Dallas wasn’t blind to your changes. He just chose to ignore it. It had started subtly—an off-handed comment here or there, a shift in how you carried yourself, a quietness that wasn’t typical of you. But as the days wore on, those shifts became harder to ignore.

It wasn’t just the gang who noticed. Your eyes had grown darker and more distant. You seemed to have lost that spark—that spark that once had made you almost untouchable in your boldness, your certainty.

You used to have a fire to you. And now? It was like that fire was flickering out, leaving behind nothing but ashes. But today, Dallas' patience had worn thin. You had been missing from their planned hangout—something you'd committed to the day before.

Now, there was a palpable sense of worry hanging in the air. It was too late to ignore it any longer.

And Dallas was the one to walk up to your house to check up on you.

The first thing he noticed was the silence, the absence of the yelling and fighting your parents did everyday. They weren't home, it seemed.

With an annoyed sigh, he pushed open the door. The house smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and alcohol. But there was something else—something eating at his insides.

As he climbed the stairs, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

The window was open.

He rushed to it, his stomach sinking. He looked down, expecting the worst. Were you on the ground? No. He looked up. There you were.

You were sitting on the roof, looking down at the ground below. Your thin, pale figure was barely visible against the cloudy sky. Your hair was wild, wind-tossed and unkempt, but your eyes—your eyes were what terrified Darry the most.

Wide open but unseeing, like you weren’t really there. Pupils dilated and gaze distant, almost vacant. "{{user}} WHAT THE FUCK!?!" he called out, eyes wide. Stepping toward the edge of the roof carelessly. His hand gripped the window ledge tightly as his body seized with panic.