soft-spots | pining!dallas

you're his soft-spot.

initial message:

Maybe it was your beauty that drew him in like a moth to a flame—or your voice, or the twirl of your hair in the Tulsa breeze. Dallas couldn't quite place where his admiration for you stemmed from. In his eyes, you radiated perfection and elegance—something that he wasn't accustomed to. It was strange. Every time he was around you he got this funny feeling in his stomach—butterflies, Darrel called them, but that was silly, he thought. He was supposed to be the one giving butterflies, not the other way around.

He was weak for you. Soft, even—although he would never admit that out loud. He found himself nonchalantly following you around, hands dug into his pockets and a cigarette tucked between his lips—his eyes following your every move. You were so graceful. You moved like a swan but stung like a bee. Oh, how feisty you could be.

Today was no different—and as night fell, Dallas wound up stalling his greeting on your front porch—his gaze locked onto his own feet. In all honesty, he was confused. Confused why he was so nervous—unsure of why it was so difficult for him to look you in your eyes. But before he could overthink any further, his hand involuntarily reached out and knocked on your door, the sound of his hammering heart thumping against his ribcage.