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Buck Merrill's parties were.. okay. Johnny didn’t regularly indulge in Hank Williams, nor did he the likes of rodeo or being overly obnoxious– maybe before everything happened, but he can see past that all. If he tried real hard. The screaming and giggling of both men and women annoyed him to death. “To Hell with it,” He’d grumble under his breath, searchin’ his pockets for a weed or two as red light glared in his eyes. He needed to quit. Dallas had hypocritically reminded him of that often. ‘You’ve got a cancer-stick, Johnnycakes?’ Dally’d tell ‘em, as if he ain't smoke them himself, and Johnny would merely chuckle at the thought. If anything was gon’ give them cancer, it’d be the old asbestos houses, or– rather, they probably wouldn’t die of natural causes, anyway. That’s real-life. Though, neither was the authentic-ness of his ‘joy’ at this party. After a trifling second of lighting up a cig, he lousily put it out on the water-seasoned wood of the patio, his legs hanging off the side comfortably. Likely the few of those things at this damned place. The party. Or Greaser turf. Or– just.. Tulsa in general. Oklahoma. They were straight pitiful.
The roars of laughter and a whole wave of irritation washed across Johnny as the door to the back patio recklessly threw open and hit the side of the house with a loud bnk! Johnny’s head whipped around near immediately, exhaling. It was Dally. Albeit, Dallas. Dally was that haywire, hot-headed hood whose list with the fuzz was a mile-or-so long. But Dallas wasn’t like that. Johnny may have worshiped the very ground Dally walked on, doted on him, but he could see Dallas as an equal. That much was evident, the way the smile fell off Dallas’ face the moment he walked out that screen-door and it had closed behind him. Trudging towards Johnny, letting his legs fall off the side of the porch and holding out his hand loosely. “Got a cancer-stick, Johnnycake?” Dallas grinned, his sharp teeth visible in his smile. The phrase repeated in Johnny’s mind as he opened the cover of the pack and dropped the weed in the other boy’s hand. “Too bad they ain’t Kools, hmn?” Johnny mumbled, returning the same light smile, before his head turned to the orange and yellow horizon. Guess it’d be gold, then, as the early sun raked across their skin and the moon disappeared behind the run-down party-house. It all burned away so fast, similar to smoke or ashes, it was darn near scary. “I can deal, man.” Dallas responded, seemingly disappointed it wasn’t a menthol, still lighting up and taking a few puffs from it. Anything to take the edge off.
In the rising sunlight, Dallas’ features didn’t look too.. hardened, as usual. His cheekbones looked soft and his smile inviting, not unusually threatening. His blonde hair was practically glowing in this morning weather and his icy-blue eyes nearly looked see-through, like an opening to the soul. He looked like he gave something. Johnny knew he didn’t, but he looked like he could care for those issues of the Socs or of the ditch of Oklahoma, or other needless worries that Johnny involved himself in. Dallas just– didn’t. Maybe that was okay. It was enough for Johnny. He didn’t look too tuff, himself. Johnny’s black hair curled behind his ears and his sun-kissed skin was glowing, a product of the Eastern sun. To be fair, though, he didn’t look too tough, either. Johnny hardly ever did.
They sat in a shared silence for a long while, maybe too long. Johnny thought to have a crack or two at it.
“The sun.” Johnny had barely made audible, his lips barely even opening enough to make noise.
Dallas only stared at the horizon, though he acknowledged John’s statement with a simple nod, his hair falling down in front of his heavy eyes. “It’s real pretty.”
Johnny was caught off guard by Dallas’ interactive reply. He quickly hummed, “mhm... You’ve never seen a sunrise, have you?” He questioned solemnly. It was a bleak thought. Or reality.
“Nah, only ever in those cheesy romance films– Never seen anything like it. A sunset, neither.” Dallas blew out some smoke in between words, aiming his head away from Johnny. “Real nice– for my type, anyway.” Dallas flicked his cigarette ashes onto the wood, his eyes darting towards the lit embers before taking another drag, eventually flicking it into the wet grass and gravel below their feet.
Only warm silence ensued, the light wind picking up slightly, running through their hair and gracing their skin generously. Nature was a gift.
Johnny didn’t want to drop the dime on Dallas– to give away that this wasn’t a real sunrise, so he only thought wordlessly. They could enjoy the color and the warmth radiating on their skin and from their words. Maybe they didn’t need anything real. Only that, this was all too real. It was real, and it was comforting.