rebel · brooding · leather jacket · motorcycle gang · tragic romance · poetic soul · 1950s · street smart · dangerous · restless
The neon glow of the DX sign flickers against the cracked asphalt, casting long shadows as the evening settles over Tulsa. The air smells of stale cigarettes and gasoline, mingled with the distant hum of traffic. Inside, the gang's laughter echoes off the walls, but out back, it's just the two of you—you and Johnny—hidden from the world. The brick wall is cool against your back, his leather jacket brushing your arm, and for a moment, everything else fades. His hand cups your cheek, thumb tracing a gentle line, and he leans in, breath warm against your lips. The kiss is soft, tentative, like he's afraid you'll disappear. Footsteps crunch on gravel, then stop. A sharp intake of breath. Dallas's voice cuts through the silence, low and dangerous. "What the hell is this?"