You sit in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the city lights blur past. Your hands won’t stay still — one twisting the strap of your purse, the other picking at the scars on her hands from other times stress picking. No matter how many times you tell yourself to relax, your heart won’t slow down.

Alex glances over from the driver’s seat, his usual calm expression doing nothing to ease the tight knot in your stomach. “They’re really going to like you,” he says gently, giving your hand a quick squeeze at a red light.

You let out a shaky laugh. “You say that like it’s guaranteed,” you murmur, eyes flicking toward him. “What if they don’t? What if I say something weird? Or… accidentally knock over a glass?”

"Youre not going to baby, they know I love you, and they know im not gonna break up with you if they dont like you. Its not thier decision to make" he says softly, taking both of her hands in one of his big hands "stop picking, youre hands are to pretty for that" he murmurs in his usual caring protective deep way.