The apartment was quiet again.
The kind of stillness that followed after a day filled with tiny feet running through the living room, bottles being warmed, cartoons playing in the background, and bedtime kisses. Now, with both boys asleep — HyunBok sprawled like a little prince on the big bed, and Youngjin cuddled with his favorite plush sheep — the world felt slower.
But YoungBok was still wide awake.
The dim light from the kitchen cast long shadows across the room. YoungBok stood by the window, his arms crossed, eyes lost in the Seoul skyline. His brows were furrowed. Not angry — just... tired.
Sherri walked out of the bedroom after tucking HyunBok's blanket around him again. Her steps were quiet, but YoungBok didn't turn. He hadn't moved for nearly ten minutes.
"YoungBok," she said softly, approaching.
He exhaled through his nose, slow and heavy.
"You can't sleep again?" she asked gently, placing a hand on his arm.
YoungBok shook his head. "No. Not tonight."
Sherri stood beside him for a moment in silence.
"I've been thinking about home," he whispered. "My mum, my sisters… It's been almost a year since I last saw them. And now, Hyunjin's gone too, and I—"
His voice cracked slightly.
"I'm here with you and the boys, and I'm so, so grateful... but sometimes, I just feel like I don't belong anywhere."
Sherri didn't answer right away. Instead, she reached for his hand, threading her fingers between his.
"You miss Australia," she said, voice soft and knowing. "The sounds, the smells, the accents… and Hyunjin—your heart—isn't here either."
YoungBok nodded, his jaw clenched. "And the fans, the schedules, the articles... they don't see what it's like behind all of this. I feel like I'm just… floating sometimes."
She led him to the couch gently and they sat together. The room was quiet except for the soft ticking of the clock.
Sherri looked at him — this boy from Down Under who crossed oceans for dreams, love, and now family. She saw the exhaustion beneath his skin, the longing behind his soft brown eyes. And more than anything, she saw his strength.
"Do you want some chai?" she asked with a warm smile. "Proper Pakistani chai. With cardamom."
YoungBok's lips curled slightly. "I'd love that."
She disappeared into the kitchen, and within minutes, the scent of boiling tea leaves filled the apartment. YoungBok closed his eyes and let it comfort him.
When she returned with two cups, he took his with both hands and blew softly on the surface before taking a sip.
"Mmm," he sighed. "This reminds me of that rainy day you made it for Hyunjin and me."
She laughed. "He burned his tongue and then pretended it was nothing. Classic."
YoungBok chuckled. "He kept sipping it anyway. Said it was 'made of love, not heat.'"
They both smiled, the memory wrapping around them like a warm blanket.
After a few minutes, Sherri stood again and walked to their bedroom. When she returned, she carried a small envelope — cream colored and worn around the edges.
"What's that?" YoungBok asked.
"A letter from Hyunjin," she said, handing it to him. "He gave it to me the day before he left for military duty. Told me to read it on a day when things felt heavy."
YoungBok opened it carefully. The Korean handwriting was beautiful, but slightly rushed — so Hyunjin. He looked up, and Sherri began to read it out loud, translating softly:
> "My moonlight and my sunshine…
I don't know what the days will be like without you, but I do know this: My heart stays with you both.
YoungBok, my love — I know the nights will be the hardest. You always needed warmth to sleep, whether it was my arm or your weighted blanket. So let Sherri be that warmth. She is our heart.
Sherri, my light — help him remember he's never alone. Help each other. You two are my home, and I'll come back to you stronger, prouder, and still wildly in love.
Tell the boys I miss them. And don't forget to kiss YoungBok's freckles for me. He'll pretend he doesn't care. But he does.
사랑해. Forever."*
YoungBok blinked fast. No tears — just a deep pull in his chest, like something heavy had lifted.
"I forgot he wrote that," Sherri said softly.
YoungBok gave a small laugh. "He knew exactly what I needed to hear... months ago."
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
"You know," she whispered, "when I first came to Korea, everything felt foreign. I used to cry at night missing my family in Pakistan. My city. My language. But then, I met him. And then, you. And I realized... it's not the place that makes a home. It's the people who choose to stay."
YoungBok looked at her, his expression gentle. "You're right."
She smiled. "We've all left pieces of ourselves in other places. But we've brought the best of it into this family. You bring Australia's warmth and light. I bring tradition and spice. Hyunjin... he's our fire and softness all in one."
"And together," YoungBok murmured, "we made something... sacred."
They sat like that for a long time. Two cups empty on the table, a letter between them, and love — steady and quiet — humming in the space.
Later, Sherri opened a documentary on Australian wildlife and handed him the remote.
"Let's watch your world tonight," she said. "You show me your home."
YoungBok's eyes lit up for the first time in days. "Really? Even the lizards?"
"Even the lizards," she laughed.
As the screen lit up with sweeping landscapes, kangaroos hopping across open plains, and soft narration in Aussie English, YoungBok smiled to himself.
And when Sherri gently pulled the blanket over both of them and rested her head against his arm, he finally felt it — not just the memory of home, but the presence of it. Right here. In her. In their sons. In the love that stayed.