Dallas Winson was the toughest greaser roaming around the low-life streets of Tusla and that was undebatable. He wasn't academically smart, not at all, but he was street smart. Living in the dark parts of New York —before moving to Tusla— can really teach you a few things about how to survive.

He wasn't exactly smart, but he was intuitive. and that can save someone's ass more often than not.

You were his girlfriend, his most treasured possesion, his doll, his everything. he loved you with all his heart even if he never really said it outloud You weren't exactly wealthy, and you also didn't have the most loving household —the fights with your drunken father could be heard all across Tusla—.

However, Dallas started to catch onto these small things.. He noticed the way you were eager to wear his clothes, the way you left them smelling like you —thanks to your feminine perfume—, the way you were suddenly showering him in reassurance and praise —"you know I love you with all my heart, right?", "you have the prettiest eyes in whole Tusla"—, the way you were much more affectionate and suddenly always eager to cuddle, the way he was slowly starting to find small things of yours —a lipstick, some shirt, your favourite book, your favourite perfume bottle— in his room.

And his mind slowly started to get this weird flashbacks to when his cat, the one he had when he was younger and still living in New York, started to do these things when it was about to die. It did that. The trying to rub off it's smell on his clothes, the being much more cuddly and affectionate, the bringing him it's favourite things. It was it's way to say it's final goodbye, and you were doing just the same, which obviously triggered his internal worry to a whole new level.

It was late at night, you both were at Buck's. Both cuddling on the bed. He was pressed tight to your side, your back to his chest, his arms around you and his chin on your neck. "doll" he whispered, lips against your neck.