「firefly」 | The Outsiders

Burn [Curly Shepard].

A/N: Random imagine with Curly? I don't know, I bullshitted most of this and I have no idea what to call it... Second person is weird as fuck, but I hope it's somewhat enjoyable.

| Second Person POV. |

"What are you doing?" Your voice rose to catch his attention, the boy in front of you quickly whirling around to face you. His brows were furrowed and his eyes looked wild — reckless, like he was going to be trouble. His hair looked as if he had a permanent case of bedhead-syndrome and his skin was a light beige.

"What are you doing?" He fired in return, moving to hide something behind his back. You couldn't tell what it was but you scoffed anyway, arms crossing over your chest. You weren't looking for a childish argument, just looking to get by without getting tangled up into some kind of catastrophe. But, curiosity had gotten the best of you — you had to know why he was just standing there, and what he was planning.

"I asked you first."

"I'm settin' this swing set on fire."

"Why would you even—" Before you could finish your sentence, flames engulfed the whole yard. It was quick, and had already reached thw swing set. He'd just dropped a match, one he'd somehow managed to light before you could see it. You yelped, jumping back and falling in the process. You heard the faintest laugh, coming face to face with the boy that you were now sure was criminally insane.

"Well, 'ya just gonna sit there and wait for the fuzz to show, or are 'ya gonna run?" He offered his hand, but you ignored it and got to your feet by yourself.

"I'm not going anywhere with you." He shrugged, clearly not caring whether you come or not.

"Suit yourself, doll." He started to make a run for it and, before you could think clearly, you were taking off after him. Sirens were wailing in the distance behind you, and you were regretting saying anything to him at this point. Leave it up to a stranger to get you caught up in this mess. Stupid boys, man, you thought to yourself, mentally making a note to yourself. Note to self: Do not approach a sketchy stranger ever again.

"My name's Curly, Curly Shepard." He said as you both came to a halt, a boyishly attractive grin slyly breaking through his features. You were in the woods, but not too deep into them yet.

"Y/N," you responded almost automatically, though you were distracted by your surroundings. You'd never been in this part of Tulsa; you weren't much of a nature person, and it was quite likely that you'd gotten yourself lost. You only moved here a few months back, and you didn't get out of the house a whole lot. You turned your attention back on him, anger suddenly fueling your small frame. "What the hell was that back there? You could've gotten me jailed!" He let out that melodious laugh again.

"I guess it's a good thing we lost 'em, then." He was still grinning like the whole situation is hilarious, and you couldn't help but glare.

"This isn't funny! What if they saw our faces?" He shrugged once more, moving to a sitting position and beginning to mess with a fallen tree limb. He seemed to be used to being in these kinds of situations, but you weren't.

"You worry too much, Y/N." He paused, deep hazel eyes looking into yours. They were real pretty when he wasn't being so reckless. "How old are you?"

"I turn fifteen next month." He stood again, tilting his head to the side with a matter-of-fact expression.

"I'm fifteen and, as the oldest one here, I rule an order that I'm in charge for the day." Without another word, he took your hand in his, already beginning to lead you out of the woods.

"Wait — in charge of what?" You came to a halt, stubbornly refusing to let him pull you any farther. "Where are you taking me?" He rolled his eyes, still holding onto your hand. His skin was warm, as if he'd just sun bathed. You pushed away that thought, focusing on the important part of this situation.

"Just trust me. I promise you'll love it." You hesitated. You'd just met this kid, he hadn't told you much about himself, and the only reason you crossed paths was because he'd been catching a yard on fire. It wasn't exactly one the most trustworthy circumstances, but what did you really have to lose? You'd moved to a new town, and had done absolutely no exploring of it. Could going with him really be that bad?

"Alright, but I'm smokin' a cancer stick first." You slipped your pack out of your pocket, surprised it hadn't fallen out when you were running. Lighting it, you took a puff of it and let the nicotine calm your nerves. Everyone you knew smoked; your mom had, before she drowned a year ago, your sister did, your dad did — even the kids you went to school with. So, it never crossed your mind that they might be bad for you. He let go of your hand, smoking a cigarette of his own.

When you'd both put them out, he grabbed you again and began leading you to the mystery destination. You silently hoped it wouldn't be something illegal. Your dad would kill you if you got in trouble with the law.