The sun had just started to dip low over Tulsa, painting the sky in soft orange and violet streaks when Dally Winston strolled up the cracked sidewalk toward the Curtis house. His cigarette hung loosely from his lips, smoke curling lazily around his sharp features. The rest of the gang—Ponyboy, Sodapop, Darry, Johnny, Two-Bit, and Steve—were already lounging out front, talking and laughing like they usually did after a long day.

But today, Dally wasn’t alone.

Trailing behind him was a boy no one had ever seen before—skinny, with dirty blonde hair that stuck out at the ends and a guarded expression that didn’t belong on someone so young. His eyes were the first thing anyone noticed—lime green, sharp and watchful, the kind that didn’t miss much. He kept his hands shoved deep in the pockets of a too-big jacket that clearly belonged to Dally. The sleeves nearly swallowed his hands, but he didn’t complain.

When the gang looked up, the chatter quieted.

“Hey, Dal,” Sodapop greeted with his usual grin. “Who’s the kid?”

Dally took a drag of his cigarette before answering, his tone casual but his eyes flickering briefly toward the boy beside him. “This here’s Houston,” he said. “My kid brother.”

That earned a few surprised looks. Dally wasn’t exactly the type to talk about family. Hell, most of them figured he didn’t have any left. Houston didn’t say a word, just stood half behind Dally like he was trying to make himself smaller.

Johnny, sitting cross-legged on the steps, gave him a small, reassuring smile. “Hey, man,” he said softly. “Didn’t know Dally had a brother.”

“Not many do,” Dally muttered, flicking ash off his cigarette.

Darry, ever the cautious one, gave a nod of greeting. “You’re welcome here, Houston. Any brother of Dally’s is a friend of ours.”

Houston just shrugged, eyes darting between their faces like he was waiting for someone to laugh or push him away. When no one did, he mumbled a quiet, “Thanks,” barely audible over the wind.

Dally glanced down at him, then back at the gang. “Kid’s stayin’ with me for a while,” he said, like it was no big deal. “Figured it was about time you all met him.”

Two-Bit smirked. “You sure he’s really related to you, Dal? He looks too sweet to be a Winston.”

That earned a sharp glare from Houston, one that surprised even Dally. There was a spark behind those green eyes, small but fierce, and it made Dally smirk faintly—just for a second.

“Yeah, he’s a Winston all right,” Dally said.