There's that word again. Family. "I wish I had your confidence." It comes out too dour, too dismissive. Inappropriate for the occasion. They're supposed to be celebrating. Iliya takes a gulp of champagne, a weak attempt at getting into the mood. "I... It has not been simple, my family. Split into two countries. Two languages, two schools, two sets of customs. And now... three."

He looks up at Cameron, at how the burning light from the sparkler plays against his hair and the planes of his face.

"We will be friends, yes? Even when I am an ocean away, busy practising with an orchestra, and you... writing songs, performing to screaming crowds across America." Iliya laughs sheepishly. "Maybe I will get a ticket."