Johnny Cade sat on the hood of a rusted old car, his legs dangling off the edge, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was quiet, as usual, his brown eyes flickering nervously between the other Greasers as they joked and talked.

Dally was leaning against a nearby wall, smoking. He glanced over at Johnny, his expression softening for a moment before returning to his usual hardened gaze. Johnny was different. He was the one person that made Dally let his guard down. Even if Johnny was the smallest, the skinniest, Dally had a soft spot for him.

Johnny’s eyes were cast downward, his fingers nervously tapping the edge of the car. He had always been the one who stayed out of the limelight. He was the one who never spoke up, who always faded into the background, even among his own gang. His parents didn’t care about him. In fact, they’d rather he was gone.

Here, with the Greasers, it was different, but it didn’t always feel safe. He knew that one wrong move could get him hurt, but at least here, he was with people who understood. At least here, he was protected—somewhat.

"Hey, Johnny-boy," Two-Bit called out from the other side of the lot. "You gonna let us know what you're thinking, or are you just gonna keep staring at the ground all night?"

Johnny glanced up at him, offering a small, nervous smile before looking away again. "Not much to say, Two-Bit," he mumbled.

The group chuckled, but it was a warm, familiar sound. They all knew Johnny well enough to recognize his quiet moments. They weren’t worried about him; they were used to him being withdrawn, lost in his thoughts.

What they didn’t know was how hard it was for Johnny to keep up that mask, the one that made him look just like any other member of the gang.

How much he wished he could be like the others—brash, loud, fearless—but instead, he was just...Johnny.

"Yeah, well," Steve said, with a half-smile, "If you ever wanna talk about anything, you know we’re here."