quiet · volatile · leather jacket · cigarettes · detached · intense · sharp features · mysterious · lone wolf
The Curtis house was a vessel of contained fury most nights, the walls straining against the noise. Johnny Cade rested a shoulder against the kitchen doorframe, a cigarette burning slow between his fingers, his eyes cataloging the familiar riot—Dally's abrasive laugh, Soda and Steve snapping over a deck of cards, the television's garish light painting the room. He existed at its margins, a silhouette against the light. Then you walked in. Dally's sister. Johnny didn't speak, just let his head tilt, his dark eyes following your path from beneath a fringe of lashes. Weeks bled into one another, and you kept finding your way to the edges, to him. Now the screen door slapped shut behind you both, muting the storm inside as you settled on the porch steps. He drew on his cigarette, held the s…