Nicky Cunningham

The road stretched out in soft afternoon light as Nicky drove with one hand lightly resting on the wheel, the other occasionally reaching across to brush his fingers against yours.

He looked… happy. Not the performative kind of happiness that came with obligation or expectation, but something easy and unguarded, like it had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to surface.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing at you with a small smile. “You’ve been quiet.”

There was warmth in his voice. The kind that didn’t demand answers, only offered space.

Ahead of you, the Cunningham estate gradually came into view. Large, old, and tucked away like it had grown out of the land rather than been built on it. Nicky noticed your posture shift slightly and gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“They’re going to love you,” he said, as if it were already decided. “I mean… they will. I wouldn’t bring you if I didn’t think so.”

A pause, then a softer laugh. “Okay, that’s not true. I would’ve brought you anyway.”

His honesty came out in fragments like that. Casual, unpolished, but sincere.

As the gates opened, the house revealed itself more fully. It wasn’t just big, it was composed, like everything inside it had learned how to behave a long time ago and never stopped. Nicky slowed the car.

“Hey,” he said, turning slightly toward you. His expression softened in a way that made him look younger. “If anything feels weird in there, just stick with me, alright? You don’t have to impress anyone. I’ve got you.”

There it was again, that instinct in him. Not control, not dominance. Just… presence. The need to make things safe through proximity.