Chapter Text
"I know you ain't sleepin in there, Dally." Buck called through the other side of the door, his weight pressed against the aging wood.
"Listen, y'can stay cooped in there all'ya want, 'least just tell me yer breathin," he continued, his forehead leaning on the doorframe.
Buck sighed upon no answer. His knuckles stung from knocking for as long as he'd been. Sure, Merril was stubborn, yet you can't beat Dallas in anything.
"Dallas." Buck breathed, pushing off of the door.
The sound of rustling from the leathery-made jacket being picked up, and quiet footsteps came from the other side of the door, before the squeak of the doorknob being turned. Tired eyes met Bucks, as the Winston boy peered out the crack.
The two stood in silence for a moment, taking in each other's appearances.
Buck is no clean man, he tries his hardest whenever time is free, yet he often stays in the same outfit for a few days at a time. His hair, greased back, and the stubble making his appearance look shaggy. His shirt was wrinkled, tarnishing by the day, and his jeans were in no better condition. The cowboy boots he always wore were starting to tear, as the leather had been worn down by use, and stained dark through rodeo. Though, unlike Dallas, he looked his age at 24.
Dally always had eye bags darker than he, with his sharp features being the only thing to compliment his appearance. The necklace around his neck was never taken off, and the chain had begun rusting ages ago. His hair was left free, wild and ungreased. The tang top he wore revealed the countless scars littering his arms, and the jeans he must've just pulled on were aged, with bloodied holes in the knees. He looked at least twice his age, at sixteen, yet it wouldn't take a genius on why.
"fuck off." Dally grumbled, seemingly he had just woken up. The door went to close, but instead was caught by Buck's hand.
"As if, kid," Buck began, getting met with a scowl. "Been in there for days. Get somethin' t' eat, will ya?"
Dallas eyed the older man, and though Buck swore he could see the hunger in the boy's eyes was met with:
"'M not hungry."
"Like hell ya ain't," Buck barked back. There was a hesitation in his words, he wasn't much sure how to deal with Dallas and his moods. One moment he could be as clear as day, and then the next be blazing like a flame.
"I ain't." Dallas hissed, his eyes narrowing as they scanned Buck. The two stared at each other, Buck hesitantly adjusted the fit of his shirt.
"Well. If that changes, got food downstairs." Buck sighed, before letting the door close as he turned to walk downstairs.
He never heard the click of the door shutting all the way as he made his way down, and he could feel the lingering stare on the back of his neck.
The bar was close to opening, usually the doors open at 6, but people start piling up by 5:30. The bar still needed to be cleaned from the night before, yet Buck had distracted himself with fixing the busted light bulbs and the sweeping of the floors. The simple task was dreadful, even with how small it is, the nitpicking nerve Buck had would never let him stop cleaning the same spot.
Turning his back to the mess, Buck wondered to the small kitchen kept hidden behind the bar. The fridge was small, and empty on some nights, as Buck had the habit of waiting until his situation turns dire. However, on this occasion, though not exactly full, he could at least make an eatable meal. Small, but easy. Though, it was only enough for Buck, and hardly anything would be left for Dallas.
Ordering out wasn't a horrendous idea, it'd make Buck tight on money for a few days, yet, it'd be better to not have a kid dying in his rented room.