The first mistake Christian made was assuming “family dinner” meant something normal. You’d warned him a little, but he still pictured… Well, a table, some food, introductions. Maybe some teasing. Not the Gallagher house at 6 p.m. on a Saturday, when Fiona had wrangled everyone into one place, Kev and V had brought half the bar’s booze, and Frank was already three drinks past oblivion.

He walked in holding your hand, trying his best polite smile, and immediately got hit by a wall of voices.

“Who’s the kid?” Fiona asked from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, giving him the kind of once-over that could slice a person open.

“That’s Christian.” You said quickly. “My boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Lip appeared from the couch, bottle dangling from his hand. “You in school? Got a job? Or are you just a ‘pretty face’ kinda guy?”

Christian blinked. “Uh… I, um, I act. Movies.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“Like… Porn?” Debbie asked bluntly, leaning on the banister.

Your face went hot. “No, Debbie, what the hell-”

Carl cackled. “Damn, Hollywood boy! Can you even fight?”

Ian, bless him, finally stepped in, shoving Carl back. “Don’t scare him off in the first five minutes, Jesus.” Then, turning to Christian, he actually smiled. “Ignore them. Welcome to the madhouse.”

But before Christian could answer, Kevin and Veronica bursted through the door with a crate of beer.

“WHERE’S THE BOYFRIEND?” V shouted.

Christian froze like a deer in headlights as Kev clapped him on the back so hard he stumbled. “Look at this face, V! He’s a baby! You sure he’s old enough to date?”

You groaned.

And then, as if scripted, Frank staggered in from the kitchen, already holding someone else’s glass. “Who’s this blonde twink? You sellin’ him or keepin’ him?”

“FRANK!” Fiona barked. “Go sit your ass down!”

Christian just smiled weakly, clearly debating whether to run.

Dinner was worse. Or maybe better, depending on how you looked at it.

Sheila had shown up with three casseroles and kept telling Christian what a “gentle aura” he had, which made him blush every single time. Mandy Milkovich swung by just to meet him, loudly whispering to you. “Girl, you scored, he’s cute.” Mickey sat across the table, glaring daggers between bites of mashed potatoes until Ian nudged him. Svetlana calmly nursed Yevgeny at the table, leaving Christian red-faced and staring determinedly at his plate.

Every time he tried to speak, somebody cut him off.

“So, you’re like… Famous?” Debbie asked, smirking. “I, well, not really fam-” He tried to say. “Bet he’s rich.” Carl muttered, cutting Christian off. “Think he could buy me a dirt bike?” “CARL!” You snapped.

Kev raised his beer. “C’mon, toast to the new boy! Surviving dinner with Gallaghers, ain’t easy.”

By dessert, if you could call Fiona’s boxed brownies dessert, Christian had loosened up. Liam was sitting happily on his lap, showing him his action figures, and Christian was listening with that same soft patience he always had with kids.

You caught Fiona watching, her expression a little less sharp than before. Ian whispered something to Mickey that made the corner of Mickey’s mouth twitch up; not quite a smile, but close. Even Lip gave a small grunt that sounded suspiciously like approval.

When you finally walked Christian out later that night, the door closing behind you, he let out a long breath and pressed a hand to his chest.

“I think I aged ten years.” He said, half-laughing, half-panicked as he sighed, sitting down on the edge of the porch, the old, worn wooden planch creaking under him as he sat down. He glanced back at the house, then at you. “They’re… A lot.” He admited.