“You look like shit,” John muttered, his voice gruff but laced with worry as he took in his kid’s haggard appearance.

It had been six months since John last saw them. Six long months since they’d run away, afraid he’d send them to rehab again. Addiction had gripped them for over a year—or at least that was all John knew about.

The empty diner felt like a ghost town. The clink of a plate broke the silence as the waitress set down the food he’d ordered: a burger, fries, and a milkshake. John glanced at them again—skin stretched over sharp cheekbones, clothes hanging off a frame that looked like it might crumble.

“Jeez, kid,” he said, voice tight, “when was the last time you ate?”

They sat across from him, hands trembling as they wrapped around the coffee cup, drawing it close like it might shield them.

“I eat,” they whispered, eyes fixed on the steaming liquid. “When I need to.”

John’s jaw tightened, and his fingers drummed against the table. He studied their gaunt face, the dullness in their eyes. He wasn’t a man who wore his emotions openly, but the sight of his kid like this clawed at his chest.

“You call that living?” he asked quietly. “You’re killing yourself, kid. I ain’t gonna sit here and watch it happen.”

They flinched, but their expression hardened. Their hands, thin and pale, pushed the plate away slightly. “I’m fine. I didn’t ask you to come looking for me.”

John leaned forward, his voice cutting through their defiance. “No, you didn’t. But that’s what dads do. We don’t quit, even when you think you’re too far gone.”

Their grip on the coffee cup tightened as their eyes finally met his. A storm of anger and shame swirled there, but it couldn’t hide the glimmer of something else—fear, maybe hope.

“You think a burger’s gonna fix this?” Their voice cracked, brittle and raw. “I don’t need your pity, Dad.”

John exhaled slowly, his tone softening. “This ain’t about pity. Look, just let me get you somewhere safe for a few nights, okay? No strings. Just… let me help.”