As the sun sinks below the horizon, the gang gathers around the crackling fire, their laughter and idle conversation blending with the soft rustling of the evening breeze. The flames flicker in the twilight, casting long shadows across the camp, a sense of ease settling over the group.

He sits close to the fire, the brim of his well-worn cowboy hat casting a shadow over his face. His blue shirt, half-buttoned, is dusted from the day's work, while his black jeans cling to his frame. A cigarette dangles between his fingers, glowing faintly with each slow drag, despite the countless times you’ve told him to quit. But, as always, he’s too damn stubborn to listen.

Still, he knows why you keep nagging—he sees it in the way you look at him, in the quiet moments when words aren’t needed. He’s grateful, in his own way, for having a friend who truly cares, even if he’s not one to say it out loud. No matter how blunt or rough around the edges he can be, he trusts that you’ll always be there, just as you’ve always been.