Work Text:
Orm had always known her family was large. She had grown up with that knowledge the same way one grows up knowing the sky is blue or that December in Bangkok was never truly cold. But that night, standing in the middle of her parents’ living room, surrounded by half-open suitcases, discarded wrapping paper, children running barefoot between sofas, and at least three different conversations happening at once, the size of her family felt almost comical. It was Lingling’s first Christmas with them — her first Christmas in a house that looked more like a resort than a home, all tall ceilings, warm lighting, and an absurd number of guest rooms — and yet somehow, impossibly, they had run out of space. Orm watched her aunt apologize for the fifth time while ushering a sleepy child into Orm’s bedroom, claiming it would be “just for tonight,” and felt something tight and sharp twist in her chest. Of all nights. Of all people. Lingling had smiled politely, of course she had, slipping effortlessly into that graceful, accommodating version of herself that Orm both adored and hated when it came at her own expense.
Later, much later, when the children had finally been deposited into whatever bedroom could still accommodate a small human, and the house had quieted into that post-celebration haze — Christmas lights blinking lazily, empty wine glasses abandoned on marble countertops like trophies — Orm stood in the middle of the living room staring at the couch in disbelief. The couch. In a house this big. She rubbed her face, already tired, already annoyed on Lingling’s behalf.
“I’m so sorry,” Orm said again, dragging a hand through her hair. “This is ridiculous.”
Lingling, who was very clearly operating on wine and Christmas cheer alone, flopped down onto the couch with zero hesitation. She sank into the cushions like she belonged there and patted her lap.
“Babe,” Ling said, voice slow and sweet, already smiling. “Come here.”
Orm blinked.
“…What?”
Ling patted her lap again, more insistently this time.
“Sit,” she said, completely serious.
Orm scoffed, but her resolve crumbled almost instantly. She sat down on Ling’s lap anyway, arms crossed, posture stiff with indignation, while Ling wrapped both arms around her waist like she’d just won something.
“This is not funny,” Orm muttered.
Ling hummed happily.
“It’s a little funny.”
Orm sighed.
“It’s your first Christmas with my family. You shouldn’t be sleeping on a couch.”
Ling shifted beneath her, squeezing her lightly.
“You say that like I’m suffering,” Ling replied. “I’m very comfortable.”
Orm glanced down at her.
“You’re a little… light after the wine, aren’t you?” Orm said, lowering her voice, trying — and failing — not to smile.
Ling looked up at her, eyes bright, expression abertamente satisfeita.
“Mmh,” she hummed. “I think so.”
Orm arched an eyebrow.
“How much did you drink?”
Ling shrugged lazily, one arm tightening around Orm’s waist.
“I was talking to your uncle,” she said, like that explained everything. “We were laughing a lot. And then suddenly my glass was empty. And then full again. And then…” She paused, thinking hard. “I think I almost finished a bottle by myself.”
Orm froze.
“…What?”
Ling smiled, unbothered.
“I didn’t notice,” she said cheerfully. “I was having fun. I feel good.”
Orm let out a soft, incredulous laugh and shook her head.
“I corrupted you,” she said. “My parents are going to blame me.”
Ling burst into laughter, the sound warm and unrestrained, her head tipping back against the couch.
“You absolutely did,” she said between laughs. “And I regret nothing.”
Orm watched her like that — loose, glowing, completely unguarded — and something in her chest went soft and stupid. This woman, warm and tipsy and laughing too loudly, surrounded by Christmas lights and chaos, was hers. That beautiful, silly woman was hers.
Orm leaned down, smiling to herself as she held Ling closer, already knowing she would remember this moment forever. She kissed her — slow, deliberate, full of everything she wasn’t saying out loud. Ling responded instantly, her hands sliding up Orm’s back, warm and certain, pulling her closer as if the couch, the house, the entire world outside that small pocket of light no longer existed.
Ling pressed little kisses to the corner of Orm’s mouth, then her cheek, then her jaw, unhurried and affectionate, before drifting down to her neck. Her lips lingered there, soft and warm, leaving a trail of quiet kisses that made Orm’s shoulders relax despite herself, Ling’s hands resting firmly at Orm’s waist as if she had all the time in the world. Orm let it happen for a few seconds too long before reality snapped back into place all at once — the couch, the house, the sleeping family down the hall. She pulled back with a soft laugh, her forehead resting against Ling’s.
“We can’t,” Orm murmured.
Ling blinked up at her, dazed and amused.
“Why not?”
Orm glanced around the living room, lowering her voice.
“This is my parents’ couch.”
Ling grinned, completely unapologetic.
“It’s a very nice couch.”
Orm sighed, smiling despite herself, and nudged Ling gently.
“Love.”
That did it. Ling laughed again, soft and breathy this time, and loosened her hold without protest. “Okay,” she said easily. “Okay. You’re right.”
Reluctantly, they shifted, arranging themselves more carefully. Ling lay down first, and Orm followed, turning so her back fit perfectly against Ling’s chest. Ling wrapped an arm around her immediately, pulling her close, chin resting on Orm’s shoulder. Orm exhaled, relaxing fully now, letting herself sink into the warmth. Being the little spoon came naturally, especially like this — safe, held, unbothered.
Ling pressed a slow kiss to Orm’s shoulder.
“I love you,” she murmured.
Orm smiled, eyes fluttering shut.
“I love you too.”
Another kiss followed, this one to her neck, gentle and lingering.
“I loved tonight,” Ling added quietly. “Your family. The chaos. The food. Even the couch.”
Orm laughed softly.
“I’m glad you did.”
Ling tightened her arm around her just a little.
“I hope,” she said, voice slower now, sleep beginning to creep in, “that I get to do this with you for a long time. Many, many years. Christmases. All of them.”
Orm swallowed, emotion blooming warm in her chest, and covered Ling’s hand with her own.
“You will,” she said softly. “I promise.”
Ling yawned, wide and unashamed, her voice turning lazy.
“Good,” she murmured. “Because I loved everything.”
Her breathing evened out not long after, body heavy and content behind Orm’s. Orm stayed awake a little longer, smiling to herself in the glow of the Christmas lights, held tight on her parents’ couch, knowing with absolute certainty that this — messy, imperfect, full — was exactly where she wanted to be.