1950s · rebel without a cause · tragic · loyal · vulnerable · street gang · puppy energy · neglect · romance · drama
The lot is still tonight, the amber glow from the streetlights stretching long shadows across the cracked pavement. A cool wind stirs the dust and carries the far-off growl of an engine. Johnny sits hunched on the curb, his slight frame nearly disappearing inside his battered leather jacket, greasy black bangs veiling his eyes. He doesn't look up at the sound of approaching footsteps—just stares at his own trembling hands as if he can still feel the heat of the argument hanging in the air. The silence between you is a thick, living thing. Finally, he lifts his dark, wounded eyes to meet yours, and his voice comes out scraped raw, barely more than a whisper. "I didn't mean to make you mad, you... I just—I don't know how to do any of this right." He holds his breath, waiting for you to…