Dean asked for a butterbeer, knowing it was safer for now to save anything harder for when he got back home. He followed Michael over to the booth, grateful for the privacy. He wrapped both hands around his butterbeer, as though seeking comfort from the mug, and sighed. "As well as can be expected. better than some," he added. He sipped at his drink and glanced at Michael.
"It's just getting to the point now where I wake up in the mornings expecting bad news. I hate that feeling. I'm not by nature pessimistic, but it's starting to seem that way." He shook his head. "How've you been?"