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Christmas Eve had achieved the impossible.
The living room was quiet.
Not fake-quiet. Not someone-is-about-to-start-a-fight quiet. Real, honest, holy-night quiet. The kind that makes you suspicious because surely the universe doesn’t just hand these out.
Lan Zhan and Wei Ying were curled up on the sofa like a Hallmark poster that accidentally wandered into reality. Two mugs of hot chocolate steamed gently between their hands, cocoa-scented peace treaty in ceramic form. Wei Ying leaned fully into Lan Zhan’s shoulder, boneless and content, the sort of posture that said 'I trust this man with my spine and my soul.' Lan Zhan’s arm was around him, solid, warm, present—his thumb absentmindedly rubbing slow circles like it had signed a lifelong contract to do just that.
They were talking softly. Ridiculously softly.
Wei Ying was murmuring nonsense—half jokes, half confessions, mostly vibes—about how the cocoa was too sweet but he liked it because Lan Zhan made it, and Lan Zhan was replying in those low, steady sentences that could calm storms and probably earthquakes. It was domestic. It was tender. It was so rare it deserved to be archived.
And that’s when the universe coughed.
A very deliberate throat-clearing echoed from the hallway.
Ahem.
Wei Ying didn’t move. Lan Zhan barely blinked.
Another, louder ahem, this one with intent.
They both looked up.
A-Yuan stood there.
Thirteen years old. Fully upright. Eyes sharp. Aura confident.
Socks in one hand.
A big packet in the other.
Expression: bold. Calculated. Completely shameless.
He waited until he had their full attention, then nodded once, like a man about to present quarterly results.
He cleared his throat.
Wei Ying looked up slowly, already suspicious. That parental sixth sense was screaming something is about to cost money.
“Baba,” A-Yuan said.
Wei Ying squinted. “Why are you holding socks and a big packet?”
A-Yuan lifted the socks. Then the packet. Then—this child, this menace—tilted his chin toward the window and gestured with his elbow, like obviously this was self-explanatory.
“I’m keeping it there,” he announced. “I hope I get something tomorrow morning.”
Silence.
Deep. Pregnant. Ominous.
Wei Ying straightened like he’d been activated by a sleeper phrase. “What,” he said calmly, dangerously calmly, “did you just say?”
Lan Zhan sighed. Not loudly. Just… resignedly. Like a man who had seen this exact PowerPoint presentation coming and still had to attend.
FLASHBACK — LAST YEAR
Little A-Yuan (well, not really little, I mean he was 12, but whatever, little, ok), still innocent enough to believe in magic but nosy enough to ruin it, had padded downstairs late at night for water.
The living room light was on.
That alone was suspicious.
He peeped.
And there—caught in the act—were his Baba and A-Die crouched near the window, stuffing gifts into his Christmas socks like criminals in a heist movie.
A-Yuan gasped.
A full-body, scandalised gasp.
Wei Ying turned in slow motion.
Lan Zhan followed.
Three seconds of pure silence.
A-Yuan stared. Jaw dropped. Soul shattered. “How,” he whispered hoarsely, “can I be so stupid?”
Wei Ying, deadpan, unhelpful, and devastating as always, replied: “Yeah. My question exactly.”
End of Santa.
End of innocence.
End of gifts without negotiations.
Wei Ying put his mug down with care. Too much care. “A-Yuan,” he said, voice sharp now, “first of all—what is this behaviour?! Second of all—what Santa Fanta nonsense is this?”
A-Yuan blinked. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
“And?” Wei Ying snapped. “You know there is no Santa.”
“I know,” A-Yuan agreed immediately, unbothered.
“And you KNOW it’s just us.”
“Also, yes.”
“Then WHY,” Wei Ying demanded, “are you still putting socks at the window?”
A-Yuan shrugged. “Tradition.”
Wei Ying barked a laugh. “Tradition, my foot. You’re blackmailing Santa.”
“I’m managing expectations,” A-Yuan corrected. “Also, this small packet is optional. Even something small is fine.”
Wei Ying stared at the very much not small packet. “Small?” he echoed. “That thing looks like it needs customs clearance.”
A-Yuan crossed his arms. “You didn’t specify limits. Since Santa doesn’t exist, logically, the gift supply chain routes back to Baba and A-Die knowingly. I am simply… streamlining expectations.”
Wei Ying stared at him. “You’re blackmailing us, A-Yuan.”
“Negotiating,” A-Yuan corrected. “Also, what is wrong with the packet?”
Wei Ying exploded. “What is wrong with the PACKET?” he echoed. “What are you expecting, a refrigerator? A motorbike? A down payment on property?”
A-Yuan shrugged. “You never know.”
Lan Zhan pinched the bridge of his nose. “You already got gifts.”
“Yes,” A-Yuan said brightly. “These would be additional.”
Wei Ying stood up now, cocoa abandoned, parental authority booting up like an old but dangerous system. “Listen to me VERY CAREFULLY, young man. Since Santa has been exposed, Santa is RETIRED. No Santa. No chimney. No magical bonus gifts because you staged a hostage situation at the window.”
A-Yuan’s eyes narrowed. “So no gifts?”
“No gifts,” Wei Ying confirmed firmly. “Santa has resigned. No bonus. No socks. No nonsense. See this confidence, Lan Zhan? Thirteen years old and already running corporate negotiations.”
A-Yuan tilted his head. “You taught me.”
That hit. Hard.
Wei Ying recovered quickly. “No more gifts. Not from Santa. Not from Baba. Nothing.”
A-Yuan looked at the socks. Then at the window. Then back at Wei Ying.
Lan Zhan watched them both like a tired mediator at a summit that should’ve ended minutes ago.
He sighed.
Not loudly. Not pointedly. Just… deeply.
“What do you want?” he asked, calm, tired, reasonable.
The effect was immediate.
A-Yuan’s eyes lit up. Not metaphorically. Literally sparkled. Like someone had just unlocked a premium subscription. Like someone had just turned on festive LEDs behind his pupils.
Wei Ying whipped around. “LAN ZHAN?!”
Before Baba could launch another speech about betrayal, discipline, and how this household had RULES, A-Yuan had already whipped out his phone. Muscle memory. Professional. This was not his first rodeo.
He opened an instant delivery app with the smoothness of someone who had prepared for this moment his entire life.
A-Yuan shuffled closer to A-Die and tilted the screen up. “Glad you asked! Just… small things,” he said innocently.
Wei Ying leaned over despite himself.
His soul left his body.
The screen scrolled.
And scrolled.
And kept scrolling.
Chocolates—imported.
Family-sized candies.
Chips in flavours Wei Ying didn’t even know existed.
Pastries.
Mini pastries “for sampling.”
Cakes.
Cake slices.
Something labelled Holiday Special Indulgence Box, which Wei Ying was certain cost more than dignity.
Wei Ying felt his soul detach and hover near the ceiling fan.
“What,” Wei Ying said slowly, dangerously, “is THIS?”
A-Yuan, completely unbothered, stuck a finger into his ear, scratched casually, then flicked his hand outward and blew at his fingertip like he’d just removed imaginary dust from a priceless artefact.
Wei Ying saw red. “DO NOT—DO NOT DO THAT IN FRONT OF ME.”
“That?” A-Yuan said lazily. “That was nothing.”
“That was AUDACITY and DISRESPECT.”
A-Yuan shrugged. “Listen, Baba. Take a chill pill.”
Wei Ying’s eye twitched. “I will NOT take advice from someone who just tried to buy the entire snack aisle.”
A-Yuan tilted his head, smug now. “You don’t have to buy it anymore.”
Wei Ying blinked. “What?”
A-Yuan pointed at Lan Zhan, beaming. “A-Die is buying.”
Silence fell just like after a dropped plate.
Then—
“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Wei Ying barked, spinning on Lan Zhan like a missile with emotions. “LAN ZHAN. DO NOT. ORDER. ANYTHING.”
Lan Zhan sat there, phone in hand, looking like a man caught between duty, hunger, and the undeniable fact that if snacks arrived… he, too, would benefit.
His gaze flicked—just for a second—to the picture of chocolate pastries.
Wei Ying saw it. “Oh no. NO. I saw that look.”
Lan Zhan tried neutrality. Failed. “It’s… Christmas.”
Wei Ying gasped. “YOU’RE USING FESTIVALS AGAINST ME NOW?”
A-Yuan, sensing blood in the water, added helpfully, “If A-Die orders, you’ll eat too. Efficiency.”
Wei Ying rounded on him. “YOU. SILENCE.”
Then back to Lan Zhan. “Do not betray me for sugar.”
Lan Zhan looked helpless. Earnest. Slightly offended. “I was thinking of sharing.”
Wei Ying laughed sharply. “Sharing?! You’ll eat half of it while pretending you didn’t!”
A-Yuan nodded. “Confirmed. He does that.”
Wei Ying pointed at both of them. “You are in this TOGETHER.”
Lan Zhan hesitated. His thumb hovered dangerously close to Add to Cart.
Wei Ying leaned in, eyes narrowed. “Lan Zhan. If you order… I will remember this.”
A-Yuan grinned. “Threatening Santa again?”
Wei Ying snapped back without missing a beat. “YOU’RE ON THIN ICE, SOCK BOY.”
Lan Zhan finally lowered the phone, defeated, hunger unresolved.
A-Yuan sighed dramatically, like a prince denied his rightful inheritance. “Wow. Ruined by management.”
Wei Ying crossed his arms, victorious but exhausted. “Go remove the socks.”
A-Yuan glanced at the window. Then at A-Die. Then smiled—slow, calculating. “…I’ll think about it.”
Wei Ying muttered, “Next year I’m putting vegetables.”
Lan Zhan quietly took a sip of cold hot chocolate and thought, with great sorrow, about pastries that would never arrive.
~*~
A-Yuan shot one last smug look at the living room before retreating to his room and announced, very reasonably, “I’ll be upstairs. You two… finish the United Nations meeting.”
Before Wei Ying could throw a cushion, A-Yuan vanished up the stairs, feet thudding in that deliberately loud way teenagers used to remind the world of their existence.
The door to his room shut.
Peace did not return.
Wei Ying stood in the middle of the living room, hands on hips, breathing like a man counting to ten and failing at three. The Christmas lights blinked cheerfully behind him, deeply out of sync with his mood.
Lan Zhan waited.
This was important.
Timing mattered in negotiations like these.
He approached carefully, posture calm, voice level, like someone approaching a wild animal with an offering. “Wei Ying,” he began.
Wei Ying didn’t look at him. “Don’t.”
Lan Zhan tried again. “He’s growing.”
Wei Ying spun around. “SO IS HIS SHOPPING CART.”
Lan Zhan nodded once. “Yes. But—”
Wei Ying cut in, already warming up. “Do you know what that list was? That wasn’t Christmas. That was a convenience store inventory. We are raising a child, not restocking a bunker.”
Lan Zhan clasped his hands behind his back. Negotiation mode fully activated. “We don’t have to order everything.”
Wei Ying laughed, sharp. “Oh? So which one? The cakes? The chocolates? The emotional support pastries?”
Lan Zhan paused. Considered. Chose his words carefully. “Just… a few.”
Wei Ying narrowed his eyes. “Define few.”
Lan Zhan held up two fingers. Then, after a beat, added a third. Quietly.
Wei Ying stared. “LAN ZHAN.”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Lan Zhan said, gently but firmly. “He asked. He didn’t demand.”
Wei Ying scoffed. “He emotionally blackmailed us.”
Lan Zhan allowed himself the smallest smile. “Effective strategy.”
Wei Ying pointed at him. “Do not encourage him.”
Lan Zhan stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Wei Ying. He knows there’s no Santa. This is… him wanting the feeling. Just a little.”
Wei Ying hesitated.
Just a fraction.
Lan Zhan seized the opening.
“I’ll handle it,” he continued. “Budget. Limits. No excess.”
Wei Ying folded his arms. “And you?”
Lan Zhan met his eyes honestly. “I will not add extra things for myself.”
Wei Ying blinked. “Really?”
A pause.
“…One thing,” Lan Zhan corrected.
Wei Ying groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “You are impossible.”
Lan Zhan leaned in slightly, voice softer now, personal. “He’ll remember this. Not the snacks. The night.”
Wei Ying looked toward the stairs, jaw tight. For a moment, the anger thinned, replaced by something warmer and more dangerous—sentiment.
“Five items,” Wei Ying said suddenly.
Lan Zhan straightened. “Five?”
Wei Ying glared. “Small. No cakes.”
Lan Zhan nodded immediately. “Agreed.”
“No combo boxes.”
“Yes.”
“No ‘limited edition’ nonsense.”
“Yes.”
Wei Ying exhaled sharply. “And YOU—” he jabbed a finger into Lan Zhan’s chest “—do not secretly add things.”
Lan Zhan placed a hand over that finger, steady. “I won’t.”
Wei Ying searched his face, suspicious. “Swear.”
Lan Zhan said calmly, “Wei Ying.”
That was his swear.
Wei Ying clicked his tongue, defeated but resigned. “Fine. Order.”
Lan Zhan reached for the phone.
Wei Ying added darkly, “If I see one pastry—”
Lan Zhan said, without looking up, “No pastries.”
Wei Ying paused. “…What about chocolate?” he asked, quieter.
Lan Zhan smiled.
Negotiations, after all, were a two-way street.
~*~
Christmas morning arrived soft and smug.
Sunlight slid through the curtains. The living room smelled faintly of cocoa. And from the stairs came the unmistakable sound of a teenager rebooting his soul.
A-Yuan came down the stairs like a creature resurrected from the dead. One sock halfway on, the other missing entirely, hair sticking up like he’d fought sleep and lost badly. He yawned—long, soulful, dramatic—then rubbed his eyes and shuffled forward.
And then—
He stopped.
Mid-step.
Mid-yawn.
Mid-existence.
The window.
The socks.
The big packet.
The mountain of gifts.
His pupils dilated.
His sleep evaporated.
He launched himself forward. Not walked. Launched.
“WAH—!” he exclaimed, crouching dramatically before the window. “Santa got me SO MANY GIFTS.”
Wei Ying’s eye twitched.
A-Yuan turned slowly, reverently, toward his parents. His grin was feral. Weaponised. Illegal in at least five provinces. “Thanks, Santa.”
Wei Ying snapped. “DO NOT CALL ME THAT.”
Lan Zhan reached out, instinctively, fingers brushing Wei Ying’s sleeve.
Wei Ying slapped the hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
Lan Zhan blinked. Tried again, gentler.
Another push. “I said don’t.”
A-Yuan, sensing danger but choosing chaos anyway, clapped his hands. “Thank GOD I left the big packet there. Vision. Foresight. Genius.”
Wei Ying rounded on Lan Zhan. “You.”
Lan Zhan stood very straight. “Yes.”
Wei Ying pointed at the coffee table.
There it was.
The crime scene.
A shiny, smug, LIMITED EDITION COMBO BOX, sitting there like it paid rent.
Wei Ying laughed. Once. Without humour. “So THIS is the ‘one thing’?”
Lan Zhan opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “It was… efficient.”
Wei Ying’s voice rose. “IT IS LITERALLY EVERYTHING I SAID NOT TO ORDER.”
A-Yuan was already arranging gifts. “Hold on—photo time. Lighting is good. Oof. My friends are going to be so jealous.”
Wei Ying didn’t even look at him. “LAN ZHAN.”
“Yes.”
“Combo.”
“Yes.”
“Limited edition.”
“…Yes.”
Wei Ying pressed his palms together, breathing like a monk who had lost the will to ascend. “You SWORE.”
Lan Zhan said calmly, “I said I wouldn’t add things.”
Wei Ying stared.
Lan Zhan countered, gently but dangerously, “It’s one box.”
Silence.
Then Wei Ying exploded. “YOU ARE SLEEPING ON THE SOFA.”
A-Yuan gasped theatrically. “Wow. Christmas tragedy.”
Wei Ying whipped around. “AND YOU—”
A-Yuan held up his phone. “Smile, please. Santa family photo.”
Wei Ying fumed, cheeks flushed, hair practically sparking. “I AM NOT A BACKGROUND CHARACTER IN YOUR FLEX.”
Lan Zhan tried again, quieter. “Wei Ying. It’s Christmas.”
Wei Ying turned to him slowly. “Exactly. Which means betrayal hits harder.”
A-Yuan snapped the photo anyway. “Perfect. Caption: Santa came through even after threatening extinction.”
Wei Ying looked like he might ground Christmas itself.
Lan Zhan sighed, resigned, and muttered, “I’ll make breakfast.”
Wei Ying shot back immediately, “MAKE IT FOR YOUR COMBO BOX.”
A-Yuan beamed, surrounded by gifts, utterly unrepentant.
“Merry Christmas,” he said sweetly.
Wei Ying growled.
Lan Zhan… quiet.
~*~
They ended up on the couch like survivors of a natural disaster.
A-Yuan sprawled right in the middle—because of course he did— with the LIMITED EDITION FERRERO ROCHER COMBO BOX ripped open like it owed him money. Foil wrappers littered the coffee table. The smell of chocolate hung in the air, rich and smug.
He peered inside, eyes widening. “Wahhh,” he breathed. “So many chocolates.”
Wei Ying’s eye twitched.
A-Yuan dug around happily, finally extracting a Ferrero Rocher like it was a sacred artefact. He turned, beaming, and leaned dangerously close to Wei Ying. “Here, Baba! Have one! Merry Christmas!”
He even angled it toward Wei Ying’s mouth. Audacity. Pure, unfiltered audacity.
Wei Ying recoiled like someone had tried to feed him poison. He leaned so far away he nearly fell off the couch, then smacked A-Yuan’s hand away mid-offer. “No,” Wei Ying snapped. “You and your A-Die eat. Idiot husband. Idiot son. Perfect pair. Go.”
A-Yuan blinked once. Shrugged. Completely unfazed.
“Okay,” he said cheerfully, popping the chocolate into his own mouth. “More for us then.”
Lan Zhan, ever the peace envoy, gently placed a hand on Wei Ying’s arm. “Wei Ying—”
“Step away,” Wei Ying said immediately, without looking at him.
Lan Zhan didn’t move. “It’s just chocolate.”
Wei Ying finally turned, eyes blazing. “STEP. AWAY. Don’t touch me.”
Lan Zhan withdrew his hand slowly, like someone retreating from a wild animal. He sat back, posture calm, voice softer. “You’re still angry.”
Wei Ying laughed, sharp and bitter. “Still? I’ve evolved. This is a new level of anger.”
A-Yuan, chewing loudly on purpose, nodded. “He’s upgraded. Premium rage. Limited edition, like the box.”
Wei Ying pointed at him. “DO NOT SPEAK.”
A-Yuan immediately held up another chocolate. “Baba, hazelnut?”
“DON’T BREATHE IN MY DIRECTION.”
Lan Zhan sighed and tried again, careful this time, using words only. “I ordered it because you like chocolate too.”
Wei Ying stared at him. Long. Hard. Dangerous.
“Oh?” he said slowly. “Is that why? How thoughtful.”
Lan Zhan nodded, hopeful. “Yes.”
Wei Ying leaned back, crossed his arms. “Then why does it feel like a personal attack?”
A-Yuan snorted. “Because it is.”
Wei Ying lunged halfway toward him. “YOU ARE GROUND—”
Lan Zhan immediately intercepted, placing himself between them without touching either. “A-Yuan,” he said evenly, “eat quietly.”
A-Yuan saluted with a chocolate bar. “Yes, sir. Quiet chewing mode activated.”
He then proceeded to chew as loudly as humanly possible.
Wei Ying groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I live with traitors.”
Lan Zhan leaned closer—not touching, just close enough to be heard. “Wei Ying. It’s Christmas.”
Wei Ying peeked through his fingers. “That makes it worse.”
Lan Zhan paused, then added gently, “You’re allowed to be angry. But you’re also allowed to eat chocolate.”
Wei Ying dropped his hands slowly.
A-Yuan seized the moment like a shark smelling blood. He slid closer, held up another Ferrero, voice syrupy. “Just one bite, Baba. For peace. For family harmony. For Christmas spirit.”
Wei Ying stared at the chocolate.
Then at Lan Zhan.
Then back to the chocolate.
“…Even if I eat this,” Wei Ying warned, “Someone is still sleeping on the sofa.”
Lan Zhan nodded calmly. “I understand.”
Wei Ying snatched the chocolate, bit into it aggressively, like it had personally wronged him.
A-Yuan grinned. “See? Santa magic.”
Wei Ying chewed. Swallowed. Glared.
“…It’s good,” he muttered.
Lan Zhan smiled.
Very carefully.
~*~
Wei Ying was chewing the chocolate like it had personally insulted his ancestors. His jaw worked furiously, eyes narrowed, shoulders stiff with righteous fury.
Lan Zhan watched him for a second, then—slow, deliberate, strategic—shifted closer.
Not touching yet. Just there.
Wei Ying felt it immediately. He always did. “Don’t,” he warned, mouth full. “Don’t you dare try anything.”
Lan Zhan tilted his head, voice low and calm, the kind that disarmed riots and meetings alike. “I’m not trying anything.”
“That tone itself is trying something,” Wei Ying snapped.
Lan Zhan finally reached out, gently brushing his thumb over Wei Ying’s wrist. Not restraining. Just grounding. “You’re upset.”
Wei Ying huffed. “Brilliant observation, Lan Zhan. Truly ground-breaking.”
“You were looking forward to a quiet Christmas,” Lan Zhan continued, unfazed. “And I ruined it.”
Wei Ying turned to him sharply. “You didn’t ruin it—” He stopped. Exhaled. “…You ruined it a little.”
Progress. Tiny. Fragile. But there.
Lan Zhan took the opening like a professional. He slid his arm around Wei Ying’s shoulders, slow enough to retreat if needed.
Wei Ying stiffened—but didn’t move away.
“You bought nonsense,” Wei Ying muttered. “Limited edition nonsense. Combo nonsense. Who even needs that much chocolate?”
Lan Zhan leaned in, forehead brushing Wei Ying’s temple. “You.”
Wei Ying scoffed. “Lies.”
“You finish chocolate before anyone else,” Lan Zhan said mildly. “And complain loudly when it’s gone.”
Wei Ying’s mouth opened. Closed. He looked away. “…That’s not the point.”
Lan Zhan smiled softly and kissed the side of Wei Ying’s head. Just a light, warm press. Nothing dramatic. Nothing forced.
Wei Ying froze.
Then melted. Just a little.
“…You’re annoying,” he said weakly, voice losing its bite.
Lan Zhan hummed. “I know.”
Wei Ying grumbled, leaning into him despite himself. “And you never listen. And you let that brat gang up on me.”
Lan Zhan tightened his arm slightly. “I’m listening now.”
Wei Ying sighed, long and dramatic, the kind that meant surrender without admitting defeat. “I’m still angry.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re still wrong.”
“Yes.”
Wei Ying paused. “…But I’m less angry.”
Lan Zhan kissed his hair again, lingering this time. “I’ll take it.”
From the other end of the couch, there was a very loud, very deliberate throat-clearing.
“Ahem.”
Neither adult reacted.
Another, louder cough.
“AHEM.”
Wei Ying cracked one eye open.
A-Yuan was standing on the coffee table now. On the table. Chocolate in one hand, phone in the other, camera clearly pointed at them.
“And here we are,” A-Yuan announced brightly, “witnessing live PDA in its natural habitat.”
Wei Ying shot upright. “GET DOWN FROM THERE! IT WILL BREAK!”
A-Yuan didn’t move. He zoomed in. “Look at that arm placement. The forehead kiss. Classic reconciliation arc. Ten out of ten.”
Lan Zhan, still calm, asked, “Why are you recording?”
“For documentation,” A-Yuan said solemnly. “Future blackmail. Also, group chat content.”
Wei Ying lunged for the phone. “DELETE IT.”
A-Yuan, agile as a menace: “Carry on! Don’t mind me! Love must not be censored!”
Wei Ying pointed at him, face red. “You are grounded.”
A-Yuan grinned. “Worth it.”
Wei Ying groaned. “I live with enemies.”
A-Yuan snapped one last photo. “Smile for the memories, people.”
Peace—loud, chaotic, chocolate-scented peace—settled back into the room.
~*~
Wei Ying sagged back into Lan Zhan’s arms with a dramatic sigh, the kind that meant I’m done, I’ve lost, everyone has won except me. Lan Zhan adjusted instantly, one arm secure around him, the other resting warm and steady at his waist—quiet, unshowy, perfectly Lan Zhan.
The house softened.
No yelling. No bargaining. Just the hum of the heater, the faint jingle of something Christmassy from someone’s phone upstairs, and the smell of chocolate everywhere like a crime scene.
A-Yuan, satisfied with his chaos quota for the day, hopped off the table and plopped onto the couch cross-legged, ripping open another chocolate with the focus of a monk. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “this is a very premium Christmas.”
Wei Ying shot him a look. “You’re still grounded.”
A-Yuan nodded cheerfully. “Grounded with snacks. I accept my fate.”
Lan Zhan leaned more and murmured near Wei Ying’s ear, “You’re smiling.”
Wei Ying scoffed. “I am absolutely not—”
He stopped. “…Okay. Maybe a little.”
Lan Zhan smiled, soft and rare, and pressed a kiss to Wei Ying’s temple—no theatrics, no witnesses required.
Wei Ying’s voice dropped, fond despite himself. “Next year,” he said, “I’m cancelling Santa.”
A-Yuan looked up instantly. “Too late. Santa has a brand now.”
Wei Ying laughed—actually laughed—and rested his head against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, fingers curling into his sleeve.
Outside, more morning light spilt in. Inside, the couch was warm, the family loud and ridiculous and whole.
Lan Zhan held them together.
Wei Ying let himself be held.
And Christmas, somehow, felt just right. 🎄