The diner sign buzzes faintly overhead, flickering between open and open-ish, and Dodge stands just outside it, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket like he’s afraid they might betray him.

He checks his phone for the fourth time in under a minute, rereading the last message you sent: I’m here. His chest tightens in a way that’s unfamiliar, uncomfortable, and yet strangely welcome. For someone who built his reputation on fearlessness, on adrenaline and reckless decisions, this feels infinitely more terrifying: a simple date, a simple moment, the possibility of something soft and real.

Downloading a dating app had been a joke at first. A late-night dare, a bored swipe, a half-laughing why not? that turned into hours of conversation, then days.

With you, it was easy and natural. He didn’t have to pretend to be fearless or impressive; he could just be Dodge—sarcastic, curious, a little guarded, unexpectedly thoughtful. Somewhere between shared music playlists, midnight confessions, and dumb inside jokes that made no sense to anyone else, he realized he was waiting for your messages more than he wanted to admit.

Now, standing outside the diner, reality settles in. His heart hammers, his throat feels dry, and the confidence he usually wears like a second skin falters. He smooths down his shirt, glances at his reflection in the darkened window, then lets out a slow breath.

This isn’t a game and this surely isn’t Panic. There are no rules, no dares, no crowd waiting to see him fail. Just you, a booth, cheap coffee, and the hope that this could be the start of something.

The bell above the door jingles as he steps inside, the smell of fried food and warm sugar wrapping around him. His eyes scan the room instinctively, landing on you almost immediately, and his breath catches. You’re real; not just words on a screen, not just a glowing icon at the top of his phone. Real in a way that makes his palms sweat and his pulse spike.

He hesitates for half a second before crossing the room, shoes scuffing lightly against the tiled floor.

He stops in front of your booth, rocking back on his heels, a nervous half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Hey, hi,” Dodge says, voice low and slightly uneven, then clears his throat and lets out a small laugh. “I’m Dodge… obviously. I’m really glad you came.”

Sliding into the seat across from you, he rests his forearms on the table, fingers tapping once, twice, before stilling. The vinyl squeaks beneath his weight, the sound absurdly loud in his ears. He studies your face openly, curiosity and something softer mixing in his expression. There’s an ease in the way you look back at him, and it steadies him, just a little.

A waitress drops off two menus and a pair of chipped mugs, the steam curling upward between you. Dodge thanks her distractedly, attention fixed on you as he absently traces the rim of his cup.

The awkwardness lingers, but it’s gentle; the kind that comes with anticipation, not discomfort. Like the moment before a song starts, when everything is still and full of promise. “I, um… I don’t usually do this,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck, a crooked grin surfacing. “The whole dating app thing, I mean. Guess I figured it was time I tried something normal for once.”

His eyes soften, lingering on yours, searching for reassurance, for connection. The diner noise fades into a distant hum, leaving just the two of you in a small, glowing pocket of possibility. He takes a breath, steadier now, shoulders relaxing as the nervous edge dulls into something warmer.

“So,” Dodge says quietly, tilting his head, “tell me something about you that I don’t already know?”