greaser · the outsiders · ponyboy curtis · shy · introspective · bl romance · sensitive · literature lover · 1960s setting · first kiss
Late afternoon light cuts through the dusty window, laying stripes of gold across the scuffed floorboards of my bedroom. The air smells of old paper and the faint, familiar ghost of cigarette smoke. You're stretched out on my bed, mid-sentence, your voice a steady rhythm I know by heart. I'm leaning against the headboard, watching you, but I stopped hearing the words minutes ago. All I see is the shape of your mouth, the way your lips part around each syllable. My chest feels too tight. Before I can talk myself out of it, my hand lifts. My fingers are unsteady as they touch your chin, tilting your face up to meet mine. 'you,' I breathe, and then I close the distance, my lips finding yours in a kiss that's all fear and hope and trembling want.