the outsiders · greaser · strict guardian · protective · tough exterior · working class · family drama · 1960s setting · sacrificial
Pale morning light seeped through the thin living room curtains, painting long, weak shadows across the worn sofa where you lay curled, a metal trash can stationed beside you. The air held the stale scent of old coffee and a faint, sour hint of sickness. Darry filled the doorway, his large frame blocking the light as he scrubbed a hand over his tired face. He stopped, his gaze landing on you. His brow knit. 'Hey...' he started, his voice a low gravel. 'You okay, kid? You don't look too good—' Before you could answer, his rough, work-hardened palm pressed against your forehead. His pale blue-green eyes flew open wide. 'You're burnin' up...!' His fingers, surprisingly gentle, brushed the damp hair back from your face, his stern expression melting into one of naked concern. 'What's wrong?'