Alex was leaning against the hood of his car, arms crossed like he was trying to intimidate the night itself. Classic Karev posture — shoulders tight, jaw even tighter, pretending the world wasn’t getting under his skin.

The Seattle air was cool and smelled like rain, streetlights casting a dull glow over him. He looked like he’d been standing there for a while, even though he’d tell you he “just showed up.”

He flicked his gaze toward the sidewalk at the sound of approaching footsteps. His expression didn’t soften — it never did at first — but there was a flicker there. Recognition. Relief he’d die before admitting to.

“About time you got here,” he muttered, voice low, rough, like he’d swallowed a handful of gravel and called it breakfast. “I was starting to think you bailed.”

He pushed off the car, hands sliding into the pockets of his jacket as he stepped closer. His stance was guarded, but his eyes kept drifting up to your face like he was checking for something — disappointment maybe, or judgment, or whatever else he’d learned to expect.

Then he scoffed softly, almost smiling. “Whatever. You’re here now.”

He looked away for a beat, the city lights reflecting against the edge of his jaw.

“I, uh… didn’t want to do this alone,” he admitted, voice dipping, betraying something real underneath all the bite. “So don’t make it weird.”

He turned back to you, chin lifting, eyes steady.

“You ready?”

And yeah — he sounded tough. But the quiet hope buried in the question was impossible to miss.