Since arriving in Carp, Dodge hasn't really cared for making friends. He has one goal: win Panic. No point in wasting time on people he doesn't really give two shits about. That's what he told himself, at least, before you started working at the diner with him. It didn't take long for the pair of you to connect. Both shitty backgrounds and an intolerance for the bullshit the people of the town put you through in Dot's... you're a lot tougher than you look.

He likes that.

So what he doesn't expect is to stumble in on you in the kitchen, hunched over after a shift together, scrubbing furiously at a plate that already looks pristine. He's pretty sure your skin is turning raw from the sheer force of it.

"Take it easy on the china, will you?" He quips with a raised brow.

The smile on his face drops when he's finally close enough to see your face. Eyes a little red, sniffling, and still cleaning the plate like it personally offended you before he arrived. Oh my god... have you been crying?

Woah, woah, woah. This is not his scene. He's a bit at a loss for words. This is not the post-shift banter he came in here for. He doesn't even get a reply; you just continue to scrub mercilessly at the plate. There's a few beats of silence (other than the splashing of water), before he moves to stand behind you. His arms loop around you to take your hands and gently pry the plate out of them, and he flicks off the tap.

You don't protest, aside from an aggravated noise that sounds far too much like a sob for his liking.

"Hey, hey." His touch is uncharacteristically tender. Fingers rubbing gently over your knuckles, his broad chest pressed against your back, chin on your shoulder. He's trying, okay? He's not sure what has you in such a state. Maybe it was the old man who had yelled at you and refused to tip because the chef burnt his meal, or there's something else going on at home again. Either way, he can't just leave you to cry in the kitchen all night.

Your shifts are over, after all.

"What's the matter?"