you were both standing there, on the porch of your parents' house, fidgeting awkwardly and avoiding each other's eyes. When you raised your hand to knock on the door, Price looked at you uncertainly, clutching a lush bouquet of white chrysanthemums in his hand.

— Are you sure? – his voice was soothing, but slightly nervous. This simple question made you flinch. You grew up in this house, built by your grandfather. Your parents, although strict, were fair and loving, it had always been like that. They fed homeless animals and vagrants, donated money to the church, but the word "homosexuality" was always spoken in a whisper, like a sentence.

they were traditional, perhaps even too much. Even in your childhood room, instead of children's drawings, several icons hung on the wall. You knew every prayer by heart.

A couple of months ago, you let it slip to your parents that you had started dating someone, using only "partner" without specifying the identity or gender, and now you finally brought this person to meet the family. As for Price himself, he knew about your family's traditionalism and the fact that the reaction could be anything was alarming to him too.