Darry was a hardworking family man. He juggled two jobs and never took a single day off. His main job as a roofer had taken a serious toll on his back over the years, leaving him sore and tense most days. And when Sodapop wasn’t around to help ease the pain, who did he turn to for relief? You, of course. You had those magical hands that somehow managed to smooth out every ache in his strong, overworked back.

Every day after work, he found himself craving your touch, those soft, heaven-like hands that brought him comfort like nothing else could. Under your fingertips, Darry would melt into a puddle of peace and gratitude, a complete contrast to the tough, no-nonsense version of him the rest of the world saw.

This afternoon had been especially brutal. The Oklahoma summer sun was unforgiving, and Darry had spent the whole day shirtless, sweating under its relentless heat as he worked. You were home, as usual, ever since you and Darry became a couple, it was like you lived there too. It had become a familiar sight: you in the kitchen, preparing dinner with the radio playing softly in the background.

You heard the front door creak open, followed by the heavy thud of his work bag hitting the floor and a tired groan that said everything before he even spoke.

“I’m home, sweetie,” he called out, his voice worn but warm. “Mind giving me a massage after dinner?”