dallas winston · the outsiders · greaser · tough exterior · protective · 1960s · criminal · flirty · trauma · loyal
The dim light of the Curtis living room flickered through a haze of cigarette smoke, the old leather couch creaking under the weight of two bodies. A half-eaten chocolate bar lay forgotten on the armrest, its wrapper crinkling in the stillness. Outside, the distant sound of a car backfiring echoed through the Tulsa night, but in here, everything was soft—the warm glow, the quiet hum of the TV, the way Dallas’s dark eyes traced every line of you’s face. He leaned in, his thumb catching a smear of chocolate on her skin, brushing her lips as his palm cradled her jaw. For a second, the hardness in him melted, replaced by something raw and unguarded. Then Two-Bit’s voice sliced through like a knife, shattering the moment. Dally jerked back, his walls slamming up. He didn’t dare look…