A snippet from the next chapter of
Can I Bring You Home for Christmas?
Cause it’s a bit far away from coming out :)
A gust of cold air barrelled in — along with Cub.
He staggered through the threshold beneath a precarious tower of presents stacked almost comically high in his arms. Boxes in glossy paper. One enormous bag with glittering tissue paper threatening escape. A long, narrow parcel balanced horizontally across the top like a final, reckless decision.
“I’ve got it,” Cub announced, voice slightly strained but monotonous. “Nobody panic.”
“You’re going to hit the chandelier, sweet heart,” Kimberly warned calmly.
The topmost box clipped the doorframe with a dull thud. The entire stack wobbled.
There was a collective intake of breath.
Scar moved before anyone else.
Not fast — not recklessly — but decisively. Cane angled out of the way, one hand coming up instinctively to steady the middle of the tower.
“Cub,” he said dryly, “you absolute menace.”
Grian stepped in too, catching the bottom-most box just as it began to slide sideways.
For a split second the three of them stood frozen in an awkward, human scaffolding of cardboard and ribbon.
Then the structure stabilised.
Cub exhaled dramatically. “See? Under control.”
Scar huffed a laugh that sounded dangerously fond. “You nearly concussed your mother.”
Together, they maneuvered the pile toward the tree. Cub bent his knees carefully, lowering the stack with exaggerated precision. The final thump of boxes hitting the rug felt like a small victory.
Cub straightened and pushed a curl off his forehead, cheeks flushed from the cold and effort.
That was when he really looked at Grian.
Not in polite acknowledgment.
Scar’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly beside him.
“Cub,” Scar said, voice warmer now — less host, more something personal. “This is Grian.”
There it was again — that subtle weight in the introduction. Not flashy. Not dramatic. But deliberate.
Cub’s expression changed instantly.
The intense staring at a stranger in his family’s space softened into something steadier. He stepped forward, offering his hand without hesitation.
“I’ve heard a ridiculous amount about you,” he said honestly.
Grian glanced sideways at Scar before he could stop himself.
Scar looked momentarily betrayed. “Oh, come on.”
Cub grinned. “What? You don’t shut up about him. Haven’t really since your first year of college,”
Scar made an indignant noise.
Grian shook Cub’s hand, grounding himself in the firmness of it. Cub’s grip was warm, confident, familiar in the way of someone who belonged entirely in this space.
“Good things?” Grian ventured.
Cub tilted his head thoughtfully. “Mostly stories about you being funny, or how you’re ‘the most amazing person’ Scar’s ever met.”
Scar gasped. “That was private.”
“You said it in the middle of a group chat.”
https://archiveofourown.org/works/77244221/chapters/202216026
