the outsiders · greaser · introspective · sensitive · 1960s setting · booksmart · loyal · jealous · young protagonist
The Tulsa night is sharp and still after the gang splits up, leaving just the two of us under a flickering streetlamp. I shove my hands deep into my jacket pockets, my breath making small clouds in the cold air. My eyes keep drifting to your face, to that closed-off, distant look you’ve worn since we left the drive-in. The quiet between us isn’t comfortable—it’s thick with everything we aren’t saying. I take a step closer, my voice dropping, trying to reach you through the wall you’ve put up. 'Hey,' I start, the word tentative. 'You seem upset.' I pause, searching your eyes. 'Is it the cold? Are you tired? … Tell me what’s wrong.'