#balkan

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

You had been together with Max for over two years when you finally decided it was time for him to meet your parents properly.

He had met your parents early on in your relationship, of course, but bringing him into your world your home, your family, and the unique chaos that came with it , felt like a whole new level.

You weren’t entirely sure why you’d waited so long. Maybe it was the idea of exposing him to your little Balkan village, where life moved differently, and every neighbor had an opinion on everything, and every backyard seemed to hold some secret scandal.

Your parents weren’t exactly the type to travel abroad often. And as for moving somewhere more “convenient,” well, they had had the chance. Your parents had been offered a nice apartment in a larger city once, only about an hour away, with proper roads.

But they had turned it down. The thought of leaving the hills, the trees, the winding roads, and the very particular smell of the countryside made them laugh.

“What would we even do there?” your mom had said, shrugging as she pulled fresh bread from the oven. “I wouldn’t trade the sound of crickets at night for anything.”

Max had no idea what he was getting into. He had been excited, of course, for the trip. He liked the idea of visiting your family, of seeing the real “you” in your element.

The drive to your parents’ house was a lesson in patience. The further you went from the main road, the more asphalt gave way to a bumpy, dusty path that seemed to have been there since time immemorial.

Every pothole felt like it could swallow the car whole, and Max’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel every time the car jolted over a particularly vicious rut. You couldn’t help laughing at his cautious expressions.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” he asked, voice strained, half in amusement and half in genuine concern.

“Positive,” you replied, holding on for dear life. “Welcome to the Balkans."

By the time you arrived, the car was coated in a thick layer of red dust, and Max looked like he had just survived some kind of mild apocalypse.

But at the gate, waiting like they had planned it for months, were your parents. Probably since early morning, after finishing the final touches on the cleaning that had likely consumed the entire week. Your mom’s smile was wide and warm, and your dad’s posture was that careful mix of curiosity and protective pride.

The neighbors, of course, had already started gathering. Not subtly, mind you. These were serious onlookers, stretching necks over fences, perching on tiptoe, or, in one memorable case, climbing onto a small stool just to get a better view.

Max noticed, eyebrow raised, but he smiled politely. “I think I’m going to like this place,” he whispered to you, trying to keep his tone light despite the chaos.

Your mom was the first to greet him properly. She enveloped him in a warm hug that smelled faintly of soap, summer herbs, and fresh bread. “Welcome, welcome, come in, come in!” she said, ushering him inside with uncontainable energy.

Your dad’s approach was subtler. He extended a handshake, but as soon as Max’s fingers met his, he leaned toward you and whispered, “I hope this one is not a pizda,” giving you a playful nudge. You rolled your eyes.

Inside, the house smelled of garlic, fresh bread, roasted meat, and something delightfully unplaceable, a scent that made Max’s stomach rumble despite the nervous tension.

The dining table groaned under the weight of food. Not just a few plates, but a full-on banquet that could easily feed an entire street. You knew your mom had been preparing for this since you told her about Max.

“Oh… we’re expecting guests?” Max asked cautiously, looking around the table with wide eyes.

Your mom laughed. “This is just the appetizers, Max,” she said.

Then came your dad, sliding a small glass of homemade rakija across the table toward Max. “To help the food go down easier,” he said with a grin, pride practically shining off him.

Max raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest, because experience had taught him when not to. He took the glass and downed it. Immediately, his throat burned like fire, and his eyes watered. He coughed, trying to remain polite, but your dad just laughed, refilled the glass, and leaned back triumphantly.

“Max, take it easy,” you whispered, concern edging your voice.

“Y/N, If he's a man, he'll handle it,” your dad said firmly, pouring yet another glass for Max.

Meanwhile, your mom kept piling more food on his plate, mountains of roasted meats, fresh salads, cheeses, bread, pastries, and things Max didn’t even know the names of. He whispered to you, “Where the hell does all this food magically appear from?”

You leaned close, smirking. “Don’t worry. You have a better chance of gaining ten kilos before you finish this meal than running out of food.”

Hours passed. Max tried his best to keep up with the rhythm of your family: eating, drinking, laughing, listening to your dad recount old, scandalous family stories. He didn’t understand every word, but he got the gist, he laughed at the right times, nodded appropriately, and even joined in with his own jokes when he could.

As the evening wore on, something magical happened. Your dad and Max started clicking. Not just polite nods or surface-level laughter, but real camaraderie. They were swapping stories, laughing loudly, and even arguing over trivial things just for fun. Your mom watched them with a knowing smile, shaking her head at their antics.

“You two are troublemakers,” she said, smiling fondly.

“You know,” your dad said, leaning in conspiratorially as he poured Max another rakija, “not bad, not bad at all. You survived the food, the drinks, and… my daughter’s teasing. You’re alright.”

Max glanced at you, eyes sparkling with exhaustion and exhilaration all at once. “I think I’ve been welcomed,” he said, grinning.

By the time the stars had taken over the sky and the fireflies had begun their soft dance outside the window, Max had survived and thrived.

He had navigated the bumpy roads, the overwhelming feast, the rakija, and the neighborhood spectators and come out smiling. You knew, without a doubt, that he’d never forget this day. And honestly, neither would you.

As you leaned back in your chair, watching him recount a story from your childhood with your dad, you realized something: this chaotic, messy, warm little corner of the world, with its dust, its noise, its stubborn traditions, and its mountains of food, was exactly where you belonged and now, Max was a part of it too.

@luvs4haechan @emneedshelp @thepassionatereader @paaarrriiiii @formula1fordisaster @vinylphwoar @virtualperfectioncat @sltwins @lost-library-of-violets @18racecar81 @fairyjinn @siennaluvshcky @dontsupressthejess

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤