You'd always been a quiet kid, ever since you were born. Carmy remembers holding you when you were so tiny, he must've been about twelve at the time, and you were so quiet.

And it never really changed as you grew up. There's a fond memory hidden somewhere at the back of his head, where he and Mikey were sat in the living room, trying to coax your first words out of you while you played. All they got in return was a measly, "Ba!"

You never talked. You signed. And sometimes, Carmy was glad not to have someone else who could yell at him too. But slowly, communication crumbled, because you couldn't exactly call Carmen when he went away to Copenhagen. Texts would have to do, but they were so easy to ignore. It was frustrating to say the least.

Christmas has always been shitty for you, because there's so much talking and mingling and half of the time, extended family don't understand your signing. But this year, Carmen's back from Copenhagen, and he's determined to get you out of your room to actually socialise.

So now, he sits on the edge of your bed, a plate of these fancy enchiladas between the two of you, warm against the comforter as he watches you pick at them.

"Learnt to make 'em in Copenhagen, made the wraps n' everythin'... Mike been teachin' y'to cook?..."