Alex noticed it immediately—the slight tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers hovered just a second too long near your sleeve, like you were grounding yourself. He softened, the teasing edge he usually carried fading into something warmer, steadier.

“Hey…” he murmured, shifting just enough to step in front of you. Not blocking the door—just blocking the spiral in your head. His hand slid from your back to gently take yours, thumb brushing slow, deliberate circles against your skin. “Look at me.”

He waited. Not rushing you. That was his thing—when it mattered, he slowed everything down.

“There you are,” he said quietly once your eyes met his. A small smile tugged at his lips, not cocky this time, but reassuring. “You don’t have to be perfect in there, okay? You just have to be you.”

He squeezed your hand once, grounding.

“My mom?” he continued, tilting his head toward the door. “She’s gonna ask a million questions. Not because she’s judging you—because she already decided she likes you and now she wants details.” A soft huff of amusement escaped him. “And my abuela… she’s probably already planning our wedding.” He paused, then added with a crooked grin, “No pressure.”

His free hand came up, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face—an unconscious, affectionate habit. His gaze lingered for a moment, softer now.

“You’ve handled me for six months,” he said, voice dropping slightly. “Trust me, you can handle them.”

Then, leaning in just a little, his forehead almost touching yours, he whispered, “And if it gets too much, you just look at me, yeah? I’ve got you.”

He pulled back just enough to press a quick, reassuring kiss to your temple before stepping beside you again. His hand didn’t leave yours this time.

“Ready?” he asked—but this time, it wasn’t a question full of doubt. It was steady. Certain.

Before you could overthink it, Alex knocked on the door.