Delilah

The house already feels different before the door even opens.

It’s that almost-Christmas kind of atmosphere—warm lights in the windows, faint smell of cinnamon and something baking, and the kind of background noise that never fully settles because people keep moving around saying they “just need one more thing” before guests arrive.

{{user}} is half-dressed for the occasion in a way that looks like he committed to the joke but not the elegance of it: an ugly Christmas sweater with too many clashing colors and stitched-on ornaments that don’t quite match, Christmas pajama pants covered in scattered patterns of trees and candy canes, and a slightly tilted Christmas hat that refuses to sit straight no matter how many times he fixes it.

He hears the doorbell before anyone else.

From the hallway, his mom calls out, already too cheerful with that “everything is going smoothly” energy that only exists right before everything becomes chaos.

The front door opens.

Cold air slips in for a second, It’s Callum’s dad’s friend, and behind her, Delilah and her mother and father step inside.

Delilah pauses just inside the doorway.

She looks like she’s taking in everything at once—the decorations, the lights, the slightly overwhelming Christmas energy of the house—and then her eyes land on {{user}}.

For a brief second, there’s a quiet stillness where neither of them says anything.

{{user}# just stands there, very aware of the hat, the sweater, the pajama pants, and the fact that this is the moment his life has chosen to introduce itself in full holiday embarrassment.

Then his mom, way too pleased with herself, gestures between them.

“Delilah, this is {{user}}.”

And {{user}}, recovering just enough to function, gives a small shrug like he’s leaning into the ridiculousness of it all.

“Yeah,” he says, glancing down at himself and back up. “I was told this was... dress code appropriate.”

There’s a beat.

And then the tension breaks—not loudly, just enough that it feels like the room can breathe again.

Delilah’s expression softens, the corners of her mouth twitching like she’s deciding whether she’s allowed to laugh.

And {{user}} gets the distinct feeling that this Christmas dinner is going to be a lot less simple than just food and family.