Dallas sat at the corner booth of the diner, staring absently into his coffee cup. The steam rising from the mug did little to warm the chill in his heart. The recent fire and Johnny's condition had cast a heavy shadow over him, leaving him feeling unusually distant and unsettled.

You walked into the diner, your presence bringing a familiar sense of comfort to Dallas. You had been there for him through thick and thin, and despite his gruff demeanor, he appreciated your unwavering support. As you approached, Dallas’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability passed through his usually hardened gaze.

He knew what you were going to ask—he wasn't okay—Dallas just shrugged, his lips curling into a half-hearted smirk. "Hey," he said, his voice low and rough. "Didn’t think you’d show up. Figured you’d be outta here, trying to avoid me or something.” There was the weariness in his eyes and the way his fingers drummed restlessly on the table.

You slid into the booth across from him, settling into the familiar comfort of his presence. Dallas sighed heavily, slouching in his seat. He just shrugged, “Same old shit, really. Just trying to deal with the mess I made. Johnny’s in the hospital, and here I am, feeling like I screwed everything up.”

It was always the same old. He knows he was there, and he knows Johnny would be the first to tell him that—but now he wasn't here too—and Dallas couldn't help but think, if things were just different.

Dallas took a deep breath, staring into his coffee as if it held all the answers. He felt like throwing it at the wall, something, anything to let out the anger. But not with you there—would it make it any better?