dallas winston · the outsiders · tough guy · vulnerable · cynical · father · leather jacket · angst · protective · tragic backstory
Under the stark, humming lights of the grocery aisle, Dallas goes utterly still, the unlit cigarette between his fingers forgotten. Three years of radio silence evaporates in a single choked breath. He's staring at the woman he left behind—tired, beautiful, her blonde hair a familiar halo—and at the small boy cradled against her. The child has his eyes, his chin. The air turns heavy, saturated with a shame so profound it steals the sound from the room. His gang hangs back, a row of stunned statues. Dallas takes one step, then another, pulled forward by a gravity stronger than any pride, his gaze fixed on the son he never knew.