this is set two years post canon, with canon divergence from original events.
i.
dallas winston has always been mean, to a point. you've seen him lash out at just about everyone, even sodapop. and yet you have always been interested in his meanness, in the way that it animated his body, in the way that it seemed magnetic in the way he could lash out with his fury, the way he wore it around him like armor, to protect against the world.
it makes the moments where he seems softer stick out all the more, and it takes to time realize that they seem to come out around you.
ii.
here and now in the library, you look at him with wonder and surprise when he's able to find the book with the catalog cards before you can. you want to ask a million questions immediately, how, where, and why.
he gives you one of those looks, that are echoes of that moment in the car when he was driving you and johnny to the hospital. it's not the same level of pinched anger or frenetic energy. it's him, seemingly, acknowledging what he's about to tell you isn't for anyone else. it makes you go still, when he tells you about reading in the cooler. it only begets more questions from you, of what he read, what he hadn't read, what he liked, what he disliked.
the moments like these are small, and you collect them. you don't beg for them to happen; they simply do or don't. you keep them as close to your heart as you can, hoping that the rest of you doesn't betray you, how much you look forward to them, how much you need them.
iii.
dallas drives in a way that isn't crazy like soda's or determined like steve's. it's like he channels all that angry energy he carries with him around into something smooth, confident as he drives down the road. a few years ago, you think it might have made you sick. not now. sometimes you think he's looking at you in the corner of your eye and you put it down to wanting it rather than it simply happening.
it's interesting to watch the way he looks with concentration at the road, at the way his hands lay on the wheel. he rarely reaches over to change the radio, and you both talk about what is on the radio and what's not available, laughing when tennessee williams comes on, taking out the time to make fun of buck and his cow pokey tastes.
you find yourself relaxed on this unexpected trip.
iv.
soda always said you'd grow into liking girls. you don't think so the older you get. you find yourself more entranced with dallas' sneer, with the drawl he has at times, with the way he carries himself. you know better than to speak of it to anyone, even johnny. that's the most painful part of it, not knowing what johnny would think or say and yet seeing dallas be gentler to him at times than he ever would with you.
and yet the times when dallas shoves you, when you shove back or when you both find yourselves in languid conversations with each other, you burn for it. you want it more than you think you can hold.
but you will. you tell yourself that you'll hold that feeling in you until you burst or it burns you right up from the inside.
serves you right.
v.
you can't help yourself, though. you can't help but like this trip, in the library. you can't help but follow him into the city to find a place to sneak into. it's just like dallas, who never wants to follow the rules that even in a new place like this, he'll want to jump the fence and into a theater.
you don't ever say no. you like it as you both come into the theater, already rowdy and unpleasant. you laugh, you needle a bit, and when the fuzz shows up, you get out with him. your glasses almost slip down your nose when you run with him, and the thought of how much it'd take to replace them makes sure they're square on your nose.
when you're both walking to the hotel, food and drinks in hand, you wish for a pencil. you want to show his laugh, how he looks in moonlight. you want to capture that part of him on the page, if not for yourself, than for other people.
this is dallas winston, to you.
vi.
you forget things often. you try to do better now, to not forget. dallas is still there though, covering you when you least expect it. you wonder about it, if he does this for johnny the way he does for you. you wonder if johnny needs it the same way you do.
vii.
he won't give up what he reads, and you know that he won't ever. still though, as you eat together, his leg bent up towards his chest, his fingers gripping a beer, you decide to read a bit to him what you have.
he doesn't protest as you read out passage after passage, nodding every so often with what you're saying, almost lulled by the words. you wonder what he's thinking about as you read, as your fingers go through the pages.
you wonder what he read at the cells. you wonder if he ever wanted to ask you about it, if he ever saw himself in the books he read.
you think that this moment, it's a good one. he doesn't force you to stop, and he never complains about what you choose to read.
viii.
a lot of nights, you wonder about the incident when you were fourteen. when johnny had saved the kid from the soc's who had hurt him. you think about how johnny had leapt into it, how you had followed him without thinking, trying to help.
you still have nightmares about the stabbing, about the sound johnny made, that wet gasp. you still remember shouting, remember the blood on your hands, remember the soc's running off even after you had to try and drag air into your lungs.
you remember getting to buck's. getting help from dally.
you remember what he sounded like in the car. his voice, begging you not to do this, not to risk yourself like this, not ever. you remember how much your head hurt, how desperate it felt to hold johnny to yourself while dallas spoke in that wild voice, in a way that made your stomach turn into knots.
you think that in the hospital when he gave you his jacket, still acting in that odd way, that's when things changed. that's when maybe you stopped being part of an outfit together and when you became something else.
ix.
maybe it was just you that changed, you think sometimes. you're the one that looked at him differently, you're the one that felt something crack in your chest. sometimes though, you're not so sure. you swear you notice dally coming around more. you can recall that as johnny healed, you both were at his side more often than not, sometimes the afternoons just you and him, smoking together or talking about and to johnny. (those moments where your fingers touched when exchanging cigarettes always, always stood out in your dreams) he'd been the first besides soda to not make a remark about the glasses you needed in the months after, he'd been the one coming to the house to get you and johnny for movies or to hang out together.
you're the one that looked forward to it. you're the one who thought of what he said over and over. and you're the one who's pushed against it, not wanting to be that but also, you think you made a choice to not let him be alone in that state. you're the one who keeps saying yes to movies, the one who keeps inviting him to track meets you have, the one who keeps eagerly awaiting time spent together.
and yes, it is selfish on your part, too. you want him, in ways you cannot have, in ways that you can speak to no one else. you crave it so badly, knowing what you can't have. so you settle for snatches of intimacy, pieces of time.
x.
sleeping with him in the same bed isn't the same as sleeping with soda. the same closeness isn't there - and it makes your stomach do somersaults to be so close. going to sleep is harder than it should be, and your dreams are actually silent now.
when you open your eyes, the sun is coming out. dallas is there beside you, face uncontorted by anger. he isn't asleep. you can tell at this moment that something is occupying his mind. he's looking at you in a way that you have never seen him look at you before, with such concentration that if you weren't just waking up, your ears would burn with the intensity.
you want to say something. you want to ask him what he's thinking of, but you are afraid of what you might say in the face of this.
of all the times to keep your mouth shut, you don't want to do that here. you want to talk in this moment as dallas moves closer to you. you want to open your mouth to ask questions, to know if he understands what he's doing, if you understand what you're doing. that if this happens, you cannot go back. there is no turning back and everything you have kept so close to your heart will come spilling out no matter what.
xi.
you forget a lot of things. you do not forget what it feels like to kiss dallas winston, in a motel in oklahoma city in the morning light. you do not forget what it feels like to kiss this man you've been circling for years now, to finally come together like this. how could you forget? why would you? daylight comes, and you want to stay here, in this moment, for as long as you can.
as with all my fics, this is a mirror of what i have hosted on ao3 under the same penname. thanks so much for reading.