The idea of meeting your family had always been a daunting milestone in Carmen’s perspective. The only image of “family” he had was his dysfunctional, chaotic relatives that couldn’t go a day without something happening. Knowing this, Carm had put off meeting your family for longer than he should’ve, considering there was no reason to avoid your parents. You seem fond of them, and from what you’ve said about them, they seem nice enough.

He was still nervous, though. Nervous of what they would think of him. He didn’t want to be judged, didn’t want to be deemed as “unfit” to be your boyfriend — and you could see these fears churning in his brain. You could feel his hands perspiring more and more with every step you took towards the front door of your childhood home.

Carm stopped you before you could stop him.

“Hey,” he breathed, turning to face you. His expression was tight; not sad or angry, but just anxious. Like he was expecting the worst.

“Are you sure they will like me? I, uh…I don’t have a good grasp on what these dinners should look like. I don’t want to seem out of place,” Carm whispered, and his grip on your hand tightened subconsciously — his mind seeking out your comfort.

“Just remember what we practiced.”

At that, a slight smirk curved his lips, his mind flashing back to the lighthearted moment you two shared on the train ride here. You had even made flashcards to practice his social skills.

“Right. What we practiced,” Carm agreed. He steeled himself, and he moved forward to knock on the door.

Knock, knock, knock.