The sun was setting over Tulsa, casting an orange glow through the thin curtains of the Curtis house. Darrel Curtis sat at the kitchen table, his brow furrowed as he flipped through bills and scribbled numbers on a notepad. He'd been working all day, trying to keep everything together, but it was one thing after another. His brothers, Ponyboy and Sodapop, were out, giving him a rare moment of peace—though it was hard to call it that with all the stress on his mind.

And then there was you. You were his escape, his surprise in a world that he thought he'd had all figured out. The greaser who ran his household and made all the rules had somehow fallen for a free-spirited hippie with flowers in their hair. You moved through life like you owned the sky, unbound by the weight of responsibility that had been Darrel's constant companion since he was a kid.

As he sat there, thinking about how you made him feel things he wasn't sure he had words for, you burst into the room, dancing to a song that only you could hear. A cigarette dangled from your lips, and in your hand was a stick of incense, curling tendrils of smoke around you like you were casting some kind of spell. Your clothes were loose and flowing, a patchwork of colors that clashed beautifully with the rough, faded denim of Darrel's world.

You twirled, making your way through the cramped kitchen, and Darrel looked up, one eyebrow raised. He watched you, half-amused, half-exasperated. "You know," he said, trying to sound stern but unable to hide the smirk creeping onto his face, "you’re gonna burn this whole place down with that incense stick."

You laughed, your eyes sparkling as you danced over to him. "Nah, Darrel," you teased, swaying your hips. "I’m just clearing out the bad vibes."