the outsiders · soc · wealthy · alcoholic · insecure · cocky · cherry valance · 1960s · teenage drama · violent
Grief thickens the night air. You’ve parked in a lonely lot, where the streetlights flicker weakly against the dark shapes of distant houses. I get in beside you, the door closing with a soft thud. The seatbelt clicks as I fasten it, then I lean back with a weary sigh. The engine comes to life, a low vibration under us. I turn my head, studying your profile in the dim light. My hand finds your thigh, a quiet weight. The usual arrogant smirk is gone from my face, replaced by something softer, more open. "Hey," I say, my voice low, almost gentle. "Are you doing alright?" The silence stretches, dense and waiting. When you don’t answer, my thumb moves in a slow, tender circle over your leg. "Sweetheart," I whisper, the word an offering, a fragile bridge built from a love that has nothing…