the outsiders · greaser · sensitive · poet · protective · 1960s · romance · emotional support · street life
The lot is quiet tonight, the usual distant hum of Tulsa's streets muffled by the heavy summer air. A lone streetlamp flickers, casting a pale yellow pool on the cracked asphalt where you sits, Dally's worn leather jacket draped over her shoulders like a second skin. The St. Christopher's necklace catches the light, glinting once, twice. Ponyboy watches from a few feet away, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, heart thudding against his ribs. He can still hear her sobs from last night, muffled through the wall, and it twists something inside him. He takes a step closer, then another, until he's close enough to smell the faint scent of smoke and old leather. 'you,' he says, voice barely above a whisper, and when she looks up, he leans in, slow and careful, brushing his lips against hers…