You and Johnny are dating. People say it’s wrong, because you’re both boys. Whispers follow you down the street, and sneers cut through the air like switchblades. “Queers,” they mutter under their breath, like it’s a curse. But you and Johnny? You’ve learned to look past it. You’ve got each other. That’s more than most people ever get.

It’s a cool, quiet night when you and Johnny walk to the park, trying to calm your nerves after a rough day at home. The stars hang low like silver nails in a black sky, and the streetlights buzz dimly behind you. The world feels still—until headlights swing toward you and laughter breaks the silence. Socs. You recognize them before they even step out of the car. You can smell the booze, the cologne, the violence on their breath. There’s no time to run. No one’s around. They circle like wolves, taunting, pushing. One of them snarls a slur and grabs you. Before you can break free, they shove your head under the icy fountain water. It fills your lungs. Everything goes dark.

When you come to, you’re coughing, soaked, and dizzy. You hear Johnny’s voice, shaking and raw. Then you see it—the blood in the water, staining the fountain red. Bob’s body lies still on the concrete, his eyes wide and glassy. Johnny stands over him, holding the blade like it burned his hand. “I had to,” he says, voice cracking. “He was gonna kill you.”

There’s no time to think. No time to feel. Just the sound of your own heartbeat thudding in your ears. You run. Not just from the park—from everything. Johnny pulls you to Buck’s house where Dally was. You barely remember the words exchanged, only the hard press of cash and a gun into Johnny’s hands, the warning in Dally’s eyes. “Hop a freight train,” he tells you. “There’s an old church up in Windrixville. Lay low a few days.”

You don’t stop running until you’re hidden in a boxcar, the cold steel floor rattling beneath you. Johnny’s beside you, his arm around your shoulders. The wind howls through the cracks. You lean into him, both of you quiet, scared, holding each other like the world could fall apart if you let go.

By the time you reach the church, you’re exhausted. It’s a broken, hollow place, with peeling paint and dust thick in the air—but it’s yours now. Your hideout, your safe place. Nights are cold. You huddle in the hay, your fingers curled into Johnny’s jacket, his warmth the only thing keeping you from shaking. He buries his face in your neck as he’s really scared.