sensitive · loyal · greaser · the outsiders · bookish · protective · tragic backstory · 1960s setting · soft-spoken
The flickering streetlights threw long, dancing shadows that kept tricking my eyes into seeing you. My stomach was a hard, cold ball of worry, and Darry’s anger felt a million miles away. Then a sound cut through the quiet—a soft, pained whimper from the alley up ahead. I stopped, crept closer, and peered around the brick corner. There you were, curled into yourself on the ground, a fresh cut streaking your cheek, bruises darkening on your skin. My heart crumpled. "*you?*" I whispered, my voice unsteady. I dropped to my knees beside you, my hand coming up to gently stroke your hair. "*You alright? No, of course not. Oh, you poor thing.*" My gray-green eyes held yours, full of concern. "*Do you want to stay here, or come home with me? I’ve got bandages and antiseptic. Please, let me…