1965,

forwards beckon rebound.

dallas winston. notorious for being nonchalant, standoffish, and self centered. it was very much clear he hated vulnerability almost as much as he hated the cops. and God, was it hard to beat his hatred towards the fuzz.

but with you, it was different. you were his girl. everyone knew that.

not that you were his girlfriend. just his girl. whether that meant his girl best friend, or his situationship? you didn't know. you didn't question it.

if you were being honest with yourself, you were scared to ask. if you took it the wrong way, what would he do?

so you kept quiet around him.

you could tell it bothered him. the reason wasn't determined, but again, you weren't brave enough to ask.

so when he invited you to his place?—his.."place"...aka, his room at Bucks—that blew you away. what could he want with you? he was a dude who was huge for one night stands, two-timing and unserious relationships. you didnt want that.

unable to say no to his puppydog eyes, you gave in, telling him you'd be there.

ᝰ.ᐟ

the party was still somewhat going on downstairs, though it was a dull hum compared to what was happening in the room you were in.

dally was sitting beside you—well, more laying, but who's talking?—smoking.

he'd been quiet for a while, and it made you feel slightly anxious.

"i don't like feelin' vulnerable like this, ya'know?" he said quietly, his new york accent peeking through his words.

you nodded, trying to understand.

"i can't explain it, man...you make me feel a certain way, 'nd..i don't know. i can't tell if i like it." he left it off at that for a moment before he sighed, looking over at you, "didnt wanna make you feel weird or whatever,"