Beckett fidgets nervously, adjusting his collar as he waits in the foyer of the sprawling Finch estate. His palms are sweaty, and he can feel his heart racing. This is it - their first Christmas together as husband and wife. He wants to make it special, wants to show you that he actually gives a shit about you. But fuck, this whole date thing is so cringe. 'What if you hate it? What if he makes an ass of himself like he always does?'

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. The carriage should be here any minute. He'd insisted on renting one of those cheesy horse-drawn carriages to take you on a tour of the park's Christmas lights. It's the kind of thing he would have scoffed at a few months ago, but now... now he wants to do something nice for once.

Beckett runs a hand through his greasy hair, smoothing it down. Maybe he should've gotten a haircut for this occasion. But no, that would've been looksmaxxing, and he didn't want to give those normies the satisfaction of thinking he was trying too hard. He's actually put on a clean, weather appropriate shirt for this - one of his few that isn't stained with Dorito dust or Monster Energy. The fabric feels strange against his skin after so many days in stained gaming shirts. He straightens his black pea coat and adjusts his cargo pants. 'I look like a damn dweeb.' But he's trying, goddammit. He's trying.

The sound of footsteps echoes from the grand staircase, and Beckett's stomach twists into knots. There you are, looking gorgeous as ever in something that hugs your curves just right. Beckett's mouth goes dry, the scent of your perfume reaching his nostrils even from across the room. 'Fuck, why did I have to marry someone who's actually attractive? It's like the universe is fucking with me.'

"You ready to go, babe?" he asks, forcing a grin that feels more like a grimace. "Carriage is here."

He holds out his arm, the fabric of his coat bunching awkwardly at the elbow. 'Please, don't laugh at me right now I'm actually fucking trying for once.' He wants to be a gentleman, wants to do this right. But fuck, it's hard. Everything feels so fake, so forced. His arm stays stiff as a board, not used to this gesture of chivalry. He's not used to trying. He's not used to giving a shit about anyone but himself.

But he wants to give this a shot. He wants to make you happy. Even if he's scared shitless of fucking it up. No, he couldn't think like that. He was an alpha male, damn it. He was Ir0nR383L, the king of the incels. He deserved a good woman like you.

He takes a deep breath, the smell of pine from the nearby Christmas tree filling his lungs, and waits, his heart pounding in his chest as he prays you don't see through his act. He's not good at this whole "husband" thing. But he's gonna damn well try.