong at sixteen, already analyzing the situation with her deadpan logic. Wony came too, thirteen and trying to look composed, failing because she was grinning too wide.
But Ningyi stopped two steps away. Fifteen, caught in that awkward middle between child and adult, hands clasped in front of her, lower lip trembling. She still carried a stuffed rabbit in her backpack sometimes, though she pretended it belonged to Wony.
"Ningyi-ah," Ryan said, softening his voice. "Come here."
She went. One step, then two, then she crashed into him, face pressed against his chest, shoulders shaking. The sobs came suddenly, violently, the way they always did with her—held back until they couldn't be held anymore.
"Appa," she choked out. "Don't leave again, okay? Please. Please don't leave again."
Ryan's arms came around her, automatic, protective. He remembered the first time she had called him that—Appa. Not "Chairman," not "Mr. Ryan," not the formal titles her parents had taught her to use with adults.
It was 2016. She had been thirteen, newly arrived, still calling him "Chairman-nim" with careful politeness. Then the fever came—forty degrees, hallucinations, something viral that the Seoul doctors couldn't identify. Ryan had chartered a plane to Los Angeles, sat with her through the flight, held the IV bag when the turbulence made the nurses nervous.
In the hospital, delirious, she had grabbed his hand and called him "Appa." Asked if he would stay until she fell asleep. He had stayed. All night, in a chair too small, watching her breathe.
When she woke, clear-eyed and embarrassed, she tried to take it back. "I'm sorry, Chairman-nim. I didn't mean—"
"It's okay," he had said. "You can call me that. If you want."
She had. Once, then twice, then all the time. Until it became natural, until he became someone she could cry in front of without shame.
"Look at me," Ryan said now, gently pulling her back. He wiped her face with his thumb, the way he had learned to do with her. "Look how big you've gotten. Fifteen already. When did that happen?"
"October," she sniffled. "You missed my birthday."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"I saved you cake. In the freezer. Jimin-unnie said it was unhygienic, but I didn't care."
Ryan laughed, surprised, the sound rough from disuse. "I'll eat it. Tonight. Promise."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She hugged him again, quick and fierce, then stepped back, wiping her face with her sleeve. Wony was there immediately—thirteen and already acting like a big sister—arm around Ningyi's shoulders, guiding her toward the house with easy competence.
Ryan watched them go. Felt Eilen's presence beside him before he saw her.
"She's attached to you," Eilen said quietly.
"She's fifteen," Ryan said. "She attaches to people."
"No." Eilen shook her head. "It's you. Only you." She paused, studying his face. "What happened? In 2016?"
Ryan didn't answer. He just reached for her hand and squeezed, grateful when she didn't ask again.
Then Ningyi noticed her.
"Eomma!" she said, and the word landed like a stone in a pond.
Silence.
Ningyi's hands flew to her mouth. "I—I mean—Miss Bae—Irene-unnie—"
"It's okay," Eilen said, and her voice was warm, amused. She stepped forward, into the crowd, and did something Ryan had never seen her do with strangers: she opened her arms.
Ningyi went first, because Ningyi always felt things too deeply. She hugged Eilen tight, face buried in the too-long coat, and when she pulled back, her eyes were wet.
"Don't cry," Eilen said, brushing Ningyi's hair back. "Your appa won't leave again. And if he does..." She glanced at Ryan, something teasing in her eyes. "I'll bring him back."
Ryan opened his mouth. Closed it.
Eri cackled. "He's speechless. Appa's actually speechless."
"I am not—"
"You are," Jimin confirmed, smiling now. "Come inside. It's freezing, and Ms. Park's been pacing the kitchen for an hour trying to figure out dinner logistics."
---
6:30 PM — Dinner
The dining room was too big for a family dinner. Ryan had designed it that way, back when he thought he would host business meetings here, investor dinners, things with agendas and outcomes. Now it was chaos.
He sat at the head of the table because Jimin had physically steered him there, hands on his shoulders, pushing down. To his right: Eilen, then Windy, Park Seulgi, Joey, Yeli. To his left: Jimin, Eri, Minjeong, Ningyi, Wony.
The table groaned with food. Kimchi jjigae, bulgogi, japchae, rice, side dishes that Ji-eun had somehow produced from nowhere. Ryan didn't remember ordering any of this.
"So," Windy said, leaning forward, chin in her hands. "Ryan-oppa ran away because he felt insecure? Because of shipper fandom?"
Ryan's chopsticks froze halfway to his mouth. "I didn't—"
"Yes," Eri interrupted, mouth full of rice. "Appa ran away because shipper posts kept appearing in his Instagram feed. He'd scroll at 3 AM, see Eilen-unnie photoshopped with some idol, and then he'd stare at the ceiling for an hour."
"Eri," Ryan said.
"It's true. Minjeong has the sleep data from his smartwatch."
Minjeong nodded, chewing. "REM deprivation correlates strongly with social media usage. I ran the numbers."
"You ran—" Ryan set down his chopsticks. "You ran numbers on my sleep?"
"Someone had to. You were deteriorating."
Yeli leaned across the table, almost knocking over Joey's water glass. "He ran away, and when he came back he kidnapped Eilen-unnie to this mansion... and kidnapped us too."
"That's right, imo Yeli," Eri said, sweetly.
Yeli froze. "What? What? Imo?"
"Yes." Eri gestured between herself and the other girls. "Eilen-unnie is our eomma now. So you, as her peer, are our imo. Aunt. By marriage, technically, since they're not married yet, but—"
"They're not married?" Joey asked, eyes wide with fake shock. "Then why is she wearing his clothes?"
Eilen looked down at the sweater she had changed into—Ryan's, charcoal gray, sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She didn't blush. She just smiled, slow and knowing.
"Because they're warmer," she said.
"Oh my god," Windy whispered to Park Seulgi. "I love her."
"Right?" Park Seulgi whispered back. "She's perfect."
"Focus," Yeli said, slapping the table. "I am not an imo. I'm eighteen. I'm young. I'm—"
"An aunt," Minjeong said. "By the logic Eri established, which is technically sound—"
"It's not sound! It's nonsense!"
"—you would be classified as a maternal figure's peer, which makes you—"
"Minjeong, I will throw this rice at you."
"Waste of carbohydrates."
"Everyone," Jimin said, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade through silk. "Sit. Eat. The food is getting cold."
Silence fell, sudden and complete. Then, slowly, everyone returned to their seats.
Ryan picked up his chopsticks. Looked around the table—at the faces, the chaos, the life that had filled his empty house in a single evening.
"Ji-eun," he said.
Ji-eun appeared from the kitchen doorway, where she had been pretending not to watch. "Yes, Chairman?"
"Tomorrow. Tell Lee so-man. Morning meeting."
Ji-eun's eyebrows rose. "I thought you said next week?"
Ryan felt Eilen's foot press against his under the table. A nudge. A reminder.
"I changed my mind," he said. "Let's get it done."
"Yes, sir."
The conversation resumed around him, lighter now, full of plans for Christmas, for shopping, for a trip to Jeju that Jimin had apparently already organized without asking permission.
Ryan didn't listen closely. He was watching Eilen, who was watching the girls, who were watching each other with the comfortable cruelty of siblings who had finally, finally found their way home.
---
10:30 PM — Master Bedroom
The room was dark except for the city lights filtering through sheer curtains. Ryan stood by the window, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, holding a glass of water he hadn't drunk.
Eilen came out of the bathroom, hair damp, wearing one of his t-shirts. She had claimed three of them already. He suspected he would never get them back.
"Penny for your thoughts," she said, climbing onto the bed.
"Inflation," he said. "Thoughts are worth more now."
"Ryan."
He turned. She was sitting cross-legged, blanket pooled around her hips, watching him with those eyes that saw too much.
"It's so lively," he said quietly.
She laughed, soft and knowing. "See? I told you they would be loud."
"You did."
"You didn't believe me."
"I believed you." He set down the water glass. Crossed to the bed. Sat on the edge, close enough to touch her knee. "I just didn't... I couldn't imagine it."
"What?"
"This." He gestured, vague, encompassing. "The noise. The chaos. The—" He stopped, searching. "The life."
Eilen reached out. Took his hand. Her fingers were warm, slightly damp from the shower, real in a way that still surprised him.
"Do you miss it?" she asked. "Luxembourg. The quiet."
Ryan thought about the white walls. The concrete floors. The single window facing north. The silence that had been his only companion for six months.
"No," he said. And meant it.
Eilen smiled. She pulled him down, gently, until they were lying side by side, facing each other, close enough to share breath.
"Our home," she said. Not a question.
"Yes." He closed his eyes. Felt her hand find his chest, over his heart, steady and sure. "Our home."
Outside, somewhere in the vast house, a door slammed. Laughter echoed—Eri's, probably, or Yeli's, or both. A voice shouted something about bathroom time limits. Another voice shouted back.
Ryan didn't move to intervene. He just lay there, listening to the symphony of his new life, and let himself believe that some silences were meant to be broken.
That distance was not the same as safety.
That home was not a place you found.
It was a place you let yourself be found in.