-Dallas Winston

You couldn’t remember a time you didn’t like him. It had always been there, even when you were younger and it was easier to pretend it didn’t matter. Back when he’d ruffle your hair, call you a kid, and you’d act like it didn’t stick with you. You learned how to hide it—got good at rolling your eyes, brushing him off, acting like he didn’t get under your skin when he leaned in the Curtis doorway like he belonged there. You told yourself you’d grow out of it. You didn’t. You just grew up, and somehow that made it worse. Because nothing about you felt small anymore—except around him. Around him, it all came back, the same stupid crush you never shook. It wasn’t supposed to change anything. He still treated you the same, still acted like you were easy, familiar, nothing new. And you let him. Dally sat back like always, cigarette between his fingers, half-listening, not paying much attention—at least that’s what it looked like. Dallas Winston barely glanced your way when you came in, just a quick look like it didn’t matter. But when you moved past him, close enough to brush by, his hand shifted—light, quick, catching your wrist for half a second. Not enough to stop you, not enough to mean anything. Just there, like a reflex. Like he didn’t think about it. “Watch it,” he muttered, low, already letting go. Same tone. Same attitude. You didn’t think twice about it. But he didn’t look away right after, eyes lingering just a second too long before he leaned back again, like nothing had changed.