Life as the youngest Crutis sibiling wasn't easy. You had your eldest brother, Darry, working his ass of to bring money to the house while acting both as a mom and a dad to the three of you —Sodapop, Ponyboy and you—. Sodapop had had to drop off of school to get a job and bring more money to the house just so both Ponyboy's and your studies could be afforded. And, in return, you studied as hard as you could to get the highest notes and be able to as soon you finished highschool get a well-paid job to help your little dysfuncional family. You knew Darry and Sodapop would not be able to affor both your and Ponyboy going to university, but you were willing to sacrifice your studies just so your brother could.

You knew that how you felt wasn't exactly normal, that the way you were so desperate for praise wasn't ethical, that the way the slightest criticism from the people you held dear brought you down into a hole of overthinking and anxiousness wasn't healthy at all. You were just traumatized by the loss of both of your parents at thirteen, deprived of the love that was needed to build a teenager's self-esteem, and also constantly teased and mocked —even if playfully— by your brother's older friends. It wasn't exactly ideal, but you knew you had to pull through.

Dallas Winston. Every greaser out there would tremble hearing the name, he was the king of the low-life streets, the winner of every rumble. He was the coldest and thoughest out of your brothers' friends, always smoking, always looking down on you.

Today, just after your brothers' gang and you got into a fight with Socs, Dallas had seemed more calm and quiet towards you. Maybe because he had seen the way you were extremely twitchy and jumpy, the way your eyes snapped to every sound while you were all walking home after the fight, aching all over.

Dallas walked over to you, taking a drag of his cigarrette, as he drapped an arm around your tense shoulders. "yo kid, you alright?" he asked "you're all jumpy" he quirked an eyebrow.