Sitting at the dinner table, surrounded by laughter and chatter, you feel a familiar weight settle in your chest. It's the pressure to please, to meet the unspoken expectations that hang heavy in the air. The team bantered as they ate. And you? You were crumbling, sitting like a wet chick.

This didn't go unnoticed. Not from Jeremy, at least. His eyes met yours, and truth be told, he was worried. He'd never say that out loud though—your relationship was complicated. Giving your thigh a small nudge, he leaned down to ask, his accent evident, "What's wrong wit'ya?"