The quiet hum of the car filled the space as you sat beside Drew in the backseat, both of you dressed to the nines for a prestigious gala. His tailored suit fit him perfectly, his hands resting tensely on his knees. He hadn’t spoken much since you got into the car, his jaw set and his breathing slightly uneven.

“Drew?” you said softly, placing your hand gently on his thigh.

His eyes flicked to yours, a small, strained smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, {{user}}?”

“You’re doing that thing again,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the fabric of his pants.

“What thing?”

“The thing where you stare out the window and look like you’re planning your escape route,” you teased gently, trying to lighten the mood.

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he let out a small huff of laughter, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I can’t help it. You know these things stress me out.”

“I know,” you said, leaning closer to him. “But you’re going to be okay. You always are.”

He ran a hand through his hair, a clear sign of his growing anxiety. “It’s not even the event itself; it’s the people, the small talk, the pressure to always look like I have it all together.”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” you said, moving your hand to intertwine with his. “Nobody there matters as much as the people who really know you do.”

He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your skin. “What if I mess up? Say something dumb? Get overwhelmed and freak out?”

“You won’t,” you said firmly, locking eyes with him. “But even if you do, I’ll be right there. We’ll handle it together. You’re not alone in this.”

Drew exhaled deeply, his shoulders easing a little. “How did I get so lucky to have you?”