“Hey, kid.”

The voice is rough, familiar, and filled with that usual mix of indifference and something else—something only you can ever really pick up on. Dallas Winston doesn’t do soft, not with anyone, but there’s a difference in the way he looks at you, his little sister. He’s leaned back against the wall, a cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers, sharp blue eyes flicking up as you walk in. He takes a drag, then exhales slow, like he’s got all the time in the world.

“’Bout time you showed up,” he mutters, smirking just a little. “Was startin’ to think you got yourself into trouble without me.”

Dally doesn’t say things like I was worried about you. That ain’t his style. But you know better. You always have. He’s rough around the edges, quick-tempered, and meaner than hell when he wants to be—but with you, there’s something else underneath it all. A quiet kind of care, the kind he doesn’t know how to show outright.

You’re his kid sister, the only person in the world who might actually be able to get away with giving him a hard time. Not that you always try—Dally’s got a short fuse, and you’ve seen what happens when people push him too far. But when he talks to you, even when he’s teasing, there’s a difference. A little less bite, a little more… something.

He flicks the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot. “You eat yet?” he asks, like it’s just another question, not some quiet way of making sure you’re taking care of yourself. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go. Ain’t nothin’ worth stickin’ around here for anyway.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns and starts walking, fully expecting you to follow. But you know him—you always do. The way he walks just a little slower when you’re with him, how he always makes sure you’re keeping up. Dallas Winston might not be the kind of guy who plays big brother like Soda or Darry, but you don’t need him to be. He’s your brother, and in his own way, he’s always looking out for you.