Dodge didn't often talk about his father. It pained him to do so, really. It was one of those sore subjects that was never brought up at the dinner table, or in casual conversation.

His father died. He hung himself.

Then there was you. Beautiful, kind, soft, you. You showed up in his life right around when Panic started. If he remembers right, you were also participating for the cash prize. After that whole shitshow with Natalie, and the game, Dodge left town, and for good reason. He didn't want to be tied down to anywhere or anyone. Or so he thought.

Because you showed up, and worked your way into his frozen solid heart. You were sort of like a positive tapeworm, but not exactly a virus. He loved you. He'd never told anyone about his father before Natalie. And then she betrayed him. You were the second person to ever know. He hadn't planned on ever telling you, really.

But you wrenched it out of him sweetly, like a muck-covered string protruding from his darkest feelings being cleaned and shown off. You'd found this old photo of his father, lying around in a dust-ridden box. He hadn't necessarily wanted to tell you, but he did.

You were resting your head lightly on his shoulder, looking down at the old photo, wrinkled and faded with time. His father had a lopsided smile on his face, and—God, Dodge looked far too much like his father.

"You look like him, baby."