#wishing the girls a happy harrynukkah

[dawnsbreaking]

Harry spends Hanukkah Shabbat with Rose's family.

oneshot pairing: Harry/CMC Rose word count: 4,818 read on ao3 want to be tagged in future works?

NOTES this is *technically* a sequel to 'different, but the same', but it can be read as a one-shot! there are a few references to Rafi, but you just have to know know that this is a post-villa fic in which Rose (MC) won Love Island in a couple with Rafi.

also, this is a Hanukkah fic and I am not sure that many people in the fandom are Jewish, so all of the terms that aren't defined in the text are defined below. the fic is entirely in Harry's POV so as to be easily understood from an outside perspective.

thank you for reading, if you do! this is one of those fics that was written because I, the author, am the target audience. so it's maybe a bit more niche than anything I've posted before.

*** glossary Shabbat/Shabbos - (Shabbat is the proper term, Shabbos is yiddish, used colloquially) a weekly holiday celebrated by Jewish people from sundown on Friday night to sundown on Saturday night. if the holiday is fully observed, certain tasks are forbidden in order to keep the holiday. in reform communities like mine (and the Prichard's), observance varies. some reform Jews may choose just to limit use of electronic devices in the spirit of the holiday, like Rose does in the fic. Chag sameach - (khag sam-ay-agh) lit. happy festival/happy holiday

“Good morniiing,” Rose drawled, traipsing into Harry’s new office with her coat slung over her arm. It was snowing outside and Rose still had a few telltale flecks of white dusting the ends of her hair that hadn’t been covered by her coat’s hood. She was still carrying her work bag, too. She must have come straight to him from outside. She was unusually chipper for so early in the morning.

Harry leaned back in his desk chair, regarding her with a questioning look. The giant office chair he’d inherited from his boss made him feel just a bit like a Bond villain. He’d be right at home with a mean, white cat in his lap.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Enjoying the weather?” Rose asked, avoiding his eyes as she crossed to the window. The sill was wide enough that she could perch comfortably against the glass and watch the steady traffic six floors below them.

When Harry had taken over as lead for his current project, his boss had pulled strings to get him an office on the same floor as Rose’s. Carl Sullivan, chief operations manager for LI-Com, had turned out to be a closeted superfan of Love Island. He’d told Harry on one or two occasions that Rose had been one of his favorite winners of any past season. That only barely lessened the blow of Carl having forgotten Harry’s appearance on the show completely.

Harry watched the snow fall just past his girlfriend, waiting for her to tell her why she was acting strange.

“I’m not a fan of snow,” he said, prompted by a too-long silence.

She whirled around, finally meeting his eyes, flashing an impish grin. “Me neither.”

“You’re acting weird, Rosie.” He reached for her hand and brushed his thumb over her knuckles. It wasn’t often anymore that Harry had to worry about Rose being upset. They hardly fought and even when they did disagree, both of them were too honest to let things build for very long before addressing the issue. It helped that Rose knew he could see right through her.

Rose frowned, caught in playing up a carefree attitude Harry knew she didn’t mean. “I’m just a bit nervous to ask you something.”

This was a surprise. They’d been together officially for seven months and had overcome most of the big milestones, leaving very little to be nervous about. Harry had met her brother, she’d had dinner with Harry’s family when they’d come to visit. His parents loved her. That only left…

“The professors want you to come to Shabbos dinner during Hanukkah,” Rose blurted, confirming his suspicion before the thought had even fully formed.

The professors were Rose’s parents. Rose’s mother was a literature professor who primarily taught courses on Shakespeare while her father taught in the anthropology department at the same university. Rose and her siblings referred to them affectionately by this joint nickname, as did most of their family friends.

Harry had yet to meet the professors, but Rose spoke of them fondly. He didn’t see a reason for Rose’s nerves.

“I’d love to.” He dropped her hand, reaching instead to smooth the crease between her brows with his thumb. “What are you worried about?”

“Hanukkah’s late this year, Shabbos overlaps with Christmas eve.”

Harry failed to see the problem. He liked Christmas, sure, but spending a good portion of his childhood in the foster system had placed his expectations for the holiday nigh underground. He also enjoyed the parts of Rose’s religion that had seeped into his life through her. He’d thoroughly enjoyed the few Shabbat dinners she’d hosted at her apartment when her brother was in town.

He liked eating the food that Rose and John cooked and watching Rose light the candles, as well as the quiet evenings together that followed.

Growing up reform with lenient parents, Rose didn’t strictly keep the rules of the Shabbat, but she occasionally enforced a no-electronics rule for the weekends she held dinners. To an outsider like Harry, the traditions were ideal. Good food, no work, no outside distractions.

The only downside was not getting to play video games, but Rose and John made up for it by playing Magic the Gathering or short Dungeons and Dragons campaigns with him—analogue nerdiness, it seemed, was totally kosher.

“I don’t mind,” Harry said. “My parents are staying for Christmas in York and I wasn’t planning on travelling to see them this year.”

“You’re sure?” Rose perked up a bit but, as always, she was slow to trust an easy break.

Harry knew that the Holiday season was annoying to Rose and that she harbored some frustration about constantly being overlooked as someone who doesn’t celebrate Christmas. Her hesitation made sense, it might seem like a hard ask to prioritize one holiday over another.

He also wondered if, on some level, she saw this as another milestone itself. It could be difficult, he imagined, to let someone into a tradition that so few people understood.

“Of course I’m sure,” Harry said, choosing his words carefully. “I’m excited to meet your parents. And Juliet.”

He had yet to meet Rose’s younger sister, either. From what Rose had told him, he knew that she was in her first year of University, studying Marine Biology and she sounded every bit as fun and interesting as her siblings.

Rose rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure I’m ready for you to meet Jules. She’s probably got dirt on me that she’s dying to share.”

“That’s exactly why I’m excited to meet her,” Harry teased.

“God. Okay.” Rose laughed, standing from the windowsill. “I’ll let them know we’re coming, then.”

She glanced sideways, checking through the glass door of Harry’s office for watchful eyes. Finding the coast clear, she bent down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

Rose was always chaste when she kissed him in the office and people were around, she was a rule-follower to the highest degree. Harry only sometimes wished she’d indulge him in being less careful.

She pulled away. No such luck today.

“Love you,” she said, ruffling his hair.

Harry grumbled, “Do you have to do that every morning?”

“I do.” Rose laughed. “It falls right back into place, doesn’t it?”

His coarse hair required very little styling, it fell in whichever direction it had dried. 

“Even still.”

She gave him an expectant look and he relented. He could never pretend to be mad at her for very long, even if it was funny.

“Love you, too. Give the professors my regards.”

“Attaboy. Will do.”

She was out the door, leaving just the faintest trace of her glow lingering around Harry. He was excited for this step in their relationship. He loved her, and meeting her parents and participating in her traditions were both new ways to experience her. He couldn’t wait to see his favorite person in a whole new light.

-

The train journey from London to Cambridge was just over an hour. Harry played games on his phone while Rose listened to an audiobook. She couldn’t read on the train or in a carwithout getting sick so, any time they traveled, she listened to books while resting her head on Harry’s shoulder, watching whatever game he was playing.

FuryStone mobile wasn’t as fun as the real thing, but it was good for passing the time.

“Are you nervous?” Rose asked, pausing her book when they were nearing their stop.

Harry considered for a moment, taking Rose’s hand and threading their fingers together. She’d painted her nails one of the usual colors—light blue, as opposed to her other favorite, sage green. He loved all the things about her that were becoming predictable to him now. The way she alternated nail polish colors and the way she checked on in him when she needed reassurance herself.

“I’m a bit nervous to meet your parents, yeah, but I’m mostly excited,” he said. “Are you alright?”

She squeezed his hand, grateful that he’d caught onto her mood. “It’s just been a bit since I’ve seen my parents. No big deal.”

“Then it’ll be alright, then?”

Harry felt her nod, her hair tickling his face as she did. She was still leaning to the side, head resting against his shoulder.

“You know how I was shy and hard to read at first?” Rose asked.

“At first?”

She let out a sharp breath, as close to a laugh as Harry was going to get under current circumstances. “Right. Well, my parents are like that. Mum’s going to ask you a hundred questions about your favorite Shakespeare play and Dad’s hardly going to speak at all.”

“What if I haven’t got a favorite Shakespeare play?”

Rose pulled away, face gravely serious. “Did you read one in school?”

“I don’t remember anything about any of them, bar maybe Romeo and Juliet.”

“Oh god, don’t say Romeo and Juliet. Despite the fact that she named two of her children after characters from Romeo and Juliet, Mum’s got some strong negative opinions. Not pleasant.”

“So, what do you suggest?”

“Hamlet. Just agree with anything she says about Ophelia or Gertrude and you’re golden.”

“And you couldn’t have given me time to study?”

Rose huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “Not worth it. She’ll lose you in the first ten seconds but she’ll probably make a comment about that being my favorite Shakespeare play and then I can save you.”

“Hamlet’s your favorite Shakespeare play?”

“That and Much Ado, every Prichard’s got to have at least one.”

“Christ.” Harry chuckled. “I feel like I’m understanding you more by the second.”

Rose glared. “How do you mean?”

“You’ve got all these idiosyncrasies—which I love—but I think I’m beginning to trace the origins of them.”

“Hah.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, also, no referring to Hanukkah as ‘Jewish Christmas’ or anything of the like. That’s annoying and my dad will lecture you on the historical significance of the holiday. You’ll get a few words out of him but at great cost.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the train pulled into the station, Rose checked her phone. Her brother and sister were supposed to be picking them up.

“Jules says they’re already here,” Rose said. “Bless her. If it were just John in charge of being on time we’d have been waiting for ages.”

Outside, standing against the bumper of a little blue coupe was John and Juliet, recognizable only by the fact that she looked like if Rose were shrunken a bit and dipped in pink. The mousey brown hair shared by the twins was missing on Juliet, instead her hair was bleached and dyed a convincing strawberry blonde. Her bright raspberry coat was made even brighter by the light snow falling around them.

“Jules! Your hair!” Rose shouted, taking faster yet still careful steps toward her sister. So the color was new.

Juliet smiled, flipping the shoulder-length curls with the back of a well-manicured hand. “It’s cute, right?”

While the girls caught up, Harry clapped John on the shoulder. “Good to see you, man.”

“You too!” He smiled wide. Speaking with John Prichard was a little like looking at Rose in a funhouse mirror. If Rose’s usual energy level was a four or five, her brother broke the scale. He was lively, bordering on hyperactive. But the twins had the same crinkles around their eyes when they grinned.

He’d heard stories of Rose and John’s childhood escapades, and about John’s tendency to overshadow his sister in social situations. Harry saw that first hand, too. The insecurities Rose talked about sometimes made perfect sense when confronted with her twin.

Of course she didn’t feel like the brightest person in the room when she’d spent most of her life in lock-step with someone who naturally demanded so much attention.

Harry had grown fond of John, though. Even if he reserved the right to choose Rose as his favorite Prichard twin forever and always.

John asked, “Did Rosie warn you about Shakespeare?”

“Yep. Hamlet’s my favorite.”

“Is it really?” He bounced on the balls of his feet with the question. Golden retriever, this boy was. Full of energy.

Harry laughed. “Nope, but Ro’s got good taste.”

“Harry.” Rose pulled him by the hand over to Juliet, disregarding her brother entirely. “This is my sister.”

“Hello,” he said, holding out a hand for her to shake.

“Jules, this is Harry.”

“The boyfriend!” Jules gave his hand a firm pump, she’d put every businessman Harry had ever met to shame. “It’s nice to finally meet you!”

It was almost a farce, seeing his sweet, gentle, analytical Rose next to her own flesh and blood—two of the most energetic personalities he’d ever met.

The image became even more strange when Harry met the professors. In direct contrast to John and Juliet, Barbara and Martin Prichard were exactly what Harry would expect from Rose’s relatives.

They were shy introducing themselves, soft voices and careful smiles. Harry hoped they would warm up to him as he got to know them, he couldn’t imagine that they’d possibly stay so reserved all weekend.

There was also the other thing. The reality television consideration. Harry tried his level best not to think about the fact that the professors once watched him make out with their daughter on a roof terrace. And a daybed. And there was that time in the pool…

“Everything okay, baby?” Rose squeezed his hand as she pulled him aside to put their things away and wash up for dinner.

Rose led him down the hall and into a bedroom. The walls were painted a powdery blue and a shelf of young adult books stood in the corner. Otherwise, the room housed only a double bed and nightstand.

“Your old bedroom?” Harry asked, hopeful he’d get a good snoop in before their visit was finished. 

“Kinda. John and I switched a lot.”

He gestured to the bookshelf. “Your books?”

“Mostly.” Rose tried again, “Are you alright?”

“Just remembering how much we made out on the telly.” Harry shrugged, though the warmth of a blush found his cheeks. “Forgot about that ’til just a second ago.”

“I…” Rose giggled. “I’ve got to put that so far out of mind. I think Johnny made them skip steamier bits, at least.”

“Were we ever steamy enough to skip, you reckon?” He looped an arm around her waist, pulling her in. The question was mostly rhetorical, he knew that they’d only done just enough to make him embarrassed to meet her family. The real steamy bits would have been later, with Rafi.

Rose completed the embrace, tucking her head in the crook of his neck, soft giggles of embarrassment escaping as the absurdity of the situation occurred to her.

“I promise my parents aren’t being weird because of all the times they saw us snogging on Love Island,” she said, lips grazing Harry’s collarbone as she spoke. “They really are just aloof at first.”

“Do you think they’ll like me by the time we leave?” Just beneath the diverting tone of the question, there was a real hint at a fear there. Rose’s parents hadn’t just seen him kissing her on Love Island. They’d also seen him pieing her off for other girls, breaking up with her for silly reasons, angry and jealous when she chose Rafi over him. He wanted to make a good impression with the Prichards, but a worse version of him had gotten a head start.

“Baby.”

Harry loved when Rose called him that. Her soft voice instantly put him more as ease. He pulled her tighter to him, breathing her in.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think I was nervous before but...“ He trailed off.

“I promise they love you already. They hear how fondly I talk about you.” Rose kissed his cheek and pulled back, looking into his eyes, cheeks tinged pink from the effort of sincerity.

“Alright.” Harry gave her a decisive nod, full of newfound determination at her encouragement. “Let’s get cleaned up, then.”

-

It only took Rose’s mother an hour of mingling in the kitchen to ask Harry about his favorite Shakespeare play. He answered as Rose had instructed, earning Barbara’s approval.

Rose swooped into the conversation before her mum could get too deep into the weeds of a dissertation on the women of Hamlet. “Are we making challah or did you buy it?”

She was rolling up her sleeves and rounding the kitchen island after a mixing bowl on the counter as if she anticipated the answer. When Barbara confirmed that, yes, they were going to bake challah fresh, Rose clapped her hands together.

“I’ll do it, then. Clear out.”

As Harry made for the living room with John, Rose stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Not you, you can help,” she said. In direct contrast to her usual characteristic meekness, Rose seemed at ease with her family, holding her own and taking charge of interactions. He liked seeing the sense of humor that he usually shared with her in private come out for other people she cared for, too.

Harry washed his hands as Rose instructed and joined her at the counter where she was already assembling ingredients for dough from the cabinets and fridge.

“Doing alright?” She asked, passing him a metal whisk and a small bowl.

“Doing alright,” Harry affirmed.

Rose’s parents were already more cordial with him after a short time, so he reckoned he’d make it through the holiday dinner unscathed. He focused his attention on following Rose’s instructions, surprised she could put together bread entirely without a recipe.

“I love doing the cooking at things like this,” Rose said, finally breaking the silence as she folded the mixture in a bowl and dough began to form.

Harry hadn’t done much of the work, but he enjoyed the quiet moment with her while her family chatted without them a room away.

“For the same reason you like working at all the parties you attend?” He punctuated the question with a tap on her nose, purposefully leaving a tiny flour fingerprint.

Rose frowned, leaning over to wipe the dust on the shoulder of Harry’s t-shirt without missing a beat. “Exactly. it’s good stage business.”

“Stage business?”

“That’s what John calls it, at least. Like, stuff actors do on stage to seem busy. It’s nice to have something to do for the sake of it.”

“Ah.” Harry didn’t have a great grasp on the depth of Rose’s social anxiety. He’d seen the edges of it and heard her talk about it, but the thought of what she might be feeling always surprised him. She was put-together on the outside, so he never quite knew what to think when she shared coping strategies for problems he wouldn’t even guess that she had.

It didn’t help that he wasn’t an anxious person, that he couldn’t even guess at her feelings from personal experience. He was completely in the dark with no choice but to accept the information as it came to him and do his best to mitigate the effects when Rose allowed it.

He wished more than anything that he’d understood this when they first met. There may have been less heartache for both of them if he’d known about her tendency to duck and evade conflict or perceived her discomfort in social situations enough keep her from being overwhelmed.

For the most part, Harry did his best not to harbor regrets about how he and Rose came together. He’d needed the extra time between the villa and the present to become the right man for her, and she’d needed the time with Rafi to discern what it was she needed from a partner. Even still, it was tempting to imagine all of the ways he might have mitigated harm if he’d been a bit less self-absorbed.

“Would you wash these while I knead the dough?” Rose asked, gesturing with an elbow toward the bowls and utensils they’d used as she spread a layer of flour out on the countertop.

Harry nodded, taking the dishes to the sink, wondering presently if she was assigning stage business for the anxiety he’d expressed earlier.

-

With the challah sorted—Jules insisted that she do the braid instead of the elder Prichard sister—Harry and Rose went to the living room where John was engaging in a playful argument with his parents while scrolling through Netflix.

"We always watch the David Tennant one when we're together, I've seen it a billion times." Rose jumped in, catching the gist of the disagreement immediately. "We watch that one because it's good. I'm completely game."

"Ugh." John rolled his eyes with a great measure of drama before settling his gaze intently on Harry. "We should let the guest have a say." Harry laughed. Though he wasn't entirely sure what was going on, he trusted his girlfriend's judgement. "I'm going to side with Rosie, sorry."

"Dammit."

"You're outnumbered, kid." Barbara stood from the couch, smiling at having gotten her way. Harry recognized the expression from his own opinionated Prichard.

"I'm going to start dinner," she said, "but unless we want to keep Shabbat, I think we should follow tradition." "Exactly." Rose grinned, taking a seat on the couch and motioning for Harry to join her. "Tradition." Harry leaned over, murmuring to Rose for clarification, "What did I just agree to?" "We're watching a BBC dramatization of Hamlet after dinner. It's tradition."

"Oh good," Harry chuckled, "I'll finally get to see my favorite play."

John wheeled around, eyes wide with a facetious look of fear. "Don't let mum hear you."

At that moment, Rose's father, Walter, spoke, looking up over the top of a paperback science fiction novel. The man had yet to say more than five words since Harry's arrival. "Ro tells all her friends to say Hamlet. Mum sees through it anyhow."

"Then why does she still ask?" Rose ssked, though she didn't seem surprised to learn that her Shakespeare coaching had been in vain.

Walter shrugged. "S'pose she's holding out hope someone’ll say Romeo and Juliet. She loves to give that play hell."

"See." Rose took Harry's hand, giving him a playful smile. "Told you she's got nasty opinions about that one."

"Could be worse," John cut in, "she's even more weird about Macbeth—“ Rose darted a glare at her brother and he amended: “—er, the Scottish play."

It was at this point that Harry realized he was in just a bit over his head. The twins were trading inside jokes about Shakespeare, laughing about theatre traditions and their parents' superstitions. Strangely, though, Harry wasn't uncomfortable being left out. He liked seeing Rose like this. And, even if he only understood about half of what the twins said, the cadence and animation with which the jokes were delivered was enough to make him laugh and try to follow along.

“Anyway. We’re not in the theatre, I can say Macbeth all I want,” John concluded after a short pause.

“But all the world’s a stage,” Rose argued, “so…”

“That’s enough.” John chuckled. “You’re scaring your boyfriend.”

Harry shook his head adamantly, though he realized that he must seem shell-shocked in his uncharacteristic silence. “No, I’m enjoying the banter, even if I don’t completely follow.”

“It’s bad luck to say Macbeth in the theatre,” John explained, “but Mum and Rosie insist it’s bad luck in general.”

“I didn’t think you were superstitious,” Harry teased. He squeezed Rose’s hand for emphasis, giggling at the resulting pensive glare.

“I’m not, it’s just the principal of the thing, you know?”

“Right.”

Rose blushed, scrunching her nose as she glared between Harry and her brother. “Oh, now you’re both making fun of me. Forget it.”

“Forgotten,” John quipped. He tossed one game controller at the couch where it landed just next to Harry and then another gently into his sister’s lap. “Let’s play a few rounds before dinner, yeah?”

-

After a few rounds of FuryStone—and an agonizing conversation trying to explain the lore of the game to Rose’s father, who asked strangely specific questions about the game’s fantasy world—Rose volunteered herself and Harry to set the table.

Rose did most of the work, particular about the aesthetic of the place setting, while Harry stood back in the kitchen, chatting with Jules.

“Is this your first time celebrating Hanukkah?” Jules asked, rifling through a drawer in search of a box of matches.

“Yeah, my family did a non-denominational sort of Christmas growing up. They’re atheists, though.”

“Ah, well it’s nice of you to spend your Christmas here with Ro.” Jules paused, examining Harry as if sizing him up for what she was about to say. Finally, seeing him fit for the remark, she added: “She’s not invited anyone home for Jewish holidays before. It’s sweet she feels comfortable for you to be included.”

Harry could feel himself blushing. He gave Jules a noncommittal thanks and made a mental note to run this information past Rose later. He understood, though, the impulse to guard things like family and culture.

It wasn’t something he’d ever considered before meeting Rose, but he wanted to let her into those parts of his life, too, when he got the chance. Perhaps his parents would let them visit to celebrate the Lunar New Year in January. If not, he thought, he and Rose could still celebrate together at home. The idea excited him, the beginnings of building a life and sharing traditions with Rose.

“Jules, would you mind if Harry and I did the menorah candles?” Rose asked, ducking in from the dining room. “I know you usually do because you’re the youngest, but—”

“Nah, I’m not bothered,” Jules interjected, “I’ll do the Shabbos ones if Mum doesn’t want to.”

“Right, then, we’re all set up.” Rose checked her watch. “Sundown is soon.”

Jules took her hint, handing Rose the box of matches before moving quickly to gather the rest of the family in the living room. Left alone, Rose came to Harry’s side, wrapping her arms around his torso.

“I love you,” she said, speaking into his chest.

Harry chuckled with surprise, squeezing her shoulders. “I haven’t done anything.”

She looked up at him, eyes twinkling. “I just love that you slot right in with my family.”

“Hardly. I feel a bit out of place.”

“No, I just mean... I don’t know—” Rose shook her head, frowned as she tried to find the words. “There’s no one I’d rather have here with me. Thank you for being here.”

“Ah.” Harry swallowed, overwhelmed just a touch by her declaration. He managed finally, “I love you too.”

-

Getting to help light the menorah felt only a little less special to Harry after Rose explained that it was a task assigned to children in their house. He didn’t care, though, he was excited to have a hand in the tradition.

It was the fifth night of Hanukkah, which meant that they’d only be lighting six candles. One, Rose explained, was the shamash or the helper candle, used to light the other five.

After listening to Rose’s family recite the blessing, Harry and Rose lit the candles. He held the shamash as Jules lit it with a match, then Rose covered his hand with hers to guide him lighting the other five. It was a bit cumbersome, since he was left-handed and therefore obligated to use his left hand while Rose helped with her right, but they managed it without major issue—Rose standing just in front of Harry so they could reach more easily.

By the time they finished, Harry was beaming, watching the lights flicker in the windowsill.

“Chag sameach,” Rose said, kissing his cheek. “Now, let’s have dinner.”

A similar ritual to the menorah lighting took place at the dinner table, this time one Harry was familiar with. The family again recited another blessing while Jules lit the two Shabbat candles on their holders placed at the center of the table. Then, they blessed the bread and wine before finally having dinner.

Latkes were Harry's favorite, little potato pancakes that he paired, like Rose, with sour cream. John favored applesauce with them, to which the rest of the family greatly objected.

In direct contrast to the picture Harry's anxiety had painted for him earlier in the day, Rose's parents were completely at ease--if a little quiet--around him. They asked him questions about his job and how he and Rose had come to be reacquainted, all of which were fun and easy to answer. They also tactfully avoided any mention of Love Island, giving Harry the benefit of having grown out of his broadcasted flaws. In the light of the candles, this moment was better than his best case scenario.

He took Rose's hand under the table and held it in his lap. He loved being hers.

thank you again for reading <3 if you are Jewish, happy Hanukkah! happy holidays, otherwise!! I hope to have more holiday fics out soon but I was happy to get this out on schedule. thank you, also, to all of the sweet people in the server that encouraged this little bit of self-indulgence, it was definitely a good break from the other things I'm working on.