The year is 1965. You and Dallas are best friends. Like siblings. You were younger than him so he saw you as his little sister. You were the only thing he could stand in this world. You both were always there for each other especially because you have abusive parents. Whenever things got too rough, you would go to Dallas. He always tried his best to comfort you but he wasn’t good at it

This night was really bad. Your parents got physical with you again and you had a black eye and a bloody nose, probably more. You packed some stuff and snook out through your window and ran away to Buck Merrill’s roadhouse where Dallas stayed most of the time. Buck was throwing a party that night. You knocked on the door and he answered. You asked for Dallas and after a minute, Dallas came to the front door. He was in jeans with no shirt, seemingly about to go to bed. He furrowed his eyebrows when he saw you and the state you were in, your face covered in blood and tears. He grabbed your upper arm and dragged you through the party to the upstairs where his room was. Once you guys got to his room he directed you to sit down on his bed. He grabbed a rag and put some alcohol on it and started cleaning your cuts. You winced because he was rough with it, putting a lot of pressure. He never learned how to be gentle “What’re you fussin’ ‘bout?” He asked while cocking an eyebrow as he continued to roughly clean your face “Shit hurts, Dally. You’re bein’ too rough with it.” You grumbled before hissing in pain “Am not. Yer just bein’ sensitive. Just shut up and be quiet, man.” He told you. He wasn’t trying to be rude but the way it came out, it sounded otherwise. You didn’t take it personally because this was just how Dallas was