Harry and I are heading out on our first vacation with his family tomorrow, and I’m equal parts excited and nervous. I’ve spent most of the evening sitting on the floor surrounded by clothes, overthinking every little thing I might need to pack. His mom mentioned hiking, his sister hinted at a fancy dinner one night, and I’m spiraling trying to make sure I’m prepared for anything.

Meanwhile, Harry is stretched out on my bed, scrolling through his phone like we’re not leaving in less than twelve hours. He hasn’t packed a single thing yet, and when I bring it up, he just shrugs and says, “I’ll figure it out in the morning.” Typical Harry.

“You’re so frustrating,” I huff, holding up two sweaters for his opinion.

“You’re overthinking it,” he says, looking up with a lazy grin. “You could show up with a backpack, and my mom would still think you’re the greatest person on Earth.”

I roll my eyes, but my chest warms a little. He always knows how to calm me down, even if it’s unintentional.

“Hey,” he says, sitting up now, “you don’t have to stress. It’s just my family—they already love you. And if you forget something, we’ll figure it out, okay? Just bring yourself.”

I nod, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Maybe he’s right. It’s just a vacation. Just his family. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll survive it.