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Dad nods, like this is what he expected. “Do you think she’d let you access your money early to pay for your education?”

Lucien is quiet for a moment, thinking. I can see the wheels turning in his head. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I think she would. For school.”

“Brilliant,” Dad says, and he’s smiling now. “Then why don’t we work on that request? I have someone who can help you navigate the legal side of it. We can get started after the new year.”

“Okay,” Lucien says, and his voice is smaller than it normally is. “Thank you.”

Under the table, I kick him gently. When he looks at me, I give him a look that says, See? We’re figuring this out.

He kicks me back, softer, and the corner of his mouth lifts.

After breakfast, we open presents in the living room. My family doesn’t do elaborate gifts because we’re practical people. Mom gets Dad a new briefcase. Dad gets Mom a set of kitchen knives she’s been wanting. They get me some new clothes, a book I mentioned wanting, a gift card to my favorite bookstore.

I give them framed photos I had printed. One of all of us from last summer, one of just Mom and Dad from their anniversary dinner. They both tear up a little, which makes me feel good.

Lucien sits beside me on the couch, looking slightly overwhelmed by the whole thing. I can tell he’s not used to this, the simple sincerity, the lack of performance. His family probably does Christmas very differently. Bigger, more expensive, more for show.

When we’re done, Mom and Dad start cleaning up the wrapping paper, and I turn to Lucien.

“Come with me. I want to show you something.”

He follows me down the hall to Dad’s home office. I go straight to the giant mahogany desk and start opening drawers.

“What are you doing?” Lucien asks, and there’s panic in his voice. He shoots a furtive glance at the door.

I ignore him. I know what I’m looking for. I rifle through the top drawer. Old pens, paper clips, rubber bands, a stapler that doesn’t work anymore. Not there. I try the next drawer down. More junk. Random cables. A roll of stamps.

Third drawer. There.

I close my fist around it and turn to face Lucien. He’s standing in the middle of the room, confused.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Your Christmas present.”

His eyebrows draw together. “Cam.”

“Hold out your hand.”

He does, and I drop the key into his palm.

It’s a simple metal key, cut at the hardware store.

Lucien stares at it, turning it over in his fingers. “Is this?”

“It’s a key to the apartment,” I say, stepping closer to him, my heart pounding. “Please?”

He looks up at me, and his eyes are shining. “Cam.”

“You’re not a burden,” I say fiercely. “You’re not an imposition. You’re mine, and I’m your home now. Okay?”

His face crumples. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. His eyes fill with tears that spill over immediately, tracking down his cheeks. He tries to speak, but his breath catches and then turns into a sob he can’t hold back.

“Lucien,” I whisper, reaching for him.

He shakes his head, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes like he can stop the tears by force. But they keep coming. His shoulders shake. His whole body trembles.

“I’ve never,” he starts, but his voice breaks. He tries again. “I’ve never had that. Not one that I wanted.”