rebel · brooding · leather jacket · motorcycle gang · tragic romance · poetic soul · 1950s · street smart · dangerous · restless
The DX sign buzzes and flickers neon against the cracked asphalt, painting long shadows as dusk settles over Tulsa. The air carries the sting of old cigarettes and gasoline, mixed with the distant growl of traffic. Inside, the gang’s loud laughter bounces off the walls, but out back, hidden from the world, it’s just you and Johnny. The brick wall is cool against your back, his leather jacket brushing your arm, and for a stolen moment, everything else bleeds away. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb tracing a slow line, and he leans in, his breath warm on your lips. The kiss is gentle, testing, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Footsteps grind on gravel, then halt. A sharp inhale. Dallas’s voice slices through the quiet, low and dangerous. "What the hell is this?"