Chapter Text
The house was too quiet.
Harlow noticed it before she even opened her eyes.
No voices.
No coffee machine.
No low murmur of Ilya on the phone or Shane pacing like he physically couldn’t sit still.
Just… silence.
She frowned slightly, still half-buried in the pillow, brain slow and heavy with sleep.
“…Weird,” she mumbled.
For a second, she thought maybe she’d slept through half the day.
But when she cracked one eye open, the light coming through her curtains was soft—early. Not noon. Not late.
Morning.
Which meant—
“…They’re plotting something,” she decided out loud.
She dragged herself out of bed, still wrapped in Shane’s oversized hoodie, hair a mess, makeup fully gone now except for the faintest leftover smudge under her eyes.
The dress hung where she’d left it.
Carefully.
That made her pause for a second.
She walked over, brushing her fingers lightly over the fabric, smoothing an invisible wrinkle.
“…Okay,” she muttered. “That actually happened.”
A small smile pulled at her mouth.
Then her stomach growled.
“…Right. Food.”
Downstairs—
Still quiet.
Too quiet.
Harlow stepped into the kitchen slowly, narrowing her eyes like she expected someone to jump out at her.
“…Hello?” she called.
Nothing.
She opened the fridge.
Normal.
She checked the counter.
No note.
She turned in a slow circle.
“…This is suspicious.”
“Good morning.”
Harlow yelped.
Actually yelped—spinning around so fast she nearly slipped.
“Jesus—!”
Shane was leaning casually in the doorway, coffee in hand, looking way too pleased with himself.
“…You’re dramatic,” he said.
“You’re silent like a horror movie villain,” she shot back, clutching her chest.
“I prefer ‘mysterious and attractive,’” he replied.
“Absolutely not.”
Ilya appeared behind him a second later, calmer, as always.
“…You are awake early,” he noted.
Harlow pointed at both of them. “…You’re both acting weird.”
“We’re always weird,” Shane said.
“Yeah, but this is like… coordinated weird,” she said.
That made Shane grin.
“…I like that you think we’re capable of coordination.”
Harlow crossed her arms, squinting at them.
“…What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Shane said immediately.
“Something,” Ilya corrected.
Harlow gasped. “I knew it.”
Ilya stepped into the kitchen, setting a plate down on the counter.
“…You should eat first,” he said.
Harlow blinked.
“…Is that—”
“Real breakfast,” Ilya said.
She looked between them slowly.
“…Okay, now I’m really scared.”
Still, she sat.
Took a bite.
Paused.
“…Okay, that’s actually really good.”
Shane placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “Betrayal.”
“You don’t cook,” she said.
“I could.”
“You don’t.”
“…That’s not the point.”
Harlow ate for another minute, but her eyes kept flicking up to them.
Watching.
Waiting.
“…Alright,” she said finally, pointing her fork at them. “You’re doing that thing where you pretend nothing’s happening but something is definitely happening.”
Shane leaned against the counter. “…What if I told you we just love you and made you breakfast?”
“I would say you’re lying.”
“Wow,” he said. “No trust in this family.”
“Zero.”
Ilya exhaled softly, like he’d decided something.
“…We have meeting today,” he said.
Harlow blinked. “…Okay?”
Shane nodded. “…Important one.”
“With who?” she asked.
There was a pause.
A look between them.
Subtle.
Fast.
But she caught it.
“…No,” Harlow said immediately.
They hadn’t even answered yet.
“…No, absolutely not.”
Shane raised an eyebrow. “…We didn’t say anything.”
“I know that look,” she said, pointing between them. “That’s your ‘we’re about to emotionally destabilize Harlow’ look.”
“That is not what it’s called,” Shane said.
“That is exactly what it’s called.
Ilya rested his hands lightly on the counter.
“…We thought,” he said carefully, “…you might want to be there.”
Harlow froze slightly.
“…For what.”
Not a question.
A demand.
Shane straightened a bit.
Less teasing now.
More real.
“…For the next step,” he said.
Silence stretched.
Harlow’s grip tightened slightly around her fork.
“…That is not an answer,” she said quietly.
Ilya met her eyes.
Steady.
Grounded.
“…Legal,” he said.
That landed.
Hard.
Harlow stared at him.
Then at Shane.
Then back again.
“…You mean—”
She couldn’t even finish it.
Shane nodded once.
“…Yeah,” he said. “We mean that.”
The room felt smaller suddenly.
Quieter in a different way.
Not empty.
Just… full.
Harlow let out a small breath.
“…You’re serious.”
“Always,” Ilya said.
She looked down at her plate.
Then back up.
“…Today?” she asked.
“…Only if you want,” Shane said quickly. “Nothing happens without you. That’s not how this works.”
Ilya nodded. “…You decide.”
That mattered.
She could feel it settle somewhere deep.
Not pressure.
Not expectation.
Choice.
Harlow swallowed.
“…I haven’t even brushed my hair,” she said weakly.
Shane huffed a quiet laugh. “…We can fix that.”
She stared at them for another long second.
Then—
“…Okay.”
Shane blinked.
“…Okay?”
She nodded, slower this time.
“…Okay.”
Something shifted immediately.
Shane exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a week.
Ilya’s shoulders relaxed—just slightly, but enough to notice.
“…Alright,” Shane said, pushing off the counter. “Alright, okay, we’re doing this.”
Harlow pointed at him. “…Don’t make it weird.”
“I always make it weird.”
“I know.”
Ilya stepped closer, quieter.
“…You are sure?” he asked her.
Harlow looked at him.
Really looked.
Then nodded.
“…Yeah,” she said. “…I think I am.”
And this time—
when the silence settled—
it didn’t feel empty at all.
It felt like something starting.
They don’t rush her.
That’s the first thing Harlow notices.
No one says hurry up.
No one checks the time every five seconds.
No one turns it into something loud or overwhelming.
It just… unfolds.
Upstairs, her room feels different in the daylight.
Less magical than last night.
More real.
She stands in front of her closet for a long moment, staring at it like the right outfit might somehow explain how she’s supposed to feel.
“…This is stupid,” she mutters.
Because it’s not about clothes.
It’s about—
Everything.
Her phone buzzes on the bed.
She glances at it.
Mason: you alive?
Harlow huffs a quiet laugh, sitting down and picking it up.
Harlow: barely
Harlow: something is happening today
There’s a pause.
Then—
Mason: …good something or “I need to fight someone” something?
She smiles a little.
Harlow: good
Harlow: i think
Typing bubble.
Gone.
Back again.
Mason: want me on standby anyway?
Her chest tightens—just slightly.
In a good way.
Harlow: always
Mason: got you
She sets the phone down, exhaling slowly.
“…Okay,” she says to herself.
Then she moves.
By the time she comes back downstairs, her hair is brushed (mostly), and she’s changed into something simple—jeans, a soft sweater, nothing dramatic.
Normal.
Grounding.
Shane looks up first.
And just—
stops.
“…Wow.”
Harlow squints. “…What.”
He shakes his head slightly, smiling in that soft, almost disbelieving way he gets sometimes.
“…Nothing,” he says. “You just—”
“Careful,” she warns.
“I’m being careful,” he insists. “…You look nice.”
Ilya glances over from where he’s grabbing his keys.
“…You always look nice,” he adds, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Harlow rolls her eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.
“…You’re both weird.”
“Correct,” Shane says again.
The drive is quiet.
Not awkward.
Just… thoughtful.
Harlow sits in the backseat, one knee pulled up slightly, staring out the window as the city moves past.
Shane keeps glancing at her in the rearview mirror.
Ilya notices.
“…Focus on road,” he murmurs.
“I am focused,” Shane says. “I can multitask.”
“You cannot.”
“I absolutely can.”
“You nearly missed a turn.”
“I did not—okay, that was one time.”
Harlow smiles faintly despite herself.
Same as always.
Still the same.
That helps.
But as the car slows—
as the building comes into view—
that feeling shifts.
Her stomach tightens.
Her fingers curl slightly against her sleeve.
“…Oh,” she says quietly.
Shane parks.
Turns around.
Really looks at her this time.
“…Hey,” he says, softer now. “Still okay?”
Harlow nods automatically.
Then pauses.
Then—
“…I don’t know,” she admits.
That honesty hangs there.
Fragile.
Important.
Ilya turns slightly in his seat, steady as ever.
“…That is allowed,” he says.
Shane nods. “Yeah. You don’t have to be 100% sure. You just have to not feel forced.”
“…I don’t feel forced,” she says quickly.
“Good,” Shane says.
There’s a beat.
Then Harlow exhales.
“…What if I mess it up?” she asks.
Shane blinks.
“…Mess what up?”
“This,” she says, gesturing vaguely. “All of it. Like—what if I say the wrong thing, or— or I’m not supposed to— I don’t even know how this works—”
Ilya reaches back slightly, resting his hand over hers.
Grounding.
Warm.
“…There is no perfect way to do this,” he says quietly.
Shane nods.
“…You don’t have to perform,” he adds. “You just have to show up.”
Harlow swallows.
“…That sounds like a trap.”
“It’s not a trap,” Shane says.
“…It sounds like one.”
“Okay, it sounds like one,” he admits. “But it’s not.”
A small, shaky laugh escapes her.
“…Okay.”
She looks at the building again.
Then at them.
Then—
she reaches for the door.
“…Okay,” she says again.
And this time—
she means it.
Inside, everything feels… official.
Too clean.
Too quiet in a different way than the house.
A woman at the front desk looks up with a polite smile.
“Good morning.”
Shane smiles back, easy. “Hi. We’re here for—”
Ilya gives the name.
The appointment.
The reason.
Harlow hears it.
But it still feels a little unreal.
“Of course,” the woman says. “They’re expecting you.”
Of course they are.
That hits harder than it should.
They sit.
Wait.
Harlow bounces her leg once.
Twice.
Stops.
Starts again.
Shane notices.
Reaches over, tapping her knee lightly.
“…Hey.”
She stills.
“…Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says.
Ilya leans closer slightly.
“…You can still change your mind,” he reminds her.
“No,” she says immediately.
Too fast.
Then softer—
“…No. I don’t want to.”
A door opens.
A voice calls her name.
And suddenly—
this is it.
Harlow stands.
Her heart is beating too fast.
Her hands feel slightly numb.
But she doesn’t hesitate.
Because when she steps forward—
they’re right there with her.
On either side.
Not in front.
Not pushing.
Just—
there.
And for the first time since they walked in—
the nerves don’t feel like something that might stop her.
They feel like something she’s moving through.
Into something real.
Into something chosen.
Into something—
hers.
The room is smaller than Harlow expected.
Not a courtroom.
Not rows of people and some dramatic speech.
Just a desk. A few chairs. A window letting in soft, indifferent daylight.
Normal.
That almost makes it worse.
A woman stands as they enter, offering a polite, warm smile.
“Hi, Harlow.”
Harlow blinks.
“…Hi.”
Her voice comes out quieter than she meant it to.
“I’m glad you came in today,” the woman says gently. “You can sit wherever you’re comfortable.”
Harlow hesitates for half a second—
then chooses the chair in the middle.
Not alone.
Not separated.
Right between them.
Shane notices.
Says nothing.
But his shoulder brushes hers, just slightly, as he sits.
Ilya settles on her other side, steady as ever.
The woman sits across from them, folding her hands.
“This doesn’t have to be complicated,” she says. “We’re just going to talk first, okay?”
Harlow nods.
“…Okay.”
“Do you understand why you’re here today?”
Simple question.
Too simple.
Harlow stares at her hands for a second.
“…Yeah,” she says.
Then, after a beat—
“…I think so.”
The woman nods, like that’s a perfectly acceptable answer.
“Do you want to tell me, in your own words?”
Harlow exhales slowly.
Her brain feels too full and completely empty at the same time.
“…They want to—” she starts, then stops.
Swallows.
Tries again.
“…They want to adopt me.”
The word lands in the room.
Solid.
Real.
“And how do you feel about that?” the woman asks gently.
Harlow lets out a small, nervous breath.
“…I feel like—”
She stops again.
Shakes her head slightly.
“…I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”
No one interrupts.
No one rushes her.
“…I just know,” she continues, quieter now, “that I don’t want to leave.”
That’s it.
That’s the truth.
Shane’s hand tightens slightly against his knee.
Ilya’s gaze drops for a second.
The woman smiles softly.
“That’s a good place to start.”
She asks a few more questions.
Simple ones.
About school.
About how long she’s been with them.
About what life looks like at home.
Harlow answers.
Not perfectly.
But honestly.
“They’re… loud,” she says at one point.
Shane exhales a quiet laugh.
“Very loud,” she adds.
Ilya inclines his head. “…Accurate.”
“But,” Harlow continues, glancing at them briefly, “they show up.”
That matters more.
Everyone in the room feels it.
Eventually, the woman nods, satisfied.
“Okay,” she says softly. “Then the next part is making sure this is something you’re choosing.”
Harlow frowns slightly.
“…I said I want this.”
“I know,” the woman says. “And I believe you. This is just where I ask you directly.”
She leans forward just a little.
Gentler now.
But more serious.
“Harlow,” she says, “do you want them to be your legal parents?”
Silence.
Harlow’s throat tightens.
Her chest feels too full.
Her eyes sting—
which is so annoying, honestly.
She looks at Shane.
At the way he’s trying very hard to look calm and not like he might explode from the inside.
Then at Ilya—
steady, grounded, but his eyes softer than she’s ever seen them.
They don’t say anything.
They don’t need to.
Harlow looks back at the woman.
Takes a breath.
“…Yeah,” she says.
Then stronger—
“Yeah. I do.”
Something shifts.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But undeniably.
The woman smiles.
“Okay,” she says. “Then we can move forward.”
Paperwork.
Forms.
Signatures.
It’s almost anticlimactic.
Pens on paper.
Names written in careful lines.
Harlow watches as they sign.
Shane first.
Fast, like if he pauses he might overthink it.
Ilya next.
Precise.
Deliberate.
Then the paper slides toward her.
Her name is already there.
Printed.
Waiting.
She picks up the pen.
Her hand shakes—
just a little.
“…It’s just a signature,” she mutters under her breath.
“It’s more than that,” Shane says quietly.
She glances at him.
“…Yeah,” she admits.
Then—
she signs.
That’s it.
No thunder.
No dramatic music.
No big moment.
Just ink.
But somehow—
it feels bigger than anything else.
The woman gathers the papers, checking everything over.
Then she looks up again.
Smiling.
“Congratulations,” she says.
The word hangs in the air.
Shane lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been stuck in his lungs for months.
“…Okay,” he says, voice a little unsteady. “Okay, wow.”
Ilya doesn’t say anything at first.
He just turns slightly toward Harlow—
and pulls her into a hug.
It’s not rushed.
Not overwhelming.
Just—
solid.
Harlow presses into it without thinking.
“…Okay,” she murmurs into his shoulder.
Shane joins a second later, wrapping both of them in his arms like he physically cannot not be part of it.
“…We did it,” he says, half-laughing, half-something else.
Harlow huffs a quiet laugh.
“…Yeah.”
She pulls back slightly, looking between them.
Really looking.
“…So,” she says, voice a little shaky but smiling anyway, “…this is official now.”
Shane grins.
“…Very official.”
Ilya nods once.
“…Ours,” he says simply.
That word—
lands differently now.
Harlow swallows.
Her chest tight again—
but not in a bad way.
“…Okay,” she says.
And this time—
it doesn’t feel uncertain.
It feels like something steady.
Something real.
Something that isn’t going anywhere.
Something permanent.
They don’t leave right away.
Not because there’s more to do—
but because none of them seem quite ready to break the moment.
Harlow is the first one to move.
Not far.
Just enough to reach for her phone.
“…I need to tell him,” she says, almost to herself.
Shane nods immediately. “…Yeah. Yeah, you do.”
Ilya hums softly. “…He will want to know.”
She steps a little to the side, not leaving them—just… carving out a small space.
Her hands are still a little shaky as she opens her messages.
Mason: you good?
She stares at it for half a second.
Then types.
Harlow: it happened
The typing bubble appears almost instantly.
Mason: …???
Mason: happened like—
Mason: HARLOW
She lets out a breath that turns into a laugh.
Harlow: they’re officially my parents
There’s a pause.
Longer this time.
Just enough to make her heart jump.
Then—
Mason: oh my god
Mason: HARLOW
Mason: THAT’S—
Mason: wait I’m calling you
Her phone starts ringing before she can even respond.
She answers immediately.
“…Hi—”
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?” Mason’s voice bursts through, loud and completely unfiltered.
Harlow laughs, pressing a hand over her forehead. “…Yeah, I’m serious—”
“That’s—holy shit, that’s huge,” he says, breathless. “That’s like—Harlow, that’s everything.”
Her throat tightens again.
“…Yeah,” she says softly. “It is.”
“I’m proud of you,” he says, and he doesn’t hesitate.
Not even a second.
That hits.
Hard.
“…Thanks,” she murmurs.
“…Are you okay?” he asks, voice softer now.
She glances over at Shane and Ilya, still close together, still watching her like she’s the most important thing in the room.
“…Yeah,” she says. “…I’m really okay.”
“Good,” Mason says. “Because I was ready to fight a legal system if needed.”
She snorts. “…I appreciate that.”
“I’m very intimidating.”
“You’re wearing hockey gear in my imagination right now.”
“I am intimidating in hockey gear.”
“Sure.”
He laughs.
Then, quieter—
“…I wish I was there.”
Harlow’s smile softens.
“…You’re here enough,” she says.
There’s a pause.
A good one.
“…So,” Mason says, a little lighter again, “does this mean I have to impress them even more now?”
Harlow glances back at the two men in question.
Shane raises an eyebrow like absolutely.
Ilya just watches.
Calm.
Assessing.
“…Yes,” she says.
“Great,” Mason sighs. “Love that for me.”
She grins.
“…You’ll survive.”
“I already did once,” he says. “I can do it again.”
“…Yeah,” she says softly. “…You can.”
When she hangs up, she doesn’t move right away.
Just stands there for a second.
Letting it settle.
Then she turns back.
“…He says hi,” she adds.
“Of course he does,” Shane says. “…I like him.”
“You say that like it’s surprising,” Harlow replies.
“It is,” Shane says. “My standards are very high.”
“Mm,” Ilya hums. “…He meets them.”
Harlow blinks.
“…Wait, really?”
Ilya nods once.
“…Yes.”
Shane shrugs. “…Kid’s got guts. I respect that.”
Harlow smiles—small, but real.
“…Good.”
They finally leave the building.
And the world outside feels…
different.
Not visibly.
Nothing has changed.
Cars still pass. People still walk by. The sky is still the same.
But something is different.
Shane stretches his arms as they step out. “…Okay. So. This is a big day.”
“Very big,” Ilya agrees.
Harlow narrows her eyes slightly. “…What are you planning.”
Shane grins.
“…Celebration.”
“Define celebration.”
“Food.”
“…Okay, that’s vague.”
“Good food.”
“Still vague.”
“Possibly too much food.”
“…Better.”
Ilya glances at her. “…We could invite others.”
Harlow pauses.
“…Like… everyone?”
Shane shrugs. “…Your call.”
She thinks about it.
Yuna.
David.
The team.
The chaos.
Then—
“…Yeah,” she says. “…Yeah, I want that.”
Shane claps once. “Perfect. Chaos dinner it is.”
Later that evening—
The house is not quiet anymore.
Not even a little.
Voices overlap.
Laughter spills from the kitchen.
Someone is definitely arguing about something completely unimportant.
“…I am telling you, that is not how you cut that,” Ilya says.
“It’s absolutely how you cut that,” Shane argues back.
“It is uneven.”
“It’s artistic.”
“It is wrong.”
Harlow leans against the counter, grinning.
“…You invited people for this?” Mason murmurs beside her.
She nudges him. “…You love it.”
“…I do,” he admits.
The door opens again.
More voices.
Yuna walks in first, taking in the scene with one glance.
“…Ah,” she says. “Complete chaos. As expected.”
David follows, smiling. “I wouldn’t miss this.”
Harlow pushes off the counter, moving toward them.
“…Hi.”
Yuna looks at her for a long second.
Then steps forward—
and hugs her.
Quick.
But firm.
“…I’m glad,” Yuna says quietly.
Harlow exhales.
“…Me too.”
The night blurs a little after that.
Food passed around.
Stories told.
Too many people talking at once.
At one point, Shane raises a glass.
“…Okay,” he says, loud enough to cut through the noise.
Everyone quiets—mostly.
He looks at Harlow.
Then at Ilya.
Then back again.
“…To family,” he says.
Simple.
Ilya lifts his glass.
“…To family.”
Harlow hesitates—
just for a second.
Then raises hers too.
“…To family.”
And this time—
the word doesn’t feel complicated.
Later. Much later.
The house is quiet again.
Finally.
Harlow sits on the couch, legs tucked under her, exhaustion catching up all at once.
Mason had left an hour ago.
After a quiet goodbye.
After a soft, quick kiss at the door.
After promising to text when he got home.
Her phone buzzes.
Mason: home safe :)
She smiles.
Harlow: good
She sets the phone down, leaning back.
“…Long day,” Shane murmurs from the other end of the couch.
“…Yeah.”
Ilya sits beside her again.
Same place as always.
“…You did well,” he says.
Harlow glances at him.
“…I just said yes.”
He shakes his head slightly.
“…You chose,” he corrects.
That lands.
Shane shifts closer, nudging her shoulder lightly.
“…You okay?”
Harlow thinks about it.
Really thinks.
Then nods.
“…Yeah,” she says. “…I am.”
And she means it.
Because the house is quiet—
but not empty.
Because her phone is still warm from messages that matter.
Because today didn’t fix everything.
But it gave her something solid.
Something real.
Something that stays.
And as she leans into them—just slightly, without thinking—
it feels natural.
Easy.
Like she’s been doing it forever.
Like she always will.