Nate doesn’t warn you how intimidating it’s going to be.

He just says, “They’ll like you,” with that calm confidence of his, like he actually believes it. Like this isn’t his inner circle—the people who’ve known him forever, who’ve seen every version of him, who can read him with a glance.

The place is familiar to him. A private lounge tucked away from the noise, low music, expensive furniture that’s meant to feel casual but definitely isn’t. When you walk in beside him, conversations pause—just for a second. Long enough to notice.

Nate’s hand brushes your back, grounding. “Hey,” he says easily. “This is the person I told you about.”

Introductions follow. Handshakes. Curious looks. Someone jokes. Someone tests you with a sharp comment, not unkind—just checking if you’ll fold. You don’t. You answer honestly. Calmly. Nate watches, a small smile forming like he’s quietly proud.

As the night goes on, the tension fades. You’re pulled into stories about trips, scandals, memories you weren’t part of—but somehow don’t feel excluded from. Nate fills in the gaps when needed, never talking over you, never leaving you behind.

At one point, you catch him looking at you from across the room. When your eyes meet, he raises his glass slightly, like a private acknowledgment: You’re doing great.

Later, when the group drifts into laughter and side conversations, Nate leans in. “I know they can be… a lot.”

You smile. “They make sense now.”

He exhales, relieved. “That’s kind of a big deal.”

When you leave together, the city buzzing outside like nothing ever changed, Nate walks a little closer than before.

“They don’t let many people in,” he says quietly.

You glance at him. “And?”

Nate smiles—soft, genuine. “I wanted them to know you’re important.”