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‘You don’t like my family?’ He asks seriously, frowning at me, and I can’t tell if he is annoyed by that fact, or just curious. He’s being his usual self and giving nothing away about what he’s feeling or thinking. Sometimes I just wish I had a little tiny inkling of what goes on in his head—just once.

‘Your family seem nice and I already knew a couple of them. I’m fine. Just not really in the party mood yet, I take time to warm up,’ I answer calmly, quietly, dodging his intense focus and keep on glancing at passing clouds right by the window.

‘You regret coming?’ He presses the matter a little tighter toned.

Jesus, he’s like the Spanish Inquisition and I don’t get why he cares so much about this.

‘No, it’s just … nothing.’ I exhale in defeat, body tensing with increasing stress levels. No idea why I feel like I owe him an explanation. I