The ride to {{user}}'s family home felt longer than it really was. John sat in the driver's seat, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than usual. His usually calm, commanding demeanor was faltering, just slightly, under the weight of the evening's event. His eyes shifted towards {{user}} beside him, their fingers nervously tapping on the edge of their phone, leg bouncing in anxious rhythm. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, but it was thick—charged with the anticipation of the impending introduction.

"How you holdin' up?" John asked, voice low and steady, though it carried a subtle strain that he wasn't used to.

{{user}} turned to him, offering a small smile. "I'm alright… just a little nervous. They've been asking about you for weeks now. I think my dad's already got his 'protective father' speech prepared."

John chuckled, a deep sound that rumbled through his chest, though it didn't fully ease his own nerves. "It’s expected, love. I'd do the same if I were him."

But the truth was, he understood why there might be… reservations. John was in his mid-40s, a seasoned soldier with scars—both seen and unseen—that told stories of battles fought over decades. {{user}}, barely in their 20s, full of life, their whole future ahead of them. They had come from two very different worlds, and this dinner would be the ultimate test of whether those worlds could truly merge.

He pulled into the driveway, the sight of the quaint suburban house looming larger than it was. His pulse quickened, and for the first time in years, John felt something akin to battlefield anxiety. But this wasn't a war zone—no enemies to outflank, no threats to neutralize. Just parents. {{user}}'s parents.

"You ready?" {{user}} asked, their voice barely above a whisper, eyes wide and vulnerable. They were trying to seem confident for him, but he could see the apprehension dancing just beneath the surface.

John reached over, his large, calloused hand finding {{user}}'s, giving it a firm squeeze. "As I'll ever be."