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PONYBOY NOTICED HER RIGHT AWAY, LIKE A GOLDEN DANDELION BEING PLUCKED FROM THE WEEDS. THE PRETTY SOCIAL STUCK OUT LIKE A SORE THUMB, SURROUNDED BY SWEATY GREASERS.

             It wasn't peculiar to observe Dally choosing to ignore the girl, considering he always had a watchful eye on his reputation. What was particularly peculiar to Ponyboy, is when she waltzed up to them without hesitation.

             The youngest out of three, known to others as a boy genius, smiles in admiration of her braveness; knowing, first-hand, how scary Dallas Winston can be. He's always been so intimidated, even though he shouldn't be.

             Dal's cold, cruel, and challenging around the edges, notoriously hating the rest of the world besides Johnnycake and the Curtis gang. They haven't made his life a living hell— they were warm and welcoming, different than the loathsome "love" back in New York he had with his old man.

             While Dallas also has a watchful eye on his reputation, he also had bullet-eyes for pretty women. Spotting the tan-skinned beauty, he quickly had an unfamiliar taste in his mouth, it was bitter and unusual.

The taste was nerves.

             Pivoting his stance, he turns his back towards her, desperately trying to block Johnny and Ponyboy's view of the pretty social. Maybe, he was being possessive and would much rather have himself be the only one to look at her.

Or, maybe, he wasn't prepared for his best friends to meet her this early. She caught him at a surprise instance, his guard was down, and he was worried she'll say something without indiscretion.

             He tried to distract himself, making conversation with Billy, an older greaser who was family friends with the Curtis parents. He and his girlfriend, now finacé, would come on the weekends and watch the boys when Darrel and Shaynna Curtis went out. Now, they hardly see him.

             "How's it going, Bill?" Dally asks, picking up a dark-colored, definitely spiked drink, and sipping it, just as Ponyboy makes a sly comment about how greasy Billy's burger looks.

He could hear the wolf-whistles echoing around him; the sexual comments burning the tips of his ears as they inflame a protective rage deep within his heart.

             The urge to turn around and say something is becoming overwhelming, but the distinct sound of kitten heels hitting the black pavement saves his reputation and diminishes her own.

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WITHOUT THINKING, RORY BRAVELY TAPPED ON HIS SHOULDER, "HOW'S YOUR HAND?"

             Settling down his drink, Dallas turns his head over his shoulder, his umber eyes quickly glancing to her bloody knees and then slowly up the curves of the little black dress, before finally connecting with her sepia-colored specs. He looks back to Johnny and Ponyboy, quickly raising his eyebrows and smirking knowingly, before completely turning around and facing the ravenette.

             Ponyboy turns to Johnny, quietly mumbling something along the lines of, "I think that's her." Johnny nods, quickly replying with "I know," and shyly crowds behind Dally like a curious critter behind a forest tree. Ponyboy stands up on his tippy-toes, trying to see the girl that bailed out his buddy. 

             Her tan skin glowing under the dying sunlight; light perspiration on the bends of her collarbone and forehead; freckles and beauty moles are accidentally revealed to Dallas as the left sleeve falls off her shoulder. He wonders if there's a whole constellation down her body, left untouched and unscathed only for him to explore.

            The heart-neckline of the dress showed off her cleavage, and the simple, solid gold cross, encrusted with one diamond, modestly.

Her jewelry reminds Dal of what Rory truly is: a social that would never be seen with the likes of him; so he shouldn't get his hopes up, and, yet, his heart begins to beat so fast, he's worried Ponyboy could hear.

            "I could ask the same 'bout your knees," his voice low and a bit raspy from his cigarette as he notions to her long legs. The corner of her strawberry lips lifts as Rory drops her chin to inspect the pulsating cuts pm her knees caps.

            When a single strand of wild, inky hair falls in front of her eyes, Dallas felt compelled to reach out and put it back behind her ear.

Instead, punishing himself for the thought, he stuffs his hands into his jacket and continues to say an overused pick-up line. "Tell you what, doll, you can come back to my place, I'll fix 'em up real good."

           "Oh?" Rory asks, acting as if she's willing to go with him until she recognizes Johnny Cade behind his shoulder. His puppy-like eyes widen as he realizes his cover was blown, and he would've cowered away completely if it wasn't for Pony standing right behind him.

           Dallas doesn't notice any of this. He's too concerned with the possibility of taking her back to Buck's, an offer he would never refuse.

           Leaning off Bill's corvet, he slides his right hand to the lower half of the hood, his fingertips grazing the side of her bare thigh, barely toying with the flowy fabric of her skirt. Her peachy-plum perfume wafting into his nose as he crooks his head down towards her lips, enticing her to make the first move, the first say, the first anything.

His eyes glance up to the restaurant, hearing the doorbell ring loudly behind her— watching as a set of angry gauntlet gray eyes and matching madras emerge from the shop.

          "Are you really down with gettin' dirty with a grease, like me?" He asks, slowly licking his lips as he glances between her pretty facial features.

         "Not tonight," she retorts, watching as Johnny lets out a breath. He was so worried about Dallas forgetting all about the night out with his buddies, a night that Johnny longed for more than anything.

          Rory's nose scrunches as a distasteful dig slips from her glossy lips, knowing that she had to act like a bitch because of the growing crowd behind her. "Though I am more surprised that a jailbird like you has a home, to begin with."

         Eyebrows furrowing, pink lips pursing, Dallas quickly squashes the stabbing pain in his heart with a dry scoff.

He backs away, watching as her face changes from stoic to apologetic, her lips mouthing "I'm so sorry," and he subtly nods it away but also not completely accepting it. She embarrassed him in front of his friends, he spoke so highly of her all the way here; and currently, she is ruining her reputation.

        "Rory?!" Her name is called, Randy's voice rapidly growing louder with angry disbelief. Rory jumps at the sound. The visible reaction concerning Dallas is a little too much that he doesn't wanna leave just yet. He wants to make sure Randy doesn't hurt her.

        "Dal? C'mon, let's get- get outta here," Johnny tugs on Dallas's sleeve, unable to speak clearly as he recognizes the voice. He's one of them, one of the socials who beat him up.

Ponyboy chimes up, sensing the sudden fear in his best friend, "yeah, let's go, Dallas. Come on, we don't want any trouble."

        "Johnny's right, you gotta go,"  Rory adds, pleading with the stubborn New Yorker as Randy continues to pick up the pace and shout harsh words.

        Dallas finally agrees, saying "see ya 'round, doll," under his breath, before turning around and pushing the two younger boys to continue ahead.

Cursing to himself as they leave the Big Dipper parking lot, the screams of Randy echoing down the streets of Tulsa; ultimately hating himself for caring too easily. For a reputation of a tough guy, he really has such a big heart.

        "What the hell are you doing with that grease? Are you fucking kidding me right now? I leave you alone for two fucking seconds and—" He yells, harshly grabbing his sister's arm and yanking her towards his face.

"Fucking look at me when I'm speaking, Rory," he curses, his greyish brown eyes illuminating under the peachy dusk.

          —"I-I'm sorry," Rory whimpers, feeling her brother squeeze her arm impossibly harder until his knuckles start to turn white. "St-stop it, Rands, you're hurting me. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

          "You better hope it doesn't, or I'll have to tell father. You wouldn't want that now, would you? Not for his sake."

Rory nods incessantly, tears brimming her eyes, threatening to spill from the hurting pain throughout every aspect of her body: from her sore feet in heels, the infected cuts burning her knees, the bruising hold on her arm, and now the fear of her violent father fracturing her already broken heart.

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fez speaking!!

okay brain rot!! 1400+ words GAHH

i <3 them so much.
their dynamic >> anything else,
(possibly tied w #fexi)

and also fuck u randy.

pls remember to vote and comment,
you all mean the world to me <3