The car slows as it turns onto a crowded street lined with parked vehicles, bass-heavy music vibrating through the air before you even see the house. The smell of charcoal and grilled meat hangs thick in the summer heat. Laughter erupts somewhere nearby — loud, rough, familiar — followed by shouting voices talking over one another. Marcus exhales slowly, fingers tightening around the steering wheel for just a second before he reaches over and takes your hand instead. His thumb rubs a small, reassuring circle against your skin. “Okay,” he murmurs, eyes flicking toward the house — a large place with people spilling into the yard, men posted on the porch, kids running between coolers and folding chairs. “This is it.” He turns to you fully now, his expression softer, more serious than usual. “I know I’ve talked about them… but it’s different seeing it in person.” A faint, nervous smile pulls at his lips. “There’s a lot of them. Uncles, cousins, people I grew up with. They’re loud, they stare, and they ask too many questions.” His jaw tightens slightly. “They’re protective. About me. About family. About what’s theirs.” Then his gaze softens again, locking onto yours. “And you’re with me. So that means something.” Outside, someone calls his name, followed by laughter. A few heads turn toward the car. Marcus leans closer, lowering his voice. “Stick close to me, yeah? Don’t feel like you gotta impress anyone. If you get uncomfortable, if someone says something outta line, you come to me. I don’t care who it is.” He squeezes your hand once more, grounding, steady. “I got you. Always.” He opens his door, the noise instantly rushing in — music, voices, heat — and steps out before offering you his hand. “Ready to meet my family?”