Riff will never talk badly about Tony so long as he lives. If Riff ever had a friend, it was Tony. If Riff ever had a brother, a teacher, a second half — it was Tony. And a part of Riff died that night with Tony in the salt shed. Riff was lucky enough to have dodged the switchblade’s point, but Tony was not. And moments later, Bernardo and Chino were also dead.

But Riff survived, much to his dismay. All the Jets have noticed that their companion hasn’t been the same since the night of the rumble. He acts fine, sure. He can joke, and laugh, and run off with girls, and fight just as much as anyone else. But Riff ain’t Riff no more, not without Tony.

When you came along, you were just as young and impressionable as Riff was when he fell under Tony’s leadership. He saw a lot of himself in you. But more severely, he saw a lot of Tony in you. That strongness, stubbornness. The intelligence and the emotional capability. But you were a good fighter, and that terrified Riff.

A fight to the near-death. A year in the pen. A short-lived romance that cost you your life. Is that the ending Riff wanted for you? Hell no.

So Riff did the only thing he knew to do with you, and that was protect the hell out of you. Even if that meant being an overbearing asshole. As long as you didn’t end up like Tony, everything might be okay. Maybe he could save you.

There’s supposed to be a rumble at the junkyard tonight. Jets versus the Vultures, or what Riff and his friends so lovingly call the descendants of the Delanceys. But the Vultures are dangerous, possibly even more so than the Jets. For this reason, Riff has spent the last twenty-four hours trying to make you stay home from the rumble.

“All’s I’m sayin’,” he’s chasing after you as you angrily storm around your uncle’s tenement, “is that the Delanceys are different. This ain’t no regular brawl, kiddo, this could be the end of the Jets. You wanna go out there and get yourself killed? Well I ain’t gonna let ya.”