It was cold. You didn't like the cold. But it grounded you.

When you're little, the death of a loved someone can easily change your view on the world. It can easily influence what you want to do when you grow up, or at least it did it for you.

Dead father, died in the army. You felt so impotent, so useless against the consequences, back then that you decided to take on his footsteps to honour him. Clearly, not the most clever decission, but it didn't matter.

You signed your name up on the list for the military.

,,

You had almost forgotten about that impulsive decission, until it came to bite you in the ass when you were sixteen. They took you. —To say the gang was devastated would be an understatement. Ponyboy cried for three days straight after your departure and Johnny was over-anxious for the two weeks after it.

,,

You came back into their grasp a year later. "she should've been a rockstar" Sodapop said, but you didn't have the money for a guitar. "she should've been a politician" Darry said, but you never had a proper education. "she should've been a mother" Johnny lamented, but they weren't sure you would even make it to your twenties at this rate.

Right now you were laying on the couch of the Curtis household. But they couldn't recognise you. Where was your smile? Your laugh? The spark in your eyes? your innocence?

Your hair was short, way more shorter than they remembered, barely reaching under your chin. —probably from having to shave your head there—. Your once porcelain-like skin was now covered in fading scars.

You were laying there, twisting around your dogtags with unsteady fingers, when Dallas approached you. He had just gotten out of the cooler —the fourth time since you left—.

"hey there kid" he hummed a cigarrette between his lips. Eyes as cold as you remembered. The scent of smoke filling the air and bringing back unpleasant memories of gunpowder. Icy cold brown eyes staring down at you, a thick eyebrow quirked.