Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Do we have any plans for Christmas?”

Seungkwan looks up from the tab he has open on his phone for late December flights to Jeju Island. He’s about to wave his phone around and laugh about Jihoon’s mindreading abilities, declare them soulmates or something similarly nonsensical, but something about his tone of voice stops him. He sounds apprehensive, a little nervous, and Jihoon knows full well that they don’t have any Christmas plans. So he isn’t really asking about their plans. He’s getting at something else.

“Nope,” he answers, locking his phone and pressing it between his palms. “I don’t think so. Why? Did you have something in mind?”

Jihoon scratches the back of his head, leaning against their kitchen countertop and looking at the floor. He hasn’t seen Jihoon this reluctant to say something since their first few months of dating, so he sits still and watches him curiously, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Well,” Jihoon starts, clearing his throat. “My parents rang me the other day to ask if I’d come home for Christmas this year. You know my granddad is like, super British, so Christmas is important to him, and he’s turning 80 a few days after Christmas this year so he wants to see the whole family and have a big party and stuff, so I said I would. And I’d like to bring you, too. You know, if you want to come.”

“To your family Christmas?” Seungkwan asks, sitting up straight on the couch. “Of course! I’d love to! This is perfect!” He pushes thoughts of visiting Jeju right out of his mind, because he’s been waiting for an opportunity to meet Jihoon’s family for a while now. With all of them living all the way over in the U.K., the most he’s done so far is wave at his parents and brothers through their occasional FaceTime calls. “I’m surprised they didn’t give us more notice, though. Flights will be expensive by now.”

Jihoon catches his tongue between his front teeth. “They actually asked me, like, at the end of October. I just didn’t know how to bring it up until now.”

Seungkwan raises his eyebrows at him. “Just like this, babe. You should’ve given me more warning! Now I have to buy your family gifts in the next two weeks, and I have no clue what they like. I don’t even know who I’m buying for! Who’s coming? More than just your brothers? Do you have loads of cousins too?”

Jihoon turns around to switch the kettle on with a sigh, shifting against the countertop. “You don’t have to get them any gifts. Seriously, don’t worry about it, they’ll be distracted enough by the fact that I’m bringing someone home.”

“What are you so worried about, then?”

“Well. When I said my granddad is super British... hm.” He stops, turning to fetch some mugs and the Tetley from the cupboard.

“Do you see yourself right now? Don’t worry, I’m used to British.”

“It’s not that. Okay. Here’s the thing. My family have Christmas in a castle every year.”

Seungkwan narrows his eyes at him. “What, you’re Prince Harry now?”

“No,” he says, dropping a teabag into each mug. “Technically I’m a Lord, but I’m only ever called that by Jeonghan when she’s making fun of me.”

“You’re—” Seungkwan splutters incomprehensibly. Jihoon sounds completely serious. “What are you talking about?”

The kettle clicks, steam rising from it, and Jihoon carefully fills each mug with hot water. “I don’t talk about my family that often, right? Well, not my extended family. But I’m actually pretty close to them, I used to be in the same school as all my cousins and everything. It’s just kind of embarrassing to explain that my granddad is a duke.”

There’s a heavy pause for a few moments. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

Jihoon nods, shooting him a flat smile before taking his teabag out and moving to get the milk from the fridge. He puts a generous amount in his tea, just a dash in Seungkwan’s, then fetches the pot of sugar from the shelf. One spoon for Seungkwan, three for himself. Takes Seungkwan’s teabag out, and bins them both. “I really want you to come and meet my family. I just needed to warn you that my family is kind of… posh, I guess. So they might seem a bit pretentious. They’re good people, though, none of them are proper arseholes or anything, but I just want you to be prepared.”

“Okay,” he says, voice a pitch higher than it should be. “Got it. Tell me your granddad’s name, quick.”

“Why?” Jihoon asks, carefully carrying the brimming mugs over to the low coffee table and taking a seat beside Seungkwan.

“I want to make sure you’re not having me on.”

Jihoon lifts his mug to his lips, looking down at Seungkwan’s phone. “Just search for the Duke of Northumberland.”

Seungkwan raises his eyes to the heavens for a moment before typing the words in. He’s kind of hoping Jihoon is taking the piss, and he’s not really going to find his name on the bottom of some Wikipedia page about Algernon Hugh Richard Parcy, the 12^th Duke of Northumberland, married, with three children and seven grandchildren—

“Oh my God,” he says, scrolling down to the family tree. There, the first one listed under the Duke’s eldest child, is Jihoon’s English name, Jack Lee. “What the fuck.”

“Yeah,” Jihoon says into his tea. “Basically, come home with me for Christmas? But also, pack your Sunday best?”

Seungkwan stares at him. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this, you dickhead! When was I supposed to find out about this?”

“Now?” Jihoon tries, and Seungkwan doesn’t miss the little smile into his tea. He can tell he was nervous about dropping this on him, but he’s kind of enjoying it, too. “Surprise?”

“This is why you tell me not to buy you gifts for your birthday,” he says, accusing. “You have enough money in the family vaults to buy everything you want, don’t you?”

Jihoon takes a long slurp. “I’m just not a gifts person.”

Seungkwan slumps back into the couch, phone going lax in his hand. “I’m going to kill you.”

Jihoon pats his arm gingerly. “Not before we get back to the U.K., please. Let me at least show you around the castle first.”

“Fine,” he says, suddenly standing from the seat. Then he sits again, taking a quick sip of his tea, because it would be criminal to leave it untouched. “But I’m going to need new clothes, Lord Jack.”

“Only if you don’t call me that,” he says, pointing at him. “Seriously, I can’t stand it.”

“Deal,” he sniffs. “I better be getting some fucking Burberry for this.”

-

They depart from Incheon International Airport at 1pm, fly for twelve hours, and arrive in Amsterdam at 4pm on the same day. He regrets agreeing to make the whole trip in a day when they’re back on another plane five hours later, having seen nothing of Amsterdam but the dark sky beyond the brightly lit airport, half-dead on his feet from the journey over. Planes always make him feel exhausted. They spend another hour and a quarter on the second flight, and land at Newcastle International Airport at 10pm, with four days until Christmas.

“Chan says he’s in the arrivals car park,” Jihoon says, rubbing his eyes and blinking down at his phone. Seungkwan spots his suitcase trundling around on the collections belt, and steps forward to hoist it away. “Wherever that is.”

“Haven’t you been here before?” he asks, pulling the handle up as Jihoon does the same with his own, the two of them turning in time to walk away from bag collection.

“A few times” he shrugs. “Think it’s this way.”

“Yeah, it is,” he says, scanning the long sign on the wall as they pass. “Three floors down.”

“Thank God he’s come to pick us up,” Jihoon sighs as they step into the lift. “I think I would die trying to drive right now, and taxi drivers never want to go past the tourist gates at the castle.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have a chauffeur, or something.”

Jihoon half-heartedly whacks him with the back of his hand, and a second later the lift doors slide open in front of them. They shuffle out into the cold night together, the wheels of their bags clacking noisily against the concrete. It’s not long before Jihoon raises his hand, waving at someone, and a young man in blue scrubs and chunky glasses waves back at them. As they approach, Seungkwan recognises him as Chan, Jihoon’s youngest brother.

“Welcome back,” he says, clapping Jihoon on the shoulder once they stop in front of him. He looks almost as tired as they feel, but is smiling brightly nonetheless. “It’s good to see you again. Nice to finally meet you, Seungkwan.” He holds his hand out, and Seungkwan passes his bag to his other hand so he can shake it.

“Hi,” he says, trying to switch on some of his charm, but he’s running on low battery. He’d managed all of a two-hour nap on the first flight over, then another two-hour kip on the floor of the Amsterdam airport, and it’s left him feeling stiff and drowsy. “It’s really good to meet you.”

Chan’s eyes are smiling, seeing right through him. “Let’s do this properly when we’re not all dead on our feet, shall we? You both must be exhausted.”

“I’m so tired,” he admits, barely protesting when Chan comes over to pick up his bag and pop the car boot open.

“Let’s get home and all go to bed. It’s not far from here, now. How was your flight?”

“Long,” Jihoon grunts, pulling the car door open and beckoning Seungkwan inside. “Did you come straight from a shift?”

“Yep,” Chan says, lifting Jihoon’s bag in too before slamming the boot shut. “Ten hours in A&E. God bless the NHS.”

“Are you alright to drive?”

“Bloody hell, I’m fine. Get in the car already, will you?”

Jihoon and Chan talk in low tones from the front seats of the dark car, and Seungkwan must nod off to the low rumble of the engine, because he doesn’t remember much of the trip by the time they get there. He only stirs when the car starts to slow, pulling into a side road to grumble over gravel. The headlights of the car dance over a big tourist sign for Alnwick Castle for a few seconds, then they drive right through what looks like a visitor’s car park, stopping at a gate. Jihoon gets out of the passenger’s seat to open it, allowing Chan to drive through and wait on the other side for Jihoon to close it again.

He tries to look around, but he can’t see much beyond the headlights of the car. There’s an open grassy area to their right and a visitor’s centre to their left, but the grounds are silent around them, no signs of life anywhere.

“Is the castle open for tourism?” he asks, voice sleep-rough.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Chan remarks as Jihoon slips back into his seat, shivering. “Yes, the National Trust manages the land for most of the year, and people come and visit the castle. It’s what pays for most of the upkeep, actually. It shuts over the winter, or when Granddad wants to use it for fancy events. We used to have Christmas here every year when we were kids, so it’s nice to be back.”

“Jihoon mentioned that,” he says, sneaking a glance at his boyfriend. “Eventually.”

“Shut up,” Jihoon says, face reflecting the red and green lights of the dashboard. He’s looking over to their right, but all Seungkwan can see out there is the vague shapes of dark trees lining the road. “I got there in the end.”

“You kept the family nonsense a secret this whole time? How did you manage that one? All my colleagues found out about Granddad the same week I started working at Royal Victoria. The looks I still get from people who barely know me are insufferable.”

“I went to the other side of the world. Nobody cares in Korea.”

“Right, got it. You’re the nobody you always wanted to be.”

“Exactly,” Jihoon says, and then the car passes the line of trees, and the view to the right opens up to show a wide stretch of land. There, at the end of a paved road, is a grand stone castle looming up against a black sky. Wider than it is tall, it’s formed by a dozen different towers and rounded walls at every corner, expanses of dark brick connecting them. It’s looped by a long, high wall, which also brackets several other outhouses and watchtowers. The lanterns hooked to the castle walls are coloured with warm flames, little beacons of light at the end of the path, casting a faint glow over the grassy land between them.

“Oh,” he breathes, knocking his forehead against the stone-cold window, his breath fogging it up for a moment. “So that’s your castle.”

“Yup,” Jihoon murmurs. “Home sweet home.”

“Come off it,” Chan says, turning the car smoothly onto the path. “Jeonghan will start calling you Duke Jack again if you talk like that.”

Jihoon crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t you dare tell her I said that, then.”

“We’ll see,” Chan grins.

When they make it up the path and successfully squeeze the car through the arched entrance in the wall, Chan parks along the side of the castle. There are already three other cars there, glinting in the low light, dark and empty inside. He cuts the engine, and Seungkwan steps out of the car, thanking him for the drive—Chan just waves him off as he goes to unload their bags, and Seungkwan stands still, breathing in the crisp night air. It’s so still here, so quiet but for the sound of their footsteps. He can’t even hear the running of cars in the distance. It’s just the three of them and this great big castle.

“Come on, Seungkwan,” Jihoon calls, and Seungkwan turns to pick up his bag, following the other two over cobbled stone through the inner walls of the castle. Chan skips the few steps up in front of a pair of big black doors, pulling one open and going inside, Jihoon pausing in the doorway for Seungkwan to catch up. He drags his bag up and steps inside after them, entering into a stone hallway, glowing under an orange lantern hanging from the high ceiling.

“Hey! They’re here!” a voice calls from further away, and even at a distance he recognises it to be Seokmin, Jihoon’s other brother. Seungkwan makes sure the front door is shut behind him before following Jihoon down the cold corridor, past a grand white staircase, where Chan has reached another set of shining wooden doors. They’re opened from the other side before he can reach out for them, the smiling face of Seokmin appearing to cheer and pull Chan into a hug. Chan laughs as he reciprocates the hug, his tiredness melting away in the face of Seokmin’s energy.

“Oh, finally,” a woman is saying from inside the room. “I was worried your flight was delayed, Jihoon, love.”

The short, thin figure of Jihoon’s mum appears at Seokmin’s side, and Jihoon abandons his bag by the staircase to give her a hug. She reciprocates it, patting his back a few times with one hand, holding a glass of wine precariously in the other.

“Let them get in through the door, at least! Lord, you boys must be tired.” The Lee father is stood behind the group in the doorway, shooting a smile at Seungkwan over their heads. “Come on, come in.”

“Seungkwan!” Seokmin exclaims, releasing Chan to turn his smile to him, full and blinding. “I’m so glad you could come! I’ve been waiting to meet you properly for so long!”

Seungkwan can’t help but smile, easily accepting the hug Seokmin comes in for. He’s glad it’s just Jihoon’s immediate family here so far—he’d been concerned he might have to meet the whole extended family when he’s so out of it he can barely see straight. Seokmin is perfectly easy to get on with, and they’ve already spoken a bit over the phone, so this is fine. His exuberant energy has called across the entire world to ease Seungkwan before.

“Come on, Seokmin, come back in here. Hello, Seungkwan, dear, it’s lovely to meet you in person,” Jihoon’s mum is saying, pulling him into a quick hug as the three of them are ushered into the big room behind them.

It’s a sitting room, he thinks, wide and long with a sizable chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There are shelves and shelves of old books lining each wall, and a huge painting of a stern-faced man on one wall, but the majority of it is more modern than he expected. Pristine sofas and armchairs are angled around a fireplace and the gigantic flatscreen T.V. mounted beside it, the floor littered with beanbags and ornate tables sitting around the edges of the room. The grand piano in the corner gleams with the signs of close care. This room is much warmer than the hallway, sending shivers through him as he adjusts to the temperature.

“It’s really great to meet you too,” he says, uncharacteristically nervous. He blames it on the jetlag. “It’s amazing to be here. The castle is so beautiful! I can’t believe you really own the place!”

“It’s Areum’s father who owns the place, really. The rest of us are just very willing guests,” Jihoon’s dad says cheerily, gripping him in a firm handshake. “Call me Gikwang. It’s wonderful that you could be here at last, Seungkwan. I hope your flight was okay?”

“All fine, yes. We’re here in one piece! Thank you so much for inviting me to come, really.”

“Oh, don’t thank us! We’ve been waiting for Jihoon to bring you home for years!” Seokmin says, wrapping his arms around Jihoon’s shoulders and rocking against his side in a hug. Jihoon grimaces, but doesn’t pull away from him, and Seokmin laughs again.

“My parents went to bed a while ago, but they’re very excited to meet you too,” Areum says kindly. “Are you two hungry? I’m sure Mingyu would make you something if you asked.”

“I think he went to bed too, Mum,” Seokmin says.

“Oh, he did?” Areum frowns, taking a sip from her glass.

“It’s alright, really. I think we could do with some sleep right now, more than anything,” Jihoon says, looking at Seungkwan. He nods, relieved Jihoon is making a polite excuse for them.

“Oh, of course, you must be tired! Come on, I’ll show you to your room. Are you okay to carry your bags up the staircase?”

Areum leads them up the wide, polished staircase, the two of them heaving their bags up in their arms. They come out into a high hallway, honest-to-god suits of armour stationed at each corner and more stoic paintings of white people hanging along the walls. Tall red curtains hang along one wall, hiding the huge windows he’d seen from the outside, and the whole walkway is well-lit by modern lights cleverly stationed in innocuous places. They walk down the hall, turn left at the end, and down another hall. Then up another, smaller staircase, to a third corridor, lined with impressive sets of smooth wooden doors.

“This one’s yours, this year,” Areum says, pushing the first set of doors open. “All the cousins are along this corridor, so Chan and Seokmin will be along soon, I’m sure. We’re excited to catch up with you both tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Jihoon says, placing his bag just inside the doorway. “It’s good to be home.”

Areum smiles, wrinkling the skin by her eyes. “We’ve missed you. I can’t wait to hear all about Korea. Sleep well, you two.”

“Thank you,” Seungkwan says, at the same time as Jihoon says,

“Goodnight, Mum.”

She closes the door almost the full way before swinging it open again, popping her head around it abruptly. “Oh, and I left your advent calendars on your bed, so remember to finish them off, will you?”

“It’s the 21^st of December, Mum, what did you buy us advent calendars for?”

“I just couldn’t help myself. Seokmin and your father so graciously helped you catch up on the first three weeks, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Jihoon smiles, looking down at the cardboard calendars sitting on their bed. One has a cartoon Father Christmas smiling up at them, and the other a drawing of a snowy window looking out on a sleepy village outline. “See you in the morning.”

“See you then.” She closes the door fully this time, and Seungkwan can hear her shoes tap-tapping away down the corridor.

The bedroom is like a step back in time, like something Seungkwan had expected when he first heard the word castle. Where the sitting room had a more modern patterned carpet and a showy ornamental ceiling, this has dark burgundy walls and a smooth cream carpet under their feet, covered in part by a plush purple rug. The hefty four-poster bed is partially cordoned off by matching deep drapes, with a dark mahogany wardrobe sitting to the left of it. An immaculate dresser holds two little wine-coloured lamps, tassels shivering as he puts his smaller bag down next to it, and another patron of the Parcy family line glares down at him from the painting overhead. The rug is soft beneath his socked feet, shoes finally left off at the bedroom door—even wearing them along the stone castle floor had pained him a little—and there’s an empty fireplace on the far side of the room, bracketed by two low sitting chairs.

Jihoon isn’t doing the same sweeping look as him, but instead rummaging around in his suitcase for his washbag. “Come on, I’ll show you where the nearest bathroom is. Let’s unpack tomorrow. I’m so tired.”

“Mm, me too.” He sets his suitcase down on the floor to unzip it properly.

Jihoon finally digs his own washbag out, straightening up and lifting it over his head victoriously, groaning as he stretches upwards. Seungkwan rummages between carefully packed layers of clothes until his hands find something solid. He goes to pull it out, then stops himself at the last second—this is too small. It isn’t the washbag.

He hastily shoves the ring box further into his suitcase and glances at Jihoon. He hadn’t noticed, too busy fiddling with one of the lamp’s switches. His heartbeat jumps as he wills his face to remain impassive, and then he comes across his real washbag, pulling it out along with some pyjamas.

“Got it,” he says, right as Jihoon manages to turn on the lamp, a soft light warming up one corner of the room.

Jihoon just nods at him and pulls open the bedroom door again, holding it there for Seungkwan. Seungkwan takes the door from him as they pass by it, and he can’t help but glance at where his bare hand leaves the polished wood. He’d brought the ring to the U.K. as a reminder for himself more than anything: You want to marry this man—don’t mess this up.

He doesn’t have to propose to Jihoon before the new year, like he’d planned. It’s not going to be the quiet Christmas he was expecting them to have, here with Jihoon’s whole family, and he doesn’t want to overwhelm him, or cram a proposal in wherever he can. It’ll come naturally, he tells himself. He’ll know when the time is right.

First, he should meet the family.

-

Sunlight is pushing in through the burgundy curtains when he wakes up the next day, bright and shining directly on his face. They’d forgotten to close the wooden shutters on the windows last night, but judging by the time on his phone screen, the sunlight didn’t do very much to bother either of them all morning long, anyway.

He rolls over in bed to put his back to the glaring light, face meeting the material of Jihoon’s bed shirt instead. He shuffles up, buries his nose into the crook of his neck, and sighs.

“Morning,” Jihoon murmurs, voice low, repositioning himself under the heavy blankets. “Your nose is cold.”

“Your heart is cold,” Seungkwan grumbles, proceeding to swing an arm and a leg over Jihoon under the blankets, who groans in response. “And it’s not morning.”

“Do I want to know what time it is?”

“Only if you’re excited for lunchtime.”

“I am, actually. I’m starving.”

Seungkwan’s belly rumbles, right on cue. “Me too. It could be a lot worse, you know, considering the time difference we just jumped.”

Jihoon abruptly sits up in one swift motion, dislodging Seungkwan to the side, who immediately whines and pulls the covers up over himself again. “Stop that, it’s too cold!”

“You have to embrace it,” Jihoon informs him, slipping out of the bed and dropping down to reach into his suitcase. “Layer up fast as soon as you wake up. Or just spend the whole day in the sitting room. That room is always warm.” He throws a hoodie at him from his suitcase. “Come on, let’s not eat too late. Better to beat jetlag early.”

Seungkwan sighs, cursing himself for falling in love with someone so straightforward, and sits up to pull the hoodie over his head. Thankfully, he’d packed his fluffiest pyjamas, so it’s not too cold when he slips out of the bed, stretching his arms out in front of him to ease the sleepy ache out of his bones.

He wanders over to the fireplace, running his fingers along the coarse material of the old armchairs. Draws the curtains back to see the view outside—their room looks out from the front of the castle, the grounds looking greener and friendlier in the daytime. Down in the courtyard below them, he can see several more cars have joined Chan’s by the castle wall, including one cute little campervan.

“Is everyone else arriving today?” he asks, long arms of the hoodie flopping over his hands as he hugs himself.

“I think so. Is someone here already?”

“A few someones, I think.”

Jihoon hops into his corduroys on his way over to join Seungkwan at the window. “Oh, it looks like some of the Chwes are here already. That’s definitely Hansol’s campervan.”

“What are the Chwes like?” he asks resting his chin on Jihoon’s shoulder. “Will they like me?”

“Everyone will like you,” Jihoon says, turning slightly to look at him. “You have nothing to worry about, I promise.”

Seungkwan brings a hand up to play with a tuft of Jihoon’s hair. “You think?”

“I know,” Jihoon says, patting his butt reassuringly and ducking under his arm to go back to his suitcase. “Seriously. Auntie Bitna likes everyone, and Uncle Sungmin is the gentlest man I’ve ever met. Cheol and Jieqiong will love you as long as you dote on their kids, and Hansol is, like, the chillest person ever.”

“He’s the one with the campervan?” he asks, looking out at the cars again. “I like him already.”

“He’s interesting. I think you’ll like him,” Jihoon says, flopping back onto the bed and reaching for his advent calendar. “Though the campervan is technically his boyfriend’s. I’m sure you’ll get on with Soonyoung like a house on fire.”

“Who else is coming?”

“Once the Chwes are all here, that just leaves Auntie Jinae and her kids. She’s a bit of a character. Usually brings a different partner to every family meetup. It’s a bit of a running joke at this point, trying to guess who she’ll bring this time—she’s been married twice, and had a different boyfriend every year that she wasn’t married. Even a girlfriend, one year. Jeonghan and Wonwoo have different dads, but the three of them are super close.”

“She was raised in a noble family, and British-Asian one at that, and has still managed to get away with living her life like that? I’m impressed.”

“She’s a force unto herself. Jeonghan is just the same, and Wonwoo just goes along with it all.” He holds up the other advent calendar. “Do you want your chocolate now or later?”

Seungkwan wrinkles his nose. “How can you eat chocolate first thing after waking up?”

He shrugs. “It’s tradition. Are you getting dressed, or what?”

Jihoon takes his place by the window as Seungkwan changes, pulling on a smart blue jumper over a shirt and dark jeans. Jihoon had earnestly helped him pick out new clothes for the trip, but had been enthusiastically positive about every article of clothing that Seungkwan had tried on, which hasn’t given him much security that this is the right dress code at all. There is no dress code, Seungkwan, Jihoon had told him, but Seungkwan knows there is. They’re posh people. There’s always a dress code.

Just as he’s pulling on fresh socks, Jihoon shifts his stance at the bedroom window. “Oh, I think they’re here. Aunt Jinae and Jeonghan, at least. That’s her BMW.”

“Is my first meal here going to be with everyone? I can’t hope for a peaceful introduction to the family?”

“You were dreaming to hope for that in the first place,” Jihoon grins, still watching out of the window. “It looks like Jeonghan has brought someone instead of Jinae this year? I hope that isn’t Jinae’s partner, at least. They’re way too young.”

Seungkwan joins Jihoon in peering out of the high window. A tall, dark haired woman in a huge thick coat is standing by the car boot, hands on her hips as a blonde girl hauls their bags out one by one. A third figure with short hair is standing with their back to the bedroom window, lining up the bags by the side of the car.

“Jeonghan is the blonde,” Jihoon murmurs. “Jinae is obviously the older woman. We should probably… go and greet them…”

The third figure picks up the three suitcases on her own and turns, following as Jinae leads the way to the castle doors. Jihoon is leaning forward, hands and forehead pressed against the glass as he watches them both approach the front door intently.

“What is it?” he asks, amused by Jihoon’s concentrated frown.

“Blimey,” Jihoon murmurs, blinking a few times. “I think Jeonghan’s brought my ex-girlfriend.”

Seungkwan laughs, surprised, and immediately crowds Jihoon against the window to see better. Now that she’s closer, Seungkwan can see the third figure is a woman in a leather jacket, hair buzzed short on one side, a swooping fringe falling across her forehead on the other. She carries the three bags across the uneven cobblestones with ease, while Jeonghan is lagging behind her with only a backpack and heavy duffel.

“Which girlfriend?” he asks, nose up against the glass. “What’s her name?”

“The only ex-girlfriend I have, Seungkwan. Georgia Hong. We dated for three months in Year 10.”

“Is there bad blood? Did you ask her out, or did she ask you?”

Jihoon shivers. “She asked me out, and she was also the one to break up with me. I never would’ve done it otherwise. She used to do junior knife-throwing competitions professionally, and everyone knew she had a pet cobra at home. There was no way I could say no to her.”

Seungkwan laughs, knocking his head against the window, and Jihoon crosses his arms at him. The three women below have already entered the castle, and Seungkwan’s stomach rumbles again.

“I don’t know why this is funny,” Jihoon admonishes, and Seungkwan can see the nervous smile tugging at his mouth. “We haven’t spoken to each other in years. This will be terrible.”

“Oh, I like Jeonghan already. She has a sense of humour,” he says, taking Jihoon’s hand and pulling him across the room. “Let’s go and get lunch with them.”

“Urgh,” Jihoon groans, but follows Seungkwan out of the room.

He takes the lead again to get them back to the sitting room, then right past it, up an opposite corridor he hadn’t noticed last night. The bags the girls had been lugging in are abandoned in the hallway, and as they walk up the corridor he can hear the sound of high, loud voices from one of the rooms up ahead. Jihoon diverts them into a quieter room before they can reach the noise, and he finds himself standing in a wide old kitchen, bare stone walls showing between the rows of old-fashioned cupboards. Beside a broad countertop, Seokmin stands next to a tall man Seungkwan hasn’t met yet, the two of them kneading dough together.

“I ended up having a row with my co-worker because of it,” Seokmin is saying, playing with the dough in his hands. “I can’t believe he’s in a job like that and didn’t know that you should use salt when you’re making bread. Is that what he was doing every time he was on sandwich duty? Making loaves without salt?” Seokmin laughs, astonished, dropping the dough down onto the flour-covered countertop. “I don’t usually argue with people, you know, but I just couldn’t believe it. My boss sided with me, though, so it was alright in the end.” He smiles, and the other guy laughs at him, face screwing up to reveal sharp canines.

“The bread wun’t be reyt bad wi’out salt, yunno. It’s be’er t’ put some in if yuh can, tho.” His thick accent startles Seungkwan for a second—it’s blatantly different to the one Jihoon’s family have, but he can’t place where it’s from.

“I know, but you have to be passionate about your beliefs, Mingyu,” Seokmin says, seriously. “And I had to tell him about the importance of using salt in bread.”

“Good morning,” Jihoon says, and Seokmin jumps, mouth snapping shut as he turns to face Jihoon. Seungkwan just smiles, waving over his shoulder.

Seokmin raises his hand in a wave back. “Morning! Glad you two could make it! I think Mum was about to send me on wake-up duty if you didn’t show your faces for lunch.”

“Ay up,” Mingyu greets, placing his dough down and heading over to the Victorian-style sink, running floury hands under the tap. “Gimme a sec t’ ge’ the scran.” He disappears into a room off to the left.

“What accent is that?” Seungkwan hisses in Jihoon’s ear.

“Yorkshire,” he whispers back. “Mingyu’s from Leeds.”

“He’s not part of the family?”

Jihoon raises an eyebrow at him. “Well, no. Granddad brought him on a few years ago to help out with things. He’s always just kind of…” he gestures with his hands. “Here. Pushing Granddad’s wheelchair and making him food and the like. So he helps out with the family when we’re all together, too.”

“He feels like a part of the family, really,” Seokmin says brightly.

“He’s a servant?” Seungkwan asks, right as Mingyu re-enters the room. Jihoon splutters indignantly as Mingyu grins, plates in hand, and Seungkwan knows he’s heard every word of their conversation.

“Yuh can call me wha’ yuh like,” Mingyu says amicably, at the same time as Jihoon says,

“He’s not a servant!”

“Yuh food is ‘ere,” Mingyu continues, setting the plates down on the counter in front of them. Steaming spaghetti bolognaise has been carefully dealt out onto the big ornamental plates, topped with herbs and a fancy little green sprig, like they’re eating at a five-star restaurant or something. “Lemme kno if yuh wan’ owt else.”

“Cheers, Mingyu,” Jihoon says, the tips of his ears going red. Seungkwan glances at him, suppressing his grin. Seems an awful lot like a servant to me.

Jihoon glowers back at him. Maybe they really are telepathic after all.

“Thanks a lot,” Seungkwan says as Mingyu goes over to the huge modern fridge-freezer in the corner.

“Any drinks?”

“Just orange juice for me,” Jihoon says, and Seungkwan nods.

“Same.”

“I’ll bring em thru for yuh,” Mingyu says kindly, pulling out two glasses and a branded carton of orange juice. Jihoon turns around with his plate in hand, leading the way out of the kitchen and down the corridor again, back towards the chattering of voices. Mingyu follows after them with their drinks, and they walk through a propped-open door into a big stately dining hall, where a group people are sat at one end of a long, polished table. Several heads turn to face them as they enter, Gikwang and Chan the closest to the door.

“Oh, they’re here!” Chan says, waving them through as a chorus of greetings are spoken all at once. Jinae, Jeonghan and Georgia seem to have only just sat down with their own plates, but Jeonghan is the first to stand and greet Seungkwan, swanning right past Jihoon to give him a strong hug. He barely has time to put his plate down before he has a face full of her long blonde hair and the scent of her strong perfume.

“It’s so good to meet you!” Her eyes are glinting as she grips him by the shoulders. “I thought Mum was pulling my leg when she said Jack was bringing someone home!”

“Well, here I am!” he says, smiling around at the table of people looking his way. Jihoon is kissing Jinae’s cheek and moving over to greet his grandparents, who are sat at the end of the table.

“Hi, Halmoni,” he says in Korean, taking her hand and giving her a quick kiss too. “Jeonghan, please don’t terrorise him before he can even sit down.”

“We’d all like to say hello to him too, Jeonghan,” Jinae says, twisting in her seat to speak directly to him. “Lovely to meet you, son, we’re so glad you’ve come. Sit and eat, won’t you? I’m sure everyone will introduce themselves. I bet Jihoon hasn’t told you anything, has he?”

“You’re right,” he says, taking the seat next to Georgia, offering her a half-wave as he does. Up close, he can see why Jihoon was so intimidated by her—she’s got this feline grin, a pair of sharp eyes, and the edge of a tattoo creeping up over her collarbone. “I only heard about the castle for the first time a few weeks ago.”

“He’s a terror, isn’t he?” Jinae says, tutting. “I’m Jinae, youngest Parcy child, and this is Jeonghan, my daughter. Wonwoo should be along any time now.”

“And this is Jisoo,” Jeonghan says, taking a prim seat on Georgia’s other side. “My girlfriend. Have you said hi yet, Jack?”

“How come you call her Jisoo, but I’m still Jack?” Jihoon complains, finishing his round of the table to come back and sit at Seungkwan’s other side. “Hi, Georgia.”

“Because it’s funnier when it’s you,” Jeonghan replies.

“I’m using Jisoo these days. You’re using Jihoon more too?” Jisoo asks, slowly twisting spaghetti onto her fork.

“Yeah. I’ve been living in Korea for the past few years, so…” he trails off. “Jisoo. I’ll remember that.”

“Thanks,” she smiles, eyes glittering. Jeonghan leans over the table to peer around Jisoo at the two of them, her pleased smile hidden by her hand. Someone else is also leaning over the table from the other side to shake hands with him, and he stands hastily to reach back, meeting Jihoon’s auntie halfway.

“Call me Bitna, love,” she’s saying. “I’m Jihoon’s other auntie. This is Sungmin, my husband.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Seungkwan says, shaking hands with the both of them.

“Jolly good of you to come, son,” Sungmin says, and then they all turn expectantly to the young man sitting next to Bitna, who’s frowning down at his phone. The man sat on his other side is the first one to wave, eyes disappearing with his cheerful smile, hair a distractingly vibrant shade of red.

“Awlright, mate,” he says, loud, sticking his hand out too. “How’s it gaun?”

“Great, thanks,” he says, delighted to find another strong accent in him. Scottish, he thinks. “You must be Soonyoung?”

“Aye, tha’ I am,” he says, gripping Seungkwan’s hand fiercely over the table.

The other man must be Hansol, then, who finally looks up from his phone only to raise his eyebrows slightly at Seungkwan. “Oh, hi. Nice to meet you…?”

“Seungkwan,” he says, and Bitna swats at him from the side, telling him to pay attention to our guests, will you?

“How do you like the castle, son?” says the man sitting at the head of the table, elderly, but with strong cheekbones and sharp eyes. “Seen much yet?”

“It’s brilliant, sir,” he says, deciding to come around the table and greet the patriarch properly. “I haven’t been here long, but hopefully Jihoon can give me a tour soon.”

“Call me Algie. It’s fantastic to see you, I have to say. Jihoon really did make the trip to South Korea worth it, didn’t he? What with bringing you back here, at last.” Algie grips his hand firmly, and his smile is sincere.

“Granddad,” Jihoon says haltingly, but Algie only taps the side of his nose, winking at Jihoon.

“I see now why you’ve been over there for so long, Jack, if you’ve been hiding this handsome young man away all this time.”

Jihoon’s halmoni, the last unintroduced person around the table, also sneaks out a frail hand for him to shake. He takes it gladly, bowing to her as he does so. “It’s lovely to meet you, Halmoni,” he says in Korean, and she gives him a sweet smile back, nodding her head.

“And you, my dear,” she answers, also in Korean. “Your accent is lovely. You’re a Jeju native?”

“I am indeed. Wow, your ear is so good!”

“It’s been a long time since I heard that dialect. You’ll have to tell me all about Jeju later on.” She grasps his hand, and he lays his other one on top of hers.

“I would like that very much,” he says, holding her hands there for a few seconds.

It’s Jihoon who breaks the moment. “Come and sit down, Kwan. Your spaghetti will be cold by the time you eat it.”

“Don’t let Mingyu hear you say that,” Jinae remarks, already halfway through her own plate.

“I can’t let something like this go cold,” he agrees, pulling his chair up again to make a start on his meal. “I’m so hungry.”

“I have to say, Seungkwan,” Bitna says, politely waiting until he’s cleared away most of his bolognaise. “Your English is very good. I’ve been brushing up on my Korean since Areum said you were coming, just in case.”

“Really?”

“She really has,” Sungmin says, picking up his mug. “I’m not sure how much good it would’ve done, though. It’s a good thing you speak such good English.” Bitna ribs him in response, and Sungmin carefully takes a sip of his coffee to hide his smile.

“I actually lived in the south of England for about eight years growing up,” he says, and Bitna gasps. “Yeah. My dad’s job was in London, so we lived in Woking for a lot of my childhood, until I was around sixteen or so? I learned all of my English here, picked up on the accent. It’s what Jihoon and I bonded over, actually, when we first met. He came to my uni in Seoul to do his linguistics Masters, and I was already a second-year translation student there. We both had a background in British English, so a mutual friend decided to set us up. We talked about growing up on Dick and Dom’s Funny Business and how much we missed proper biscuits, and the rest is history.”

“Oh, how lovely! You never told us any of this, Jihoon!” Areum says, her face cradled in her palms. “It’s like you were meant to find each other, isn’t it?”

“Something like that,” he says, smiling at Jihoon over his orange juice. Jihoon shoots him a small smile back, his posture slightly hunched under the pressure of his whole family’s eyes on him.

Like some sort of saving grace, the sound of the front door opening rings through the corridor, immediately followed by a gentle male voice saying something indistinct.

“Oh, that’ll be Cheol!” Bitna says, standing to go to the doorway. “We’re in here, love!”

“Hi, Mum!” the voice calls back from the end of the corridor. There’s a young, delighted shriek that echoes up the hallway, then the quick pattering of feet.

“Grandma!” the blur of a child calls as he leaps onto Bitna, clutching his arms around her neck.

“Hi there, Junnie! You’re so big now, aren’t you!” she says, groaning, and another loud female voice calls after him.

“Get off a’ na, Junnie, lav!”

Seungkwan looks at Jihoon, who glances back. “That’s Jieqiong, Cheol’s wife. From Essex.” He points at the doorway again. “And his kids, Junhui and Minghao.”

A handsome young man with a toddler in his arms appears at the doorway, going in for a hug with Sungmin. A pretty woman follows right behind him, easing a giggling Junhui off his grandma and ushering him into the dining hall. Junhui immediately sprints across the room to where Hansol is standing up to meet them, jumping into his arms next, as Soonyoung stands and makes a raucous cheer in greeting.

“Hiya, Junnie! Haw are ya?”

Junhui laughs by way of a greeting, burying his face into Hansol’s shirt and answering, “I’m good. It’s Christmas!”

“That it is, dear,” Jinae says. “Come here and give us a kiss, would you? I think your great-grandparents would like to see you, too.”

Junhui climbs down from Hansol’s arms to give much more delicate hugs to Algie and Halmoni, then plants a kiss on Jinae’s cheek. Jeonghan gives him a hug too, and Jisoo just a small wave, Junhui sizing her up somewhat more uncertainly. Jihoon settles with a gentle hug and pat on the arm, and Seungkwan reaches out to pinch his cheek when Junhui reaches him, which makes him smile and giggle again, shy shoulders rising up to ear level.

“Come on, Junhui, babe, come n’ ‘ave some food.” Jieqiong beckons him over, a plate of spaghetti in hand, Mingyu appearing behind her with two more. Junhui jumps up onto the free seat beside Jihoon, exclaiming Spagbol! as Jieqiong places it in front of him. She ruffles his hair, then leans over his head to shake Seungkwan’s hand.

“Awright, babe? Seungkwan, right?”

“Hi, yeah, that’s me,” he says, smiling. Jieqiong looks well put-together, as does Cheol, dressed as smartly as Jeonghan and Jinae are. Hansol and Soonyoung seem to be the only ones at the table not on board with the unspoken rich family dress code, in a Hawaiian shirt and a tank top respectively. Even Jisoo is in a patterned button-up under her leather jacket. “Lovely to meet you, Jieqiong.”

“And you, lav. Do ya fink Hao could get a toddla plate, Gyu, darlin’?”

“No problum,” Mingyu says, greeting Cheol briefly before he leaves the room again.

Jinae stands up to fetch the toddler chair for Jieqiong then, the previously unseen pregnant swell of her belly emerging from under the table as she does so. Jihoon promptly chokes into his drink, sending Jeonghan into a cackle of delighted laughter.

Seungkwan pats Jihoon’s back as he coughs, and Jinae waves away Cheol’s attempts to get to the chair before she can, still balancing Minghao against his hip. “Yes, Jihoon, I’m still a viable fertile woman at 47 years old. Don’t worry, Bitna did the same thing.”

“Congratulations!” Seungkwan says in Jihoon’s stead, stuck trying to catch his breath. “How far along are you?”

“Over eight months, now. I’m due in January.”

“How wonderful, Auntie! Congratulations!” Cheol says, depositing Minghao in the toddler seat before moving around the table to demand a hug from Jihoon. He embraces him in a steadfast grip, and Jihoon wilts into it, still trying to clear his throat of orange juice. “Everyone’s changed so much since I last saw you all! I swear you’re looking healthier than ever, Hoon.” He doesn’t miss a beat in moving over to give a hug to Seungkwan too, soft and warm thanks to his woolly jumper, eyes crinkling happily when he leans out to speak to him. “Hi there, Seungkwan. I’m so glad to finally meet you. This has been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”

“If you say so,” Jihoon croaks, sitting down with a dismissive wave.

“It has,” Cheol tells Seungkwan with a wink, patting his arm gently. “It’s absolutely thrilling to have you here, I tell you.”

“Thank you,” he says, heart warmed by Cheol’s sincerity. He takes his seat again and watches everyone gathering around the table. Mingyu has re-entered the room with a toddler portion of spaghetti, cut up into little pieces on the plate, Seokmin right behind him with a bottle of elderflower cordial in hand. Though the stately dining hall is probably meant to hold four times the amount of people as it currently does, Seungkwan thinks that the Parcy family fill it well between them, cheerily bustling about with all their loud greetings and plentiful hugs.

“Oh, Wonwoo is here too,” Cheol says. “He was driving up the path behind us. I think he might need some help with the horses, if you’re free, Mingyu.”

“Brilliant! That means we’re all here, now!” Areum exclaims, pink-cheeked. She’s has another glass of wine in hand, eyes shining as she looks around at her family.

Seungkwan finds himself perking up at Cheol’s words. “Horses?”

“Are you done?” Jihoon asks, quietly, and Seungkwan glances over at him. He’s looking a little pink, head resting against one hand as he leans in to speak in Seungkwan’s ear. Loud and busy places tend to overwhelm Jihoon if he doesn’t pace himself, and it looks like he could do with a break.

“Yeah, sure, I’m done,” he says, and the two of them stand at the same time.

“We’ll go and help Wonwoo,” Jihoon announces after wiping his mouth with his napkin. Seungkwan quickly does the same, in case it’s noble propriety, or something. “Thanks for the meal, Mingyu, it was fantastic.”

“Y’welcome,” Mingyu smiles, showing his teeth. “Will yuh be origh’ wi’ ‘orses?”

“We’ll be just fine,” Jihoon says, patting his arm as he leads Seungkwan out of the room again. After they turn into the stone corridor, the noise of the dining room growing fainter behind them, Seungkwan snakes his fingers into Jihoon’s hand, holding it loosely.

“You alright?” he asks as they reach the entrance hallway again.

“I’m fine, it was just getting noisy in there. It’s like Piccadilly Circus once everyone’s in the same room. Thought you’d like an excuse to meet Wonwoo’s animals, anyway.”

“Animals? He’s brought more than the horses?”

Jihoon grins at him. “Wonwoo’s been running an independent animal shelter in Rothbury for a few years now, and he can’t bear to leave any of them alone for very long. I heard he only agreed to stay here this year if he could bring all the animals left in the shelter with him. Why no one told me about Jinae’s pregnancy at the same time as that, I don’t know.” He pulls open the big front doors, stepping out into the crisp winter air outside. “Luckily, we have some empty stables, and plenty of room for whatever else he’s brought.”

Wonwoo’s van is parked alongside the other cars, with a gleaming horse trailer attached behind it. The man himself is standing by the door of the trailer, the top half of the door opened so that he can pat the two horses inside, speaking to them in a gentle voice.

“Wonwoo!” Jihoon calls across the courtyard, and Wonwoo turns to face them, dark hair falling over his round glasses.

He raises a hand in return. “Hi, Jihoon. Cheol send you?”

“You bet,” Jihoon answers, giving him a high-five upon approach. “Wonwoo, this is Seungkwan, my boyfriend. Seungkwan, this is Wonwoo, the cat-crazy cousin.”

“Oh, I heard you were coming,” Wonwoo says with a grin. “Hi.”

“Nice to meet you,” Seungkwan says, shaking his hand briefly. “Your horses are beautiful!”

“Thanks,” he says, eyes soft as he turns back to pat the mane of the chestnut-coloured horse next to him. “They’re sweethearts, but I could use some help getting to the stables. It’s either that or helping me get the rest of the animals inside.”

“What else did you bring?” Seungkwan asks, peering around the horse trailer.

Wonwoo steps aside wordlessly to slide open one of the van doors. A chorus of barking starts up as Seungkwan looks down on a dozen different cages inside the van—a quick headcount tells him that there are five dogs, seven cats, three guinea pigs, two ferrets, and what he thinks might be a parakeet.

“It’s quite the zoo, Wonwoo,” Jihoon remarks, amused. “I’m sure Bitna and Hansol will be thrilled about the amount of hair that Pomeranian is going to leave around.”

“Her name is Amber,” Wonwoo says, kneeling down to tickle under the Pom’s chin through the bars. “And I’ll keep the dogs in one of the back rooms, as usual. It’s the cats they need to worry about. The castle will be theirs in no time.”

“Good luck with that,” Jihoon grins. “Kwan and I will take the horses round for you, no problem.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Alright. They shouldn’t be any trouble, but give me a shout if you need me.”

“Roger,” Jihoon says, going for the door of the horse trailer. The two of them ease the horses out into the cobbled courtyard without issue, and Seungkwan follows Jihoon back through the castle walls again, past the entrance doors this time.

“They’re lovely, aren’t they,” Seungkwan says, patting his white mottled horse as she clops along beside him. “I can’t believe your cousin has pet horses. Your family is so cool, Hyung, it must be so nice to be back here with them.”

“It is,” he says as they emerge into a wider part of the courtyard, rounding the back of the main section of the castle. “I don’t think we’ve had everyone together like this for a few years, now. I forgot how loud it can get. I think I had more tolerance for noise when I was younger.”

“I can only imagine what your aunties and mum are like once they’ve had a few drinks together. You seem really close with your cousins, too.”

Jihoon’s expression is fond. “We are pretty close. I was around them so much when I was younger that they’re more like my best friends.”

“Why did you move to Korea when you’re this close to everyone back home? I always assumed there wasn’t anyone left in the U.K. besides your parents and brothers, but you never mentioned family in Korea, either. I didn’t want to ask what you’d left behind, but I had no idea it was all of this.”

They come to a low stone building that must be the stables, supported by thick wooden beams inside. Jihoon opens the door and carefully leads his horse inside, mulling the question over silently.

“I was never planning on moving to Korea permanently, to be honest with you. I just wanted to do a year of my Masters there.” He opens up one of the wide pen doors, walking in with the horse. “But then I met you, and the university offered me that job. So it made sense to stay.”

“Did you ever think about asking me to come back to Britain instead?”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Nah. You had studies to finish and ambitions to meet. I didn’t know what I was going to do after I graduated, but I didn’t think I’d find my future in Korea. It was a nice surprise.”

Seungkwan leads his horse into the next pen along as Jihoon latches the door to his own. “Does it feel like home to you? Korea?”

“The country? No. Not yet, at least. But you always do.” He waves his hand vaguely in his direction, glancing over at Seungkwan’s horse rather than Seungkwan himself. “We should probably bring the hay around for the horses, too. Wouldn’t want them to get cold out here.”

Seungkwan buries his smile into his horse’s mane, and she gives a soft harrumph in response. “Sure. Did you see some in the trailer?”

“Yeah, with their equipment and stuff.”

“Okay. Let’s go and get it, then.”

They leave the stables, and Seungkwan skips a few steps forward to walk at Jihoon’s side. He glances around, but they’re still alone in the courtyard, so he catches Jihoon’s hand again. Brings it to his lips, presses a kiss into the back of it.

“You’re my home too, you know. Seoul felt different after you came.”

Jihoon squeezes Seungkwan’s hand, smiling down at the uneven ground beneath them.

-

They spend the rest of the afternoon stringing up Christmas lights on what feels like every wall of the castle. He quickly gets moved to Christmas tree duty after complaining about his arms aching three times in under five minutes, and has a much more relaxing time working through the boxes of baubles with Algie and Halmoni and the kids. Junhui is making a great effort of shoving as many decorations on the lower branches as he can, as if to see if he can empty the whole box of decorations in record time, and Minghao sits on Halmoni’s lap, batting at the tree every now and then but mostly fiddling with the soft angel hanging he’s been given. There’s a packet of Cadbury’s Christmas tree chocolate in there with all the bells and bows and baubles, and Seungkwan starts to string them up to hang, but only gets halfway before he realises they won’t last twenty minutes within Junhui’s grabbing height. Or Jinae’s. Or Soonyoung’s, or Hansol’s.

Still, they make a good result between them, and the room cheers when they switch on the multicoloured lights, reds and blues and greens and yellows bouncing from the shining baubles, scattering over the gifts piled underneath. After that, he places tinsel along the mantelpiece with Chan, and strings paper chains up between the shelves with Bitna, and sits with Hansol and Soonyoung to methodically set up a grand nativity set on one of the ornamental tables. Even as he’s getting ready for bed that night, he can see Mingyu and Seokmin still diligently stringing Christmas lights all along the castle walls from their bedroom window. The golden glow that bounces from the sand-coloured stone has him standing by the window long enough to get cold toes, Jihoon groaning when he presses them against his warm calves under the blankets.

The next day, Jihoon helps him bundle up in his favourite winter coat and a long patchwork scarf, and the whole family set out for the Newcastle Christmas Market. The day is clear and cold, and the market is crammed with people, so it doesn’t take long for them to split off into smaller groups. Seungkwan and Jihoon end up with Wonwoo, and by extension Junhui, who’d insisted on holding his favourite uncle’s hand instead of his father’s.

“You’re breaking my heart, here,” Cheol tells Junhui, holding his hand over his heart. “What does Wonwoo have that I don’t?”

“Cats,” Junhui answers immediately. “And I hold your hand all the time! I want to go with Uncle Wonwoo today!”

Cheol staggers back, holding his chest and groaning like he’s been shot. Junhui just laughs and presses his face into Wonwoo’s long coat.

“Leave ‘im be, Cheolie,” Jieqiong, rocking a nervous Minghao against her side. He keeps peering around at the crowds unhappily before burying his face into the crook of Jieqiong’s neck again, leaving the pram in Cheol’s hands empty. “We’wll meet ap wi’ ya latah, awrigh?”

“No problem,” Wonwoo says, a pleased little smile on his face as Junhui crowds up against his side, their gloved hands clamped together. “Have fun!”

The market is a delight. Seungkwan’s family never celebrated Christmas that much, not even when they lived in the U.K., but he’s always loved the way Christmas looks on a city centre—like the strings of lights hung between the buildings here, forming cheerful phrases and flashing festive patterns and jolly Father Christmas figures. Then there are the images of candles and holly wreaths and high-strung stars, formed by red and green and golden bulbs, each lining the pavements that lead up to the shopping centre. And then there’s the giant tree, standing proud and tall in the centre of the marketplace, casting a slight silvery glow over all of them. He loves it, how Christmas festivities can make a place feel new and familiar all at once. Newcastle is new to him, of course, but the lights and decoration make him feel comfortable, like a welcoming hug from the city.

The four of them walk between the stalls selling soaps, baubles, personalised gifts, handmade gifts and toys, and then between the food huts offering pork pies, Yorkshire puddings, pints of Guinness and plastic cups of mulled wine. Jihoon buys them all cinnamon-topped hot chocolates—with extra marshmallows for Junhui, of course—and then they sit in one of the Germanic-style wooden cabins to sip at them and talk about Wonwoo’s heavily pregnant cat. That lasts for all of five minutes before Junhui spots the red and white striped helter skelter on Northumberland street, and it’s all over for them from there; they spend the next hour and a half standing around and watching Junhui slide down the helter skelter seven times in a row, then take two goes on the carousel, then win a knock-off Paddington Bear from the skittles stall. Wonwoo pays for every overpriced ride without hesitation, and Seungkwan starts to understand why he’s really been dubbed as Junhui’s favourite uncle.

It’s already growing dark by mid-afternoon, with orange streetlamps spluttering to life and the blinking Christmas lights vying for their attention, the bulbs strung between the market stalls casting everyone in lustre reflections. Junhui convinces the three of them to go on the big wheel with him, the last untouched ride at the market, a glowing beacon off to one side of the town square. Seungkwan thinks his cheeks have never been colder than when the wind whistles by them at the peak of the ride, but it’s worth it for the sight of the shining city below them, and the chime of Junhui’s laugh when he leans over the bars to blow kisses to the stars.

“This must be what Santa Claus feels like!” he exclaims, and Seungkwan rests his head on Jihoon’s shoulder, unable to stop smiling.

Santa himself is wandering around the square when they get off the ride, chuckling merrily and handing out sweets with M&S flyers. Junhui nods shyly when Santa asks if he’s been a good boy this year, then jumps up and down on the spot when he receives his little packet of Haribo in return.

When Wonwoo notes that it’s time for them to meet with the others for their meal, Seungkwan whispers quickly into his ear, and Wonwoo nods.

“See you there, then,” he waves, and Junhui waves with him, sticky fingers adorned by several gummy rings.

“What are we doing?” Jihoon asks, coming up beside him. “Don’t you want to go to the meal?”

“Of course I do! I just wanted Wonwoo to get a head start on us, is all. I know you said I don’t need to worry about buying gifts for anyone, but I really want to get Jun that kid’s chemistry set he was looking at for so long. There was a cute plushie there that I thought I could get for Hao, too.”

“Alright. I suppose you get a pass when it comes to the kids. Jun will be properly chuffed if you get him that set. Cute little kid, isn’t he?”

“So cute,” Seungkwan coos as the two of them weave their way back between the bright stalls, each shining under a black sky. He pulls his bobble hat further down onto the tips of his cold ears, and Jihoon sticks close to his side amongst the throngs of people. “Cheol and Jieqiong are great parents, too.”

“They were made for it,” Jihoon agrees. “Those two were high school sweethearts from the month her family moved up here. They’re both a few years older than me, but it was still a surprise when they decided to get married so young. It’s worked out for them though. Jun and Minghao are going to grow up well.”

“I wondered if they were that much older than you,” he says, spotting the stall with the kid’s toys that they spent so long at earlier. “They still seem pretty young to have two kids.”

“There’s a reason the rest of us are still a long way away from that,” Jihoon says, sniffing as they come to a stop by the stall. Seungkwan picks up the chemistry set, then spends a few minutes deliberating between the sheep and the fluffy Yorkshire Terrier for Minghao. He ends up picking the badger instead, at Jihoon’s advice, and the vendor exchanges his twenty-pound note for a handful of coins with deft fingers.

He thanks her, stepping away from the stall to stand with Jihoon again, new paper bag clutched securely in both hands. Jihoon seems to have zoned out whilst waiting for him to pay and is staring distantly at the cheap Christmas jumper hung up at the next stall over. It has a buff snowman sewn into the front of it, proudly flexing under the caption I’m sexy and I snow it.

“Do you want kids?” Seungkwan asks, and Jihoon’s attention snaps back to him.

“I don’t know.” He sniffs again, rubbing his nose absently. “Maybe. Do you?”

“I think so. One day. Like you said, it feels like we’re a long way away from that right now.”

Jihoon nods, chapped lips pressed together. “We really would have to move back to the U.K. if we wanted to adopt.”

“Maybe we will, one day. I forgot how much I missed silly little British cities.”

“Maybe we will, then.” They’re stood right under the giant Christmas tree here, and Jihoon’s eyes glitter under the sparkling lights.

“Hey,” he says, right as Jihoon begins to say something too.

“You first,” Jihoon says.

“I was going to ask if I can kiss you.”

Jihoon isn’t a fan of PDA, but it’s usually about being physically affectionate in front of people he knows rather than kissing in public, and he looks so damn kissable right now. Scarf up to his chin, oversized bobble hat pressing his hair down into his eyes, nose rosy from the cold.

Jihoon buries his hands deep into his coat pockets and nods. “Okay.”

Seungkwan leans in and kisses him on the lips. Jihoon smiles slightly into it, and it makes him reflect a smile back as he pulls away. “What were you going to say?”

“Oh. I was going to ask if you wanted to get matching Christmas jumpers,” he says, nodding his head towards the next stall along.

Seungkwan laughs, snaking his arm through the crook of Jihoon’s elbow. “Fine, but we’re getting some of the classy patterned ones. Not the ones that say talk turkey to me.”

-

After Seungkwan fills up on a meaty beef Wellington and some salt & pepper beer-battered mushrooms at the pub meal, the family moves in a slow huddle over to the nearest parish church for the carol service. Algie is received overwhelmingly warmly by the middle-aged ladies at the front door, and they hold up the queue between the pews for a several minutes as he and Halmoni greet almost everyone they meet on the way up the church aisle, Mingyu diligently pushing Algie’s wheelchair up to the disabled space at the front. Jieqiong and Cheol were long since side-tracked at the entranceway when Junhui and Minghao were encouraged to the sit at the kiddie table and make them all Christingles, and Junhui proudly presents Seungkwan with his candle-topped orange just before the priest takes his place at the altar. He thanks him sincerely, patting his head and settling the Christingle into his lap, careful of the cocktail sticks shoved wonkily into the side of it. They sing Away in a Manger and O Come All Ye Faithful and something about shepherds that Seungkwan mumbles along to, but Algie and Areum sing everything with such passion that he can’t help but be endeared. The hymns and carols are punctured by readings about Jesus from the gospels and a few short nativity scenes acted out by some very cute and very strongly accented young children, but the best part is when the ladies come back around with long gas lighters to light the little candles on their Christingles. When his flickers to life, Junhui tugs on his father’s sleeve, delightedly showing him the way the flame dances.

They leave the church with the flames still burning, Junhui making the rounds to carefully collect the jellies and cheese pieces from everyone’s cocktail sticks, and Seungkwan feels a sense of calm come over him as they step out into the brisk night. He’s never been a religious person, but the ceremony had clearly meant a lot to much of the Parcy family. How lucky he is to find someone like Jihoon, with all his comfortable similarities and striking differences to Seungkwan. To be so familiar, yet show him so many new things at the same time.

Jisoo discreetly falls to the back of the group to try and light her cigarette with her candle flame, Jeonghan laughing and wrapping an arm around her waist as they walk together. What a strange family they are, he thinks, full of all these odd contradictions and all this unconditional love. How very badly he wants to be a permanent part of it, to know them all in the same way he knows himself, in the way he’s slowly coming to know Jihoon. Like a lover, a best friend, the closest member of family.

-

He wakes up late again on Christmas Eve, his sleep pattern still out of whack from the jetlag. Jihoon just laughs at his mumbled apologies, telling him it’s a good excuse not to get out of bed until midmorning, and no one really minds when it’s Christmas, anyway.

Seokmin gently teases him about it when they come down to grab brunch, but no one else makes a comment, so he errs towards believing Jihoon’s words despite all his instincts screaming about making a good impression. Chan and Jihoon give him a proper tour of the castle after lunch, leading him through corridor after corridor of stately rooms, bedrooms, studies and office rooms, dining halls and a giant library crammed with old books, ending with the sparse ballroom. It has some impressive floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the castle grounds, and a shimmering chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

“This is where Granddad’s birthday party will be held in a few days,” Chan muses, brushing his fingertips through the light layer of dust on one of the windowpanes. “We haven’t used this room in a while.”

“We’ll have our work cut out for us to get it ready,” Jihoon remarks, crossing his arms and looking up at the white sky outside.

“We’d never get it done if it were left to us. I think Mingyu has arranged for some people to come in and help us set up.”

“I don’t know how you guys functioned before Mingyu was around,” Seungkwan muses, stretching his arms out in the middle of the ballroom floor and spinning around. He finds himself almost as excited for the birthday celebrations as he is for Christmas Day—it’ll be fun to dress up and mingle with posh people for a few hours.

“We had more staff back when we were younger, actually. Mingyu is like a one-man machine around here now,” Chan replies. “Do you want a tour of the grounds, too?”

“The grounds? How much of the land around here is yours?”

“Let me show you,” he grins, turning back towards the grand golden doors again. “Coming, Jihoon?”

They put their coats on and leave the castle. The late morning air outside smells like winter, and a bitter chill bites at his bare cheeks as Chan guides them past the dungeons and stables and wine cellars, detouring briefly through the constable’s tower. Past that, there’s a seemingly endless stretch of green land, curbed by dense clumps of trees and the trickling River Aln, which has an old brick bridge arched over it. They walk across the frosty grass together, their footsteps crackling under them, breathing in lungfuls of crisp air.

“I bet you used to play out here a lot as kids,” Seungkwan says, looking into the wood that spreads out to their left. “It’s a hide and seek paradise.”

“The castle rooms are much more fun for hide and seek, actually. Caused more fights than anything, though. Do you remember that time we gave up trying to find Seokmin, but he stayed hidden in the library for three hours?”

“How could I forget?” Jihoon says. “He threw a fit about it afterwards and Mum had a go at me for it, but I wasn’t even playing! Jeonghan was supposed to be the one finding him!”

“Hide and seek was pretty much banned after that,” Chan tells Seungkwan, grinning. “They couldn’t trust us any of us to behave once we got together. Even Wonwoo, who’s probably never broken a rule in his life.”

“We were a bad influence on him,” Jihoon says. “Now look at him. He’s built himself the best life out of all of us.”

“I think you’re right,” Seungkwan says, pointing over at the figure walking down the path on the other side of the grounds. Chan starts laughing when he makes out what it is—a bundled up Wonwoo holding several dog leads in one hand, the five energetic dogs at his feet pulling him along a muddy path for their brisk midday walk.

“Hey!” Chan yells across the grounds, and the three of them wave at him in big motions. Wonwoo raises an arm to wave back, and the big Saint Bernard takes the opportunity to pull him forward a few stumbling steps.

“He really should’ve asked for help with those dogs,” Jihoon remarks.

“He’s perfectly happy on his own, I think,” Chan laughs. “That’s the simple life. He’s got it figured out.”

“Ah yes, the simple life!” Seungkwan says, amused. “Just five dogs, your duke grandfather, and a castle backdrop?” They come to a pause on the arch of the bridge, leaning over to watch the water run below them. 

“You laugh now, but the castle will be yours one day,” Chan says, pointing at him. “Then you’ll have to figure out the simple life, too!”

“No way. Why would it be mine? Who do you think I am?”

“We don’t know if it would pass down like that,” Jihoon interjects, swatting at Chan. “Don’t make assumptions.”

“I’m just saying,” Chan says, burying his hands into his pockets. “Seungkwan has more chance of running this place than I do.”

“Wait,” he says, looking at Jihoon, who’s staring down at the glassy water. “Is the castle being passed down to you?”

Jihoon shrugs. “Maybe. Mum is Granddad’s oldest child, and I’m the eldest Lee son, and traditional noble inheritance passes down like that.”

Seungkwan’s mouth drops open, hands loosely clasped on the bridge ledge. “You’re serious? You’re going to be the thirteenth duke of Northumberland one day?”

“We don’t know yet,” Jihoon says, sending Chan a look. “Honestly, Kwan, don’t worry about it.”

“Why would it not go to you if it’s always happened like that?” He can’t understand how Jihoon could gloss over a detail like this. This seems like something vital, actually—when was Seungkwan supposed to find out that he’s dating a duke-to-be?

“Apparently Granddad has been talking with Bitna about her inheriting the noble duties instead,” Chan says, meeting Seungkwan’s eyes over Jihoon’s head. “If she inherited the castle, it would go to Cheol after her, instead of Jihoon.”

“Why would your Granddad want that?” Seungkwan asks slowly, heart dropping. “It’s not because of me, is it?”

“What?” Jihoon asks, a half-surprised laugh leaving him. “What are you talking about?”

“Because you’re dating a guy?”

“Oh, no,” Chan says. “Granddad is a nobleman who made an interracial marriage the same year as the Notting Hill riots. He’s always been progressive about that sort of thing, if all our gay family members aren’t evidence enough. It’s more because Mum has a bit of a drinking problem, but no one wants to admit it yet.”

“It’s not just that,” Jihoon says. “Bitna is a lot more business-minded than Mum, and a lot more knowledgeable about the noble name, always has been. Cheol is just the same, and they both have good, respectable jobs, and Granddad can see the inheritance line in front of his eyes with Jun. Meanwhile Mum is an artist at heart who can’t hold down any sort of job other than her Etsy shop, and I’ve been living in Korea for a few years now, no signs of moving back home. Granddad loves this place, and he wants to make sure it will continue to get the same love and care he’s put into it. I would be happy if he passed it to the Chwes rather than us, honestly. I think that would be the right thing to do.”

“Maybe then Jeonghan would stop calling you Duke. Cheol would be her new target.”

Seungkwan stares out at the river, eyes fixed on the place where it curves into the wood. He’s starting to realise just how much he doesn’t know about Jihoon’s life before he moved to Korea. He thinks about the ring box shoved to the bottom of his half-empty suitcase, about the fact that he’d been on the brink of proposing without realising it would make him a member of the actual English nobility, and had only found this out because Jihoon had been pressured into an overdue introduction to his family. If they do get engaged, they’re probably expected to get married here, in this castle that could be Jihoon’s one day. It’s hard not to wonder what else he doesn’t know, what other uncomfortable knowledge might crop up at any time, what more essential information he’s missing just because Jihoon can’t bring himself to talk to him honestly.

“Whatever happens,” Chan says loudly, like he can see Seungkwan retreating into his own head, “You wouldn’t get to call this place yours until you’re both old, anyway. So I suppose it doesn’t really matter.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it, Seungkwan,” Jihoon says, leaning into the ledge to get a better look at Seungkwan’s face. “It’s really not important right now.”

He looks back at Jihoon. “Isn’t it important for me to know about things like that?”

A tense silence follows for a few seconds, and he immediately regrets how sharply his tone had come across.

“Of course,” Jihoon says, breath coming out heavy and white. “Yes. But I mean that it won’t affect either of us for a long time, regardless of what happens with the inheritance.”

He glances over Jihoon’s apprehensive stance as he watches for Seungkwan’s reaction. This is something he’s clearly uncomfortable talking about, especially in front of Chan, but he could’ve at least hinted at it, linked Seungkwan to his wiki page, done something to give him a heads up. Anything would be better than having someone else drop the good news on him out of nowhere: surprise! You might be a duke’s escort, one day.

“Okay,” he says, letting the subject drop. He scuffs his shoe against the dusty ground of the bridge, leaning away from the wall. Jihoon remains stock still, staring at him.

“Hey, look,” Chan says suddenly, pointing out to the line of trees ahead of them. “Don’t move too quickly.”

Seungkwan turns in place to look where Chan is pointing. He doesn’t see it at first, but then slight awe grows in his chest when he spots the bold stag nestled between the trees, walnut brown and standing proud. Big, black eyes stare back at them, and then he turns his head, turning to leap back into the woods.

“Wow,” he breathes. A slight weight pushes into his side, and he turns back to find Jihoon standing close and looking up at him with big eyes, like he hadn’t even glanced at the stag.

“Are we okay?” he asks in quiet Korean.

“Fine,” he says. This isn’t the time to have a conversation about Jihoon’s communication skills. “Don’t worry about it.”

“There are usually loads of rabbits and squirrels around here too, if you keep an eye out,” Chan says, starting to walk the rest of the way across the bridge.

“I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” he tells Chan, still looking at Jihoon. “Wouldn’t want to miss anything important in my future castle grounds, would I?”

-

He barely manages to stamp the frost from his feet or press his cold thighs against the radiator before he’s roped into decorating stockings with Jisoo and Soonyoung. The existing Christmas stockings are already hung along the huge brick fireplace in the kitchen, with a space at the end for the three of them to add their own. He’s willing to bet Jihoon’s is the plain white one that has a big block J plonked in the middle of it, because he knows what Jihoon is like with artistic endeavours. He’s more into writing.

Seungkwan sets about making a matching S stocking on the dining room table, where various craft items have been set out for them. Beside him, Jisoo is diligently painting her stocking all black. Soonyoung is trying to draw the Loch Ness Monster on his, in felt-tip pen no less, the green ink of her body running into the blue of the loch.

“Isn’t that kind of a stereotype?” Seungkwan asks. Soonyoung blinks a few times, pulled out of his intense focus on perfecting the dark Scottish mountains in the background.

“Wha’s tha’?”

“Putting Nessie on your stocking, I mean.”

“Oh, aye, but we Scots lov a gud stereotype. Ehspecially when et cames ta Nesseh!”

Junhui sits with them, dressed in a Gryffindor robe over his kiddie pyjamas, carefully constructing a gingerbread castle with copious amounts of icing. Minghao is sat on Cheol’s lap slightly further down the table, making an enthusiastic finger painting on a big canvas, copious amounts of spare newspaper spread around it.

“After this, I need to write a letter to Father Christmas,” Junhui informs Seungkwan solemnly, without looking up from where he’s painstakingly covering his gingerbread roof with Smarties. “I’ll leave it with the mince pies tonight, so that he knows I’ve been good this year.”

“It is important that he knows about that,” Seungkwan agrees, dabbing at the curve of his S to shape it properly. “Do you usually get gifts from Santa Claus?”

“Yep. In my stocking,” Junhui says proudly. “He always leaves lemon sherbets, and they’re my favourite!”

“Santa’s clever like that, isn’t he? I’m sure he’ll appreciate your letter.”

Jisoo is one of the few family members that he hasn’t had a proper conversation with yet. She’s one of those people with a fundamentally intimidating aura—even as they sit here, he can’t stop glancing at the array of tattoos on display up her left arm. He’s not sure what they could possibly have in common, other than being the only two people Jihoon has ever dated. God, he can’t even imagine a fifteen-year old Jihoon looking her in the eye.

“Isn’t this plagiarism?” Seokmin’s voice asks over his head, and Seungkwan looks up to see him leaning over the back of his chair. “You’ve done the same thing as Jihoon!”

“Of course,” he says, holding up his red and green patterned S proudly. “It’s a couple’s concept. I like the minimalism of it, anyway. It’s like a traditional Christmas stocking, isn’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure Jihoon just did that because he couldn’t be arsed making a proper pattern, but at least you put some effort in for yours.”

“Exactly. It’s like Jihoon’s, but better.” He puts it back down, not wanting the wet glitter to smudge. “What are you going to put on yours, Jisoo?”

She’d finished painting the whole thing black a few minutes ago, and now has had her hands clasped over the table as she stares at it, seemingly waiting for the paint to dry. “Hm? Oh, I’m not sure yet,” she says, voice soft. “A rose, maybe? The red sequins would look good on this colour.”

“Wow,” he says, pausing. “Seems like a choice.”

She grins, slightly sardonic. “I suppose it’s not very festive. Don’t think I can go back from the black paint now, though.”

“It looks good!” Seokmin hurries to assure her. “It’s going to stand out on the fireplace, at least!”

“Wha’ d’yeh thenk?” Soonyoung says, holding up his stocking in front of them. The colours have pooled together at the edges of Nessie’s body, leaving her misshapen and blotchy, and the loch water running dark green. Soonyoung couldn’t look happier.

“Beautiful!” Seokmin says. “You want to come and hang it over the fireplace?”

“Eye, do I!” Soonyoung beams, standing up from his chair.

“We’re actually going to decorate the buns soon, Junnie, if you want to join in,” Seokmin calls over his shoulder as they walk back out to the kitchen.

Junhui doesn’t respond from where he’s sticking some Fruit Pastilles together to make flowers for his gingerbread garden. Cheol looks over, calling his name once, and when Junhui doesn’t respond again, he adjusts Minghao in his lap to reach down the table. Seungkwan catches a glimpse of him picking up something small and plastic between his fingers before he lifts it up to Junhui’s ear, and Junhui starts to whine and wriggle away from him.

Cheol taps him on the arm, sending him a stern look until Junhui takes the item from him, and pushes it firmly into his ear. “Everyone was being noisy,” he grumbles, looking down at his gingerbread house.

“What did we say about wearing your hearing aids properly?” Cheol asks, patient but firm.

“You said I could take them out in the house!”

“But we’re not in the house, love, we’re with family. You need to be able to hear if someone asks for you, okay? Just until bedtime. It’s not hygienic to put them on the dining table, either.”

“I don’t like them,” Junhui grumbles, fiddling with the second hearing aid he’s reluctantly sticking in the other ear.

“I know, but when you don’t wear them you miss out on things like icing the buns with Uncle Seokmin.”

Junhui’s countenance polarises in a second. “Buns?”

“They’re getting them ready in the kitchen,” Cheol says, gesturing with his head. “Are you done with that?”

“Yes!” Junhui says, hopping down from his seat. “I’ll write the letter to Father Christmas later!”

“Good idea, kiddo,” Cheol smiles. “Hey.”

Junhui stops by his chair, looking up at his father. Cheol points at his chest, then flattens his hands over his heart, then points at Junhui, mouthing the words I love you as he does.

Junhui does the sign back with quick hands. “Love you too, Dad,” he says with a sigh, like Cheol is being terribly needy.

“Go on, you little rascal.”

Junhui scampers off to the kitchen, calling loudly for Uncle Seokmin, and Seungkwan stands too, leaving his stocking to dry as he looks for Jihoon. He peers into the kitchen as he passes—Chan and Bitna are laughing with Seokmin, Soonyoung, and Mingyu in there, each working on different baking-related tasks. Halmoni and Jieqiong are also sat in the corner, helping Junhui climb onto a stool to reach the fresh buns. The dulcet notes of We Wish You a Merry Christmas are drifting out of the sitting room, and he wanders down the corridor to find Hansol sitting at the grand piano in there, two of Wonwoo’s cats watching him play. Wonwoo himself is sat on the long settee, both ferrets on his lap, with Jihoon and Jinae relegated to the armchairs opposite him. Algie and Gikwang are in a deep conversation in front of the quiet television, while Jeonghan and Sungmin dance around the room together, clumsy steps quickening when the music transitions into Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. Today, Hansol is wearing a Christmas jumper with an alien head pattern, while Jeonghan is wearing a 60s-inspired blue pinafore dress with hooped earrings.

Jinae rests her half-eaten mince pie on the swell of her baby bump before waving Seungkwan over. “Come here, lad. You finished the Christmas stocking?”

“I did indeed,” he says, making his way over to prop himself against the arm of Jihoon’s chair. “Can’t say it’s a masterpiece, but it’s done.”

“You’re a part of the family now, then,” Wonwoo remarks with a grin, gently scratching behind the ear of the chirping ferret in his lap. “Immortalised over the fireplace.”

“Not quite immortalised. It’s tradition to make one, but we chucked my ex-husbands’ stockings in the fire when they were out of the picture,” Jinae points out. “So don’t be pulling any tricks if you want to protect your art, you hear?”

“No tricks here, ma’am,” he says, sliding an arm over Jihoon’s shoulders. He’s already looking up at Seungkwan, sunk back into his chair.

“Oh, don’t scare him away, Mum,” Jeonghan says, twirling her way into the conversation. “He only just got here, and Jack wouldn’t have brought him back if they weren’t serious. Do you take requests, Hansol?”

“I can do my best,” Hansol replies amicably, fingers abruptly stopping over the keys. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know. Something more fun. Can you do Mariah Carey?”

He laughs. “I can try.”

The botched opening cords of All I Want for Christmas is You ring through the room, and Gikwang suddenly stands from the couch, looking around at them. Everyone else looks back for a moment, then Jeonghan bursts into laughter when he starts singing along to Hansol’s accompaniment, lyrics word for word perfect. Sungmin starts clapping for him from where he’s leaning against one of the ornate cabinets, slightly out of breath from the dancing.

Jeonghan turns back to smile at Seungkwan, eyes gleaming. “Come and dance with me?”

Seungkwan turns to Jihoon, putting his hand out in a silent offering. Jihoon looks at his hand, then shakes his head without a word, awkwardly curled in on himself.

Seungkwan just nods, swiftly standing and turning to face Jeonghan. “I would be honoured,” he says, bowing and taking her offered hand. Jeonghan laughs, offering him a curtsey in response before bodily yanking him into the middle of the room. The piano transitions into the bouncier part of the song, and he joins in with Gikwang’s singing, jumping and pulling Jeonghan with him as they spin around the room together. Her hair sticks to her lip gloss when she shakes her head wildly, strands tangling up in her glittery earrings and fringe falling into her eyes, but she couldn’t care less, belting the words out along with them.

Jihoon sits and watches them from his seat, eyes boring into the side of Seungkwan’s head.

-

He’d been planning to clear the air between them when they got back to their bedroom that night, the only time he can bank on them being properly alone, but it’s Jihoon who diverts them away from that plan. Instead of stopping at their bedroom door, he silently takes Seungkwan’s hand, pulling him down the cold corridor.

“I don’t have my things,” he says at first, thinking he’s taking him back to the bathroom. Seungkwan had almost gotten himself lost trying to find it on his own the night before.

“Can I show you something?” Jihoon says in response, almost nervous, like he was before he asked Seungkwan to come home with him for Christmas. It’s something he’s seen in Jihoon less and less over the past two and a half years, and it’s something that makes him stop and listen.

“Yeah, okay,” he answers, letting Jihoon lead him down a corridor off to the right, then up a flight of stairs into a chillier, lesser used part of the castle. There are smaller rooms up here that might be servant bedrooms or something, then they go up another flight of stairs, ending on a short landing with only two doors along it. Jihoon pushes his way into one of them, and Seungkwan squints into the dark to try and make out where they are.

It looks like an old study room, one of the deep green walls crammed with bookshelves, the others complemented by the simple dark oak furniture pushed against them. A large window looks out on the courtyard below, dust mites swirling in the moonlight streaming through it. He shivers as Jihoon finds the light switch, bathing the room in an orange glow.

“What’s all this, then?” he asks, hugging himself as he surveys the old room. There are a few discarded visitor information signs stood in the corner, and an untouched layer of dust on the huge, smooth desk.

“It’s the duke’s office. It doesn’t get much use these days, not since Granddad started using the wheelchair, but it’s kind of special. It was designed about three hundred years ago by the fourth duke of Northumberland. My ancestor, somewhere down the line.”

“Okay,” he says. As interesting as the history lesson is, he’s not sure why they’ve come to this freezing room at near-midnight. “Good for him.”

“The fourth duke was big on privacy. I can relate to him,” Jihoon says, walking over to the wall of books. “He made sure this was a place where no one could bother him, if he so wished.”

Seungkwan watches him take a few books out from a shelf at waist-level. He sets them carefully on the floor, then reaches into the back of the shelf, pulling at something.

There’s a scraping sound, and then a section of the wall in front of him heaves, and Jihoon grips at the shelf to pull it towards him. The big square chunk of the wall moves out towards them, swinging open to reveal a narrow staircase hidden behind it.

Seungkwan gasps. “Hyung! Are you telling me this is a secret room?”

Jihoon nods, a little smile on his face. “A secret room the Parcys have been passing down for generations. I don’t think the National Trust even know about this.” He gestures to the staircase, doing a slight bow. “Gentlemen first.”

Seungkwan pulls out his phone and switches on the torch light, starting up the twisting staircase tentatively. The steps are made out of rough stone, and there are thin windows set into the wall beside them—they’re probably walking up one of the castle turrets here, if the steep curve of the wall is any indication.

There’s a much older, more decayed wooden door at the top of the stairs. Seungkwan stops in front of it, and Jihoon comes to an abrupt stop behind him. “It’s open. You can go in.”

“This isn’t something you’re supposed to wait until marriage to share with me, is it?” he asks, and Jihoon stutters over a laugh.

“Just go inside the room, Kwan-ah.”

The door creaks loudly when he pushes it open. The circular room beyond it is small but quaint, from what he can see—the bright light of the moon splays over the two moth-eaten couches set around a barren fireplace, with a painting of a woman mounted on the wall above. There’s a small desk in the corner, slightly rotten, and he can hear the echo of pigeons cooing down the chimney, the brief fluttering of wings.

He switches his phone light off, and the room feels completely still around them. Jihoon is right. This is the most solitude the castle could offer, a private little hideaway completely cut off from the rest of the world. They could stay up here all night and no one would find them.

He moves towards one of the cobwebbed windows to look down at the Christmas lights twinkling far below them. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know.” Jihoon comes up to his side, nudging his nose against the shirt material at Seungkwan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t dance with you earlier.”

Seungkwan sighs, sitting down on the deep window ledge. “It’s okay. I know you don’t usually like doing things like that. I just wanted to give you the option.”

Jihoon tentatively sits with him, back against the wall, their knees knocking together. “Are you upset with me?”

“A bit,” he admits, looking down at his hands. “Not because of that.”

“Because of what Chan said earlier?”

“It’s not just about what he said, Hyung. It was a surprise, sure, but it’s more about the fact that I had to hear it from him. You clearly don’t like talking about the whole noble family thing, and I get that. But hearing that you’re in line to be in charge of this place one day—I just can’t understand why you didn’t tell me about that before today. Not when you told me about the castle, not after we arrived, not at any time in the past two and a half years did you even hint at it, and it’s something so important for me to know! Even if you don’t want to face it right now, it’s going to affect me too in the future, right? I feel like I’m a step behind everyone else just because you don’t want to tell me anything until the last moment possible. I want to live my life with you, you know? I really do. But I can’t do that if I don’t know important things about you, like the castle you call home, or the family you consider to be your best friends, or the dukedom you’re due to inherit somewhere down the line. It feels like you don’t want to be honest with me about any part of your life from before Korea, and I’ve respected your privacy until now, but I’m starting to realise how much it hurts that you’ve kept all this from me. I just want to know you. I want you to be honest with me about everything, but especially the most important things.”

Jihoon brings his knees up in front of him, wrapping his hands around them. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel excluded, and I never wanted to lie to you. I should’ve told you about everything earlier.”

Seungkwan looks out to the dark wood beyond the river. “Yeah, you should’ve.”

They’re silent for a few moments. A pigeon coos down the chimney, and a gust of wind rattles the windowpane.

“I was so afraid of telling you,” Jihoon murmurs into his knees. “For ages. I didn’t want it to change anything between us. But that’s no excuse, and I know I left it way too long. I’m sorry I didn’t do this the right way.”

Seungkwan looks back at him. “It’s not that you have family I didn’t know about. It’s not about the title, or the land, or anything. I’m just upset that you purposefully kept it a secret from me for all this time.”

“I understand.” Jihoon says, eyes round and remorseful. “I’m really sorry. It was wrong of me to keep it to myself for so long.”

He sighs, reaching out to nudge one of his shins. “Don’t look so miserable. I do get how you’ve gotten yourself into this mess, at least. It’s a big secret to drop on someone, and you can get yourself worked up about things like this. I just wish you could’ve given me a heads up, or something. Dropped a few hints. It’s kind of a shock to find out I’m dating my way into the bloody royal family.”

“Hey, we’re not royalty. Seriously.”

“Are you sure about that? I thought the castle would be the last big surprise, but then I found out that you’re a future duke. I don’t know what I’m going to learn next.”

“The inheritance thing was the main thing I was worrying about telling you. There are no more big surprises like that, I promise. I’m sorry I didn’t talk about it with you properly, like you deserved.”

“Yeah, okay, you can stop apologising now. I’ll get over it.”

Jihoon eyes him cautiously. “Will you? You gave me one-word answers for a week after I left your scarf on the train in Busan.”

“It was what they call exemplary sentencing, Hyung. I was being firm so you wouldn’t do it again. I’ll never find a scarf as good as that in my life.”

“I think you remember it too fondly. It was a bit scratchy.”

“I think you should look after other people’s belongings better.”

Jihoon puts his knees down to the side to face Seungkwan straight on, his shoulders looking marginally lighter now. “But we’re okay?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, tilting his head back against the wall. “Thank you for bringing it up. Is there anything else I should know, while we’re here?”

Jihoon stands, taking both of Seungkwan’s hands and pulling him up with him. He backs up into the space of the room and raises an arm up between them, encouraging Seungkwan to spin under it. A dance, he realises, to make up for earlier. “Uhm… Hansol thinks he’s adopted, but he’s never been able to prove it.”

“That one’s not about you, babe,” he says, twirling under his arm and then bringing him in close, hands clasped again. They sway lazily under the moonlight, kicking up dust as they go.

“This girl in my year kept propositioning to me all throughout sixth form, even though I told her I wasn’t interested. I later found out she thought having a baby with me would give her financial support for life, or something.”

He snorts, laughing and pulling Jihoon closer to him, one hand resting on his back. “Oh my God. Seriously? No wonder you didn’t want me to know about your life. Don’t worry, I won’t be begging for your babies any time soon.”

Jihoon smiles, burying his face into the dip of Seungkwan’s shoulder. “Yeah. It wasn’t a very well-thought-out plan, I don’t think.”

“Anything else?” he asks, pressing a kiss into his hair. “I’m kind of cold, now.”

“Hmm. Don’t think so. Granddad is mates with the Queen, so I’ve met her a few times. Other than that…”

“Wait,” he says, leaning out slightly to look at him. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s Mum’s godmother, actually.”

Seungkwan gapes at him. “The Queen is your great-godmother?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not a thing.”

“You practically are the royal family!”

Jihoon shrugs, helplessly. “We’re not. Dukes and duchesses come below the royal family, in terms of the noble hierarchy. Granddad just knows loads of posh people. It’s one of the main reasons I don’t want the dukedom, to be honest. You have to socialise with rich gits all the time.”

He laughs. “If it’s any consolation, I think you made a good evaluation of your family, before. They’re alright, really. For rich people.”

“Good,” Jihoon says, his voice small and pleased. “Good to know.”

Way in the distance, the faint sound of chiming rings out from the direction of Alnwick town. Seungkwan looks outside to see the clock tower in the courtyard showing it’s just gone midnight.

“Are we going back down?” Jihoon asks, voice low in this still, empty room. It feels like solace.

“Yes please,” he says, untangling their hands to run his fingertips up Jihoon’s forearms, lightly pulling at his elbows to bring him in for a kiss. “Happy Christmas, Hyung.”

Jihoon’s face shines in the light of the moon, cheeks rounding into a genuine smile. “Happy Christmas, Seungkwan-ah.”

-

It doesn’t snow on Christmas Day like all the Christmas cards on the mantelpiece had promised. Instead, in typical British fashion, it rains and pours, dark clouds blotting the sky. The sound of the rain pattering against their windowpanes is what wakes him up, the low rumble of persistent water against glass. The noise relaxes him—it reminds him of summer weekends spent on the beach in Jeju, wading out up to his shoulders in the sea. The crash of waves against the rocks in winter, the sheer volume and life of the ocean commanding his attention on his way to school. He dozes off to the sound for a while, until Jihoon wakes up, rolling over with a murmuring morning greeting of,

“Sounds like it’s chucking it down out there.”

Seokmin greets him somewhat similarly in the kitchen twenty minutes later, as Seungkwan is accepting his plate of full English breakfast. “Happy Christmas Day, Seungkwan! Absolutely throwing it down outside, isn’t it?” The sausages on his plate wobble precariously as Seokmin piles on baked beans, black pudding, and fried mushrooms and tomatoes beside them. “Do you want a cuppa with that?”

“It’s okay, I can make one,” he tries, nudging the bacon back onto his overflowing plate.

“Oh no, don’t worry about it! I already ate, and I don’t mind helping Mingyu out. How do you take it?”

“One sugar, dash of milk, leave the teabag in,” he says, picking up his plate. “Cheers, Seok, you’re a lifesaver. Merry Christmas!”

Cheol and his family are already sat in the dining room when he enters, along with Algie and Halmoni, Gikwang, Chan, and Bitna. Someone has the Christmas morning carol service playing over the radio, and Junhui is talking over it loudly to give his mother a long-winded explanation about the house he’s building out of Lego. Chan is helping Minghao put together a little toy car over his empty plate, both of them still in their Christmas-themed pyjamas, and the rest of the adults seem to be working through their own breakfasts. Various stockings are laid out flat on the table in front of them, the random items from inside scattered in the spaces between the festive placemats and unlit candles.

“Merry Christmas everyone!” he says as he takes one of the free seats, a general chorus of greetings bouncing back at him. “Wow, your stocking was full, Junnie!”

Junhui looks up, quickly abandoning his little house to slide down from his seat. “Uncle Seungkwan! You have to come and check your stocking!”

Seungkwan barely has a moment to process the delight of being called Uncle before Junhui has hold of his hand, pulling him back through to the kitchen, nearly bowling into Jihoon as they pass through the doorway again.

“Don’t run through the kitchen, Junhui!” Cheol shouts after him, and Junhui abruptly slows to a brisk walk at the kitchen door.

“He left so many things for everyone, he must have been really busy!” he’s saying as they swerve around Seokmin, who’s holding the kettle high in his hands. “And he ate the mince pie I left out for him, and the beer! And all the carrots that we left for the reindeers are gone too, look!”

He points down at the foot of the fireplace, a carrot top and one bite of mince pie artfully left on the plate there, an empty beer bottle sat innocuously beside it. He remembers the loud snap of the carrot between Jinae’s teeth last night, the lengthy discussion had between Soonyoung and Hansol about how much of the mince pie should be left behind to make it convincing.

“Wow! He definitely read your letter, then!” he says, pointing at the hoofprint stamp left on the corner of Junhui’s letter to Santa, courtesy of Jisoo’s careful painting. Junhui giggles and pulls on Seungkwan’s arm, thrilled with the remains in front of him.

“He did. Did you write one too? Your stocking looks so full!” He bounces up on the balls of his feet, eager for Seungkwan to investigate his own gifts.

Seungkwan reaches up to the fireplace to unhook his stocking. It certainly is full to the brim, like all the others beside it are. He wonders who waited up to fill all of these for them—if perhaps the generation of sisters still fill them up for their adult kids, or if Halmoni had carefully divided small gifts among them in the middle of the night.

“Let’s go back to the table, shall we? Do you want to open it for me while I eat my breakfast? We should bring Uncle Jihoon’s for him, too.”

Their stockings turn out to be full of plenty of snacks—little chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil, a Terry’s chocolate orange, a packet of pocky, some jelly beans, a bar of Galaxy. Along with them, some cute small toys—a bouncy ball, a mini Rubix cube, a net bag of marbles, a small colouring book with Christmas scenes inside. He suspects that someone might have asked about him ahead of time, too, because there are several packets of facemasks and a tube of body scrub in his that Junhui can’t find in Jihoon’s. From the stocking toes, like everyone else’s, a satsuma is pulled out last.

By the time everyone has arrived downstairs to get breakfast—Jeonghan, Wonwoo and Jinae are apparently an infamous family of over-sleepers, and have to be roused by cheerful wake-up calls from Jisoo, Seokmin, and Bitna—Junhui is practically bursting with the effort of keeping his hands away from the gifts under the tree. Many of them are indeed for him, in fairness, but the gift giving process can’t officially begin until everyone is in the sitting room, so they settle for cracking out the karaoke machine and belting songs from the Christmas category while they wait. Chan and Soonyoung take it very seriously, much to Junhui’s delight.

When everyone is finally assembled for the Christmas morning exchange, Seungkwan quietly observes the unspoken gift-gifting dynamics in place amongst the family. Parents give to their kids, and the adult kids give back to their parents—the siblings buy gifts for each other, but the cousins don’t. Couples are generally treated as a package deal, with Seungkwan and Jihoon accepting wine and truffles from his parents, a home-baked box of scones from Seokmin, and a packet of fancy bath bombs from Chan. He’d been worrying that his marketplace toys might be too-shabby gifts for Junhui and Minghao, so he’s relieved that the family give each other normal gifts, and not buckets of expensive jewellery or something. Halmoni and Algie hand out boxes of Quality Streets to everyone, including Seungkwan and the other partners in the room, and he’s inordinately touched by the gesture.

Junhui and Minghao are the exception to the rule. As the babies of the family, they receive gifts from all angles, and Seungkwan starts to worry his gifts will be left to the side-lines after all. Minghao’s badger is, indeed, put aside with the other toys within minutes, but even after everything for Junhui is torn open, wrapping paper littering the sitting room floor, he goes back to open his chemistry set with delighted curiosity. Jieqiong is barely able to stop him from setting it up in the middle of the floor right there and then, and it makes Seungkwan burst with pride.

Then comes charades, Parcys versus Chwes versus Lees, with Mingyu on the Parcy team to make them even numbers. He and Jihoon turn out to be whiz at it, as do Jieqiong with Junhui and Halmoni with Wonwoo, which makes it a close game—though he ends up laughing so hard at Soonyoung’s interpretation of Rise of the Planet of the Apes that he barely catches who wins. (It’s the Parcys. Jeonghan is very competitive.)

Mingyu, Seokmin, Halmoni and Bitna disappear after that to tend to the turkey slow roasting in the kitchen, as well as the other Christmas dinner foods that need to be prepared. They all snack on crumpets and fruitcake instead of eating lunch, then divide off into smaller groups to suit their own needs for the afternoon; Chan and Wonwoo leave to walk the dogs, and Jieqiong disappears to put Minghao down for a nap, but everyone else sits down with various board games between them. Jihoon chooses the Trivial Pursuit team, because he’s boring like that, and Seungkwan happily joins Jeonghan, Jinae and Sungmin for a game of Cluedo. They stay like that until mid-afternoon, when Algie leans away from the Monopoly board in front of him to speak to the room at large.

“Let’s take a break for a minute, folks. Liz will be on soon. Knock the telly on, would you, Areum?”

“Oh, we can’t miss dear old Liz,” Areum says, standing to find the TV remote. The Irish youtuber gamer Junhui had been watching earlier immediately screams through the speakers, and she quickly changes the channel. Bitna and Halmoni re-enter the room right on time, Halmoni talking about the hour in her thickly accented English.

Seungkwan shoots a confused look at Jihoon, who raises his eyebrows back at him. The Queen’s speech, he mouths. Right. Of course.

BBC1 announces Queen Elizabeth II with trumpets and some long shots of a choir performing inside an ostentatious church, before transitioning into a room inside Buckingham Palace. She sits in front of a shiny desk not unlike the one he’d seen in the office last night, and the golden chair and ornamental cabinet behind her are only slightly more regal than the ones they have in the dining hall. Seeing her speak from a room that could be in this very castle makes him wonder if perhaps Jihoon was expected to marry someone closer to the status of royalty, someone who would know what to do with something like a dukedom, rather than someone like him, an aspiring interpreter from South Korea. But then he listens, properly listens, and the Queen is talking about peace and goodwill and overcoming our differences with others in order to enrich our lives—and Jihoon is smiling over at his Halmoni and Grandfather who are holding hands by the couch, so maybe that’s a silly thing to wonder after learning so much about Jihoon’s family, about the amount of love he’s grown up with.

Junhui quietly talks to Cheol about watching the Doctor Who Christmas special as the Queen speaks, and Cheol promises him that they can watch it together as long as Junhui promises to watch the Bake-Off episode with him, too. When the speech ends, Algie and Areum praise it highly, and then Seungkwan wins at Cluedo on his next turn, much to Jeonghan’s chagrin.

“Since you’re the winner, how about I show you something priceless, hm?” Jinae says, gripping the arms of her chair to support herself as she stands up. “It’s about time you see these, anyway.”

“Oh,” Jeonghan perks up, quickly recovering her sharp smile as her mother waddles over to the big bookcase by the grand piano. “I think this is the real reason Jihoon didn’t bring Seungkwan to meet us for two years, you know.”

“Aunt Jinae,” Jihoon complains from across the room. “Do you have to?”

“Of course I do,” she says briskly, pulling out two thick photo albums and heaving them into her arms. “He’s a part of the family now, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know why that means…” Jihoon tapers off with a sigh. “Fine, let’s get it over with.”

“Wow, he really must love you,” Gikwang remarks, peering over his Trivial Pursuit question card. “Jihoon wouldn’t willingly reveal his dark past to just anyone.”

“Dark, dark past,” Cheol says. He’s already got one of the photobooks open on his lap, sitting next to Jinae on the settee. “Look at this.”

He holds up a photo of a teenage Jihoon wearing a smart school uniform, hands in his pockets, giving the camera a poker-face. He’s got several earrings in one ear, and bleach blonde hair that seems to be pulled into a little ponytail at the base of his skull.

Seungkwan gasps, reaching out for the photograph with careful hands. “Oh, Hyung! You didn’t tell me you had hair like this!”

Jihoon groans, burying his face in his hands to hide an embarrassed smile. He responds in muffled Korean, “I lied before. I do have one last secret. It’s that.”

“I really like it,” he says, switching back to English and grinning across the room. “Can you grow it out like that again?”

“Hey, someone agrees with me!” Hansol says, looking up from his game of Guess Who with Jisoo. “It looks really good, right?”

“Wow,” Jeonghan says, pointing at Seungkwan. “You’ve got a keeper with this one, Jack. He even thinks your stupid hair looks good.”

“I just said I think it looks good too!” Hansol complains, and Jeonghan waves him away.

“You don’t count. You’d like it if he walked in with a mohawk.”

“That would be really cool!”

“If we’re talking about bad hair, Jeonghan, you should really watch your back,” Jinae says, pulling out another photograph. This one shows a teenage Jeonghan and a pre-pubescent Wonwoo, with Wonwoo standing awkwardly against a doorway as Jeonghan tries to hide her face from the camera. Her hair is shaved at one side of her head and long on the other, with what looks like bright purple clip-in streaks falling over her face.

“Crikey,” Seungkwan says, peering closer. “I’m not sure I can compliment this one, Jeonghan.”

Cheol breaks out into some playful jeering at that, and Jisoo appears at Seungkwan’s side, delicately taking the photograph from Jinae. “I remember this hair. You came into school with it the week after I shaved mine for the first time.”

“You’ve always worn it better,” Jeonghan sighs, running a hand through Jisoo’s short hair. “I can admit that. But I always thought it was so cool.”

Jisoo winks at her. “Thanks, babe.”

“Look! It’s us!” Cheol says, a few pages ahead in the photo album now. “I didn’t know these were in here! Junhui, you want to come and see Mummy and Daddy getting married?”

“You’ve shown me those pictures millions of times,” Junhui huffs, not looking up from his new Nintendo Switch game. “I know what you look like getting married.”

“Oh, you guys are so sweet!” Seungkwan says, sitting beside Cheol to look over his shoulder. Jieqiong looks effortlessly stunning in her long white dress, daintily adorned with small flowers at the shoulders and along the long train behind her. She’s smiling up at Cheol, who’s looking back at her equally as smitten, fitted in a handsome suit with carefully parted hair. They’re standing in front of the castle gateway together, Hansol throwing flower petals over them from one side, a younger woman doing the same from the other. “You got married here? At the castle?”

“We did,” Cheol says, smiling down at the photo. “It was beautifully decorated, Granddad really spoiled us. Maybe one day you’ll be married here, too!”

Seungkwan glances at Jihoon, who meets his eyes, flashing him an easy smile. He thinks of the ring in his bag, and of the sight of the castle at night—the way it seems so grand and beautiful, yet so familiar and safe. Much like Jihoon himself.

“I would be honoured,” he says, turning the page to see a grainier picture of Bitna and Sungmin’s wedding next to a faded photo of a young Algie and Halmoni, all three couples standing in front of the same arched gateway. Halmoni and Bitna are wearing the same wedding dress as Jieqiong, clearly an heirloom passed down with only minor fashion adjustments for each era. This is their family tree captured in technicolour, tradition and progression pressed into these pages.

“Bleh,” Jeonghan says. “Stop being so sappy, Cheol.”

“Marriage is a very heteronormative concept that encourages us to be subservient to traditional gender roles and capitalistic needs in order to purport the fallacy of happy lifelong monogamous relationships,” Hansol says in one breath. “Though it would be pretty neat to try that dress on, I guess.”

-

He’s sat between Jihoon and Areum at the dinner table that evening, so when they pull the Christmas crackers in a circle around the table, he’s surprised to win both halves. He graciously gives Areum back hers, then sticks his tongue out at Jihoon, who wrinkles his nose at him and pulls another one with Mingyu. Seungkwan’s paper crown is red—which he’s very pleased about, because it matches his Christmas jumper—and a tiny little comb falls out of the smoking cracker, and his joke reads: What do you call Santa Claus when he forgets his underwear? Saint Nickerless!

Algie leads them in a short prayer before they eat, hands clasped over their holly-patterned tablecloth and steaming plates, and Seungkwan can hear Hansol murmuring let us not forget the years of classism and imperialism that gave my family our wealth and status, Amen before he begins to eat. Between the slow-roasted turkey slices and the pigs in blankets piled onto his plate, the stuffing and roast potatoes and Yorkshire puddings passed around in bowls, and the sprouts and parsnips and tender carrots dealt out in huge spoonfuls, it’s the biggest and best Christmas dinner he’s ever had. A Christmas pyramid sits in the middle of the table, spinning quickly thanks to the tall red candles, speeding up the longer they laugh and chat and drink together. He’s convinced he can’t fit any more in until Mingyu brings out a flaming Christmas pudding, followed by trays of trifle, figgy pudding, Christmas cake, spotted dick, yule log, jam roly poly, a Viennetta and a big bowl of warm custard. Junhui has a small portion of everything, and is delighted to find a 50p coin hidden amongst the warm sponge of his Christmas pudding, wiping it down carefully to store with his other Christmas gifts.

Much later, after they collapse into chairs in the sitting room to watch Nativity 2: Danger in the Manger, after Minghao and Junhui have been put to bed, after Hansol unbelievably starts snacking on sausage rolls and biscuits, Seungkwan wraps his arms around Jihoon from behind as they start up the grand staircase towards their bedroom. He’s warm and loose from one too many glasses of mulled wine, but Jihoon is the same way from one too many glasses of shandy, so he humours Seungkwan, walking them from side to side down the corridor and singing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas under his breath. When they reach the bedroom door, Jihoon slides out from under Seungkwan’s arms to push him up against the closed door, hands patting his hips fondly.

“Hi,” Seungkwan says, smiling down at him and resting his arms over his shoulders. “You’re cute.”

He can’t help but say it. Jihoon really is cute. His cheeks are red flushed from the alcohol and he’s still humming Christmas songs to himself, even as he crowds Seungkwan close to the door, pushing up against him and sighing as he says,

“You are too. These jumpers were a cracking idea, you know.”

He plucks at the material of Jihoon’s green jumper, the pattern matching his own. “You like them?”

“I really do.”

He lowers his voice to a whisper, mindful of the kids currently asleep down the same corridor. “Would you like it if I took it off you, too?”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Jihoon says, face close, eyes trained on Seungkwan’s mouth. “But we have to do the thing first.”

“What’s that?”

Jihoon gestures upwards with a jerk of his head, and Seungkwan glances up. There’s an innocent sprig of mistletoe hung over their doorframe, spinning slightly in place. When he looks back down, Jihoon’s face is very close to his, heat radiating from his cheeks.

“Now, who could’ve put that there?” he murmurs against Jihoon’s mouth.

“Beats me,” Jihoon breathes, before pressing a slow, deep kiss to his mouth. He keeps a hold of Seungkwan’s hips, and Seungkwan snakes his arms further around Jihoon’s shoulders to pull him closer. The kiss seems to last forever, leaving Seungkwan stuck between Jihoon and the door, warm and well-kissed, sleepy and sated.

Jihoon is the one to finally pull back, relenting to the need to breathe. “I love you,” he says, voice low and sincere. “I’m really glad you came home with me. This has been the best Christmas ever.”

He leans down to peck Jihoon’s lips. “I’m so happy to be here with you. I love you so much.”

“Yeah? It’s been okay?” Jihoon asks, searching Seungkwan’s face. “You’ve had a good Christmas?”

“So good,” he says, feeling around behind him for the doorhandle. He twists it, and they spill into the bedroom behind them, hands still on each other. “Thank you so much for bringing me here. I love your family. I love this place. I love that you trusted me with all of this. I feel so lucky to have you, Hyung.”

Jihoon walks him back to the bed, sitting him down on it before climbing over him and kissing him again. He pushes him down into the blankets, and Seungkwan runs a hand through his soft hair, feeling lax and content and so, so happy.

“You don’t know how much you mean to me,” he murmurs into Seungkwan’s hair once they break apart. “Thank you so much. For everything.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he whispers.

Jihoon shakes his head, leaning out to look at him and cupping Seungkwan’s cheek with one hand. “Then keep doing that. It’s working.”

“Okay. Only if you keep kissing me like that.”

“Deal.”

He leans in for another kiss, tender and easy.