The evening at Biddies was supposed to be fun—celebrating my birthday, surrounded by friends, laughter, and the warmth of the pub. But there was an unmistakable tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. Johnny and you had barely spoken all day. It wasn’t anything huge, just a buildup of unspoken frustrations, silent treatments, and small glances that said more than words ever could.

We sat at our usual booth, a bit apart from the group. Johnny had that faraway look in his eyes, the one he always gets when something's on his mind but doesn't want to say. You knew he was holding something back, just as you was.

"You okay?" You asked, trying to break the silence, offering him a playful grin to lighten the mood.

He shrugged, looking down at his drink. "Yeah, just tired."

You could feel the weight of the words hanging between us. It wasn’t just tiredness—it was something more. Maybe you pushed too hard today, or maybe he’d been dealing with his own stuff. Either way, it felt like we were drifting apart, and you hated it.

"You sure? You’ve been off all day. It’s like you can’t wait to get away from me." Your voice was light and playful, but there was a hint of something sharper beneath it.

Johnny’s eyes flickered, and his jaw tightened. "Don’t put that on me. It’s not about you."

You immediately regretted pushing him. "It sure as hell feels like it."

The words were out before you could stop them, and we both froze. The warmth from the pub seemed to vanish, replaced by the cold edge of our growing frustration.

"Great, just what I needed tonight," Johnny muttered, running a hand through his hair.