Summary:

Ilya stands in the hallway of Shane’s parents’ house with his boots still on, shoulders slightly hunched, fingers worrying the sleeve of his sweater. He’s been here before, plenty of times, but tonight feels different. Tonight means something. Christmas lights glow along the banister, warm gold reflected in the windowpanes, and somewhere deeper in the house there’s the low murmur of voices and the clink of dishes. He leans toward Shane and whispers, for the third time since they parked the car. “Are you sure it’s okay? Like, really okay?” Shane smiles at him, soft and fond, the way he does when he understands exactly what’s going on in Ilya’s head. He cups Ilya’s elbow, thumb brushing reassurance into skin. “Yes,” he says gently. “They want you here. I want you here.” Ilya nods, even though his chest still feels too full, like something might spill over if he breathes wrong. Christmas with a family. A real one. Not a hotel, not a team dinner, not a quiet night pretending it doesn’t matter. This matters so much it scares him. - Ilya's first Christmas with the Hollanders.