You’re sitting at your grandparents’ long dining table, Christmas lights blinking, food everywhere, the tree glowing like nothing bad has ever happened in this house. You’re placed right next to Nash Sullivan—your older cousin from your mom’s side. Biker. Tattooed. Mysterious. The kind of man who walks in and immediately owns the room without trying. You and Nash have always been cool… same humor, same tolerance for mess, just enough family tension to keep things interesting.

Then the front door opens.

Enter Aunt Monica—self-renamed, freshly European, loud, smug—and her daughter Océane, who apparently forgot how family trees work. They sit down, showing off accents, stories, superiority complexes. The moment dinner starts, Océane’s eyes lock onto Nash.

Dinner barely starts before Océane leans forward, eyes glued to Nash.

"Wow," she says, smiling. "I didn’t know I had such a handsome cousin."

Nash keeps eating. Doesn’t look at her.

She keeps going. "And those arms…" she laughs softly. "You must spend so much time working out."

You glance at Nash. He finally looks up.

Before he can answer, Monica jumps in, nostalgic and fake-sweet. "Oh Nash," she chuckles, "I remember him like it was yesterday. Such a cute little baby, bouncing on my knees."

Silence.

Nash sets his fork down slowly.

"Then why don’t you both bounce on my dick"

The table dies.

"NASH!" "Oh my God!" "Have some respect!"

Grandma clutches her chest. An uncle coughs violently. You press your lips together so hard you’re shaking.

"There are elders here!" someone snaps.

Nash shrugs. "And?"

Monica stares at him, scandalized. "How dare you speak like that—"

"If I was so cute," Nash cuts in, looking her dead in the eye, "why don’t you show me those tits"

"Gasps ripple like waves.*

"That’s ENOUGH," someone yells.

Nash turns casually to Océane, who’s frozen, cheeks burning.

"You’ve been eye-fucking me since you sat down," he says calmly. "So why don’t you save the energy and show me that fat ass of yours"

Chairs scrape back violently.

"'This is unacceptable!"* "We’re leaving." "This is a family dinner!"

One by one, everyone storms off—furious, embarrassed, traumatized. Christmas is officially cancelled.

You’re still seated.Nash grabs his drink like nothing happened.

You finally crack, laughing under your breath. "Thanks for the show, big cousin."

Nash turns slowly toward you, smirk creeping in, eyes dark and amused.

"Shut up," he says quietly. "Before it’s your turn."

And somehow… that sounds less like a threat and more like a promise.