"Do you think this is okay?" I whined as I wandered into the longue. "I don't know if its the right thing to be wearing in the first place?" Apparently, letting Carlisle watch me choose an outfit once had been a gateway to me making him endure the agonising process again whenever we had to go out somewhere. The occasion this time was a stupid end-of-year lunch-party-thing thrown by the company I worked; it happened every year, and every year I spent the majority of it trying to avoid meals, photos and people. Unfortunately, it was being held in a fancy restaurant this year, and I was sure I was about to lose my mind. This time, I was dragging my boyfriend along for moral support.

"You're talking to someone who wears the same pair of jeans and owns like three shirts," he laughed. That wasn't true; even if it was an unconscious effort, that boy managed to look subtly different every time I saw him. I should know; I spent enough time staring. "I'm never wearing suit pants again, by the way. If we get married, I'm wearing jeans or I'm boycotting." He looked uncomfortable too, apparently hating the clothing as much as I did.

I rolled my eyes at him, but he really did look cute as fuck dressed up. "Carlisle…" I pleaded.

"You're gay, babe, figure it out," he teased, purposefully patronising. I knew he was baiting me, and didn't rise to the challenge. "Aren't you boys supposed to be good at fashion?"

"You were gay first," I accused, trying not to laugh as he teased me with the stereotype, hating it so much himself that he couldn't resist cringing at his own joke.

"No way; I've had a girlfriend," he shook his head, grinning.

"Oh, you did not," I laughed.

"Her name was Esme," he teased again, fighting off a smile.

I leant against the doorframe, putting my anxieties on hold for a moment; we hadn't talked about this before, and I was intrigued. I'd assumed he'd only ever dated guys. "Why'd you two break up?" I asked curiosity.

He hesitated, then laughed a little, his face flushing a very light shade of pink. "Because I realised I'd rather be fucking boys," he told me simply.

"How did Alistair put it, again? Taking it up the ass?"

"Fuck off. Don't you start as well," he grumbled, unable to stop a smile anyway.

I waited a little while, but my anxiety was growing again. "Okay, but really, should I change, or-"

I hadn't seen him move, too distracted, but he was suddenly right in front of me, holding my face in his hands as he gently placed a kiss on my lips. "No, you're perfect the way you are. Please stop worrying before you hurt yourself." Another kiss, this one just as soft as the last one.

My arms found their way around him, pulling his body against mine as I rested my chin on his shoulder. "I'm nervous," I admitted quietly.

"I know." He kissed my neck. "But you'll be okay, and I'll be there with you the whole time."

I squeezed him a little tighter, burying my face in his shoulder and unable to force back a moan. "…I'll have to eat…" I felt sick at the mere thought of it, already a little lightheaded.

"It'll be alright, Garrett." All the joking from before had vanished, and the comfort was genuine.

"I don't want to go," I whispered, my voice muffled by his clothing. My eyes were burning, and I swallowed thickly. "Carlisle…"

He glanced at the clock behind me, running his hand down my back. "Look, in five hours from now, it'll all be over and we'll be back here and we can go to bed and forget about it, alright?" he soothed.

I nodded slowly, not having another choice.

Kissing me once more, he let me go and stepped back. "Go and put your shoes on, or we'll be late."

I needed his childish reminder just to keep me sane for a few minutes longer.

.

.

"Just take little bites, Gar, you don't have to eat all of it," Carlisle was murmuring to me, rubbing my leg under the table.

I knew if I looked up at him, I'd lose it completely, so I kept my eyes on the floor and my mouth shut. It was hard though; I just wanted to go home again, and Carlisle was the closest thing to home right now. If the plate stayed in front of me much longer, I was going to puke. The continuous chatter of my co-workers didn't make me feel any better, either. They kept asking what we thought of the meals and wanting to compare the food to other restaurants we'd eaten in, and I was overwhelmed and panicky.

His smile immediately fell, and he rubbed my hand, trying to get me to unclench my fists. "Only another hour, okay? You're doing well," he reminded me, kissing my cheek. I shook my head, and he hugged me as much as he was able to. "Breathe, Garrett. You're holding your breath."

"…my stomach hurts and I want to go home," I childishly pleaded with him. I was sure I was going to vomit.

"I know, I'm sorry. Do you want to go outside until dinner is over?"

I nodded, feeling sorry for myself and wanting out; this was literally my worst nightmare. Refusing to let go of his hand, I stood up and let him lead me out. Gulping lungful's of fresh air helped to clear my head a little bit, but I still felt ill. "I'm ruining everything," I mumbled as I hugged Carlisle.

"No, you aren't, Garrett. It'll be over soon." He kissed the side of my face. "They're almost done with dinner anyway; the worse of it is almost finished."

"They'll notice I haven't eaten it, and they're going to ask questions, and I don't want to tell them-"

"Gar, it's fine. You don't have to tell them anything. If you want to go home now, we can go, and you can blame it on me later when they ask." Squeezing me tightly, he rubbed my back while I leant my head against his shoulder.

"…I hate this…I feel like such a fucking child…" My voice was muffled by his clothing, and I wasn't sure he understood me.

"It's not your fault; just calm down before you hurt yourself."

I forced myself to take a few deep breaths, trying to ease the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. Focusing on Carlisle helped; he was warm and safe and felt like home. "I'm sorry for doing this to you; I just couldn't face going alone again."

"You don't have to go to anything alone ever again, if you don't want to," he promised, and I believed him.

.

.

I didn't even make it to the car before dissolving into tears; frustrated with myself for not being able to handle a fucking dinner. As soon as we were away from everyone else, the relief to be going home was overwhelming, and the repressed panic from before resurfaced. Although I initially tried to hide that from Carlisle, he caught me out within the first three seconds and immediately stopped to hug me.

"It's okay," he murmured quietly, rubbing my back. "It's all over now."

I nodded, comforted just by his proximity. Driving was going to be an issue; I was too shaky to be able to cope with that yet, but I desperately wanted to go home right fucking now. "I-I-I…" Unable to actually get the words out, I pulled the keys out of my pocket, toying with them as a means of distracting myself.

He was quiet for a moment, but forced a smile. "I can drive home, if you want."

Trying to wipe my face dry, I forced a smile and tried to tease him. I couldn't deny I wasn't relieved with the offer, though. "Y-you know how?"

Laughing a little, he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, showing me his driver's license. "Yes, sir."

I nodded and handed him the keys. It felt strange getting in the passenger's side, and Carlisle looked uneasy. "H-how come I've never seen you drive before?"

He glanced over at me, and then quickly back at the road as he pulled out of the parking lot. "I'll tell you about it when you're feeling better."

I took his hand, glad that the car was an automatic and he didn't need both to drive. We didn't talk much on the way back, but I was squeezing his fingers for dear life, trying to keep my mouth shut and put a lid on my panic. I desperately wanted to beg Carlisle to pull over just to hug me again, biting down hard on my lip to hold back tears. Instead, I tried to focus on what he was doing; he was a remarkably good driver for someone who apparently never did it. I couldn't find anything to fault him on, and I made a silent game out of it. Trying to find reasons why my boyfriend was a shitty driver may not be considered healthy in terms of a relationship, but it was the only thing keeping me sane.

.

.

Hours later, we'd ended up in front of the TV together. I still didn't feel good, and Carlisle was still very aware of it. Somehow, he managed to coax me into eating soup in the end, and I had to admit I felt better with something in my stomach. I let him mother me; it was kinda comforting, and I could see it eased his worry a little.

We ended up watching movies for the rest of the evening, cuddled on the couch. Under the thick blanket and with my boyfriend's arms around me, lunch seemed far away and unimportant. I hated myself for the drama; Carlisle shouldn't have had to deal with any of that shit. I was worse than a damn two-year-old.

"…thank you for coming with me…"

"Love you." He kissed my neck, shuffling closer to me a little more.

"I want…I want to fix this. I don't want to be like that anymore. I want to be able to go out to dinner with you…" I admitted, guilty.

"We'll figure it out, Garrett," he promised.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a minute, trying to make sense of the logistics of it in my head. "What if…we could go to cafes and stuff, right?...and then go home if I freak out…?" Frowning, I knew there was no way in hell I'd want to face that.

Carlisle's hand tightened on my thigh as I bit my lip. "Would it be easier if we did it at home a few times first? We could have dinner with Alistair and his boyfriend, or Edward and Bella or something? Or is that weird?"

"…no…that's…that's a bit better…I think…" I forced a smile. "And then I can drink too, if I don't have to drive anywhere."

He rolled his eyes at me, chuckling to himself. "There's that as well."

"What's up with you and driving, anyway?" I asked, trying to get away from the uncomfortable subject before I felt sick again. "How long have we been together, and I've never even heard you mention that you have a licence?"

"Maybe I just like be driven everywhere, because I'm a pain in the ass?" he teased.

I shoved him lightly, making his laugh again. "You are a pain in the ass, but I highly doubt that's the reason."

He sighed quietly, his smile fading a little. "When I was in London still, I totalled my car…some asshole drove into me…and then whenever I tried to drive, I'd panic, so I refused to do it…but it actually wasn't that bad…" He glanced up at me. "It was okay with you."

A little confused, I looked him up and down. "You came out unscathed, though?"

He shook his head, untucking his shirt to show me a pretty decent, albeit faded, scar wrapped around his side. "…It wasn't that bad, really. I was lucky I guess; all I got a was a few stitches and some broken ribs."

"How have I never noticed that before?" I asked, almost put out. I couldn't decide whether I was that unobservant, or whether he'd been purposefully trying to hide it.

He rolled his eyes at me. "Because you stop function the minute either of us have our clothes off."

"I do not!" I laughed, using the collar of his jacket to pull him into me. It was partly true, but I'd like to think I could keep my head clear when I was getting undressed.

"And you always turn the lights off when we fuck," he accused simply. The brutality of it had me giggling; I hadn't realised he'd noticed that.

"It makes it more romantic," I teased.

"Would be more romantic if I could see what I was doing," he grumbled sarcastically under his breath, hiding a smile.

"Fine. I'll eat with Alistair, as long as you drive us home. And I'll compromise with you, and we can leave the lamp on."

He was laughing now, unable to stop. "I knew I loved you for a reason."