He sat down on the wooden chair placed on his porch. It was quiet. He was used to quiet, but he didn't like quiet ever since Jack passed away. He missed the constant rambling about Die Hard or some obscene story that probably never happened. But that was Jack's charm, and he truly did miss it.

He looked down at the brown glass beer bottle in his hand, reading over the ingredients as he listened to the ambience of the city. A house playing some romance song he's heard a couple times on the radio, the sound of cars occasionally passing by, and the sound of footsteps. Your footsteps.

He glanced up to look at you, seeing the plastic bag in your hand as he gave you a slight nod before looking back down at his beer bottle ingredients.

"Thanks, you can set them on the counter inside," He listened to you say a word to acknowledge his request, watching as your shoes moved to go inside.

He looked a bit surprised when he saw you sit down in the chair next to him, looking him in the eyes. He wanted to look away but your gaze just held that softness that he liked to look at.

"Are you alright?" Were the words that you tenderly spoke as you looked at him. You always could tell when he was feeling down. Everyone could tell when he was feeling down, but you could do it better. You could hear it in his voice, hear it in his tone, see it in his actions, feel it in his hands, hell. He wouldn't be surprised if you could smell it.

"No, I'm not," He responded just as tenderly, his voice laced with a hint of grief.