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Johnny and Ponyboy had been spending the afternoon practicing. Dally was off doing God knows what, so it was only the two of them, sitting inside the Curtis family garage, hoping to escape the scorching heat of summer. The Tulsa heat was as terrible as it could possibly be and though it wasn’t humid, the sun’s rays weren’t being blocked by any clouds which would have made things a lot better.
Sitting in the garage, on the cold concrete floor, was the best thing that Ponyboy could think of. There was a fan whirring in the background, a few guitar and bass strings being strummed every so often. Johnny had been more quiet than he typically was, not finding the courage to say what was on his mind. It had been there for a while though, especially in the past few months after everything that had happened with the fleeing, the church, his injury.
His crutches were leaning against the chair beside him; looking at them made his heart race. He knew that the rest of the gang didn’t care about them - not in the way that would have made his skin crawl. Sure, for a while they had babied him a bit, but he had shut that down rather quickly. Part of him still hated himself whenever he looked at the things though, his breath picking up, his heart aching. It felt as though his entire life had changed rather drastically when those came into his life.
Johnny tried his best to distract himself by playing off a guitar riff to one of their newer songs, “Ashley Wilkes” - a song that Pony had come up with in reference to their time at the church, reading through Gone With the Wind. It wasn’t all that difficult, something that repeated throughout most of the verses, but it had taken him a good amount of time to get it down proper.
“Johnnycake, you keep playing like that and you’re gonna be the most famous guitar player in the country.” Pony has a large smile on his face as he said it, not a look of teasing manner at all.
Johnny wasn’t sure how to respond so he mumbled out a thanks. The words wouldn’t stop repeating in his head though, over and over and over again. In his own mind, Johnny didn’t think that he was all that good - sure he could strum a few chords, put together a riff or two, but that didn’t make him anything special. There were loads of people out there, some of them probably younger than him that were two - if not three - times as good. He was just a kid hitting strings to forget about his parents hitting him.
He huffed, “You’re too good for me, Ponyboy.”
The room went scarily silent. It was like the whole world had gone quiet, even the fan wasn’t whirring as loud.
“Now that ain’t true, Jay.” Ponyboy set his guitar down, scooching close to Johnny’s side, “Don’t go talking like that. You’re a good person, great even, so don’t go around saying that you aren’t.” Pony’s face was pinched with worry.
Johnny had always had spells like this, and the other was the only person that he told, the only person he was ever comfortable doing so with. There was just something about the relationship between the two of them that brought it about. This time though, he regretted saying anything at all. “You don’t got to react like that, Pone, it isn’t all that nerve wracking.”
“It is to me.” He gripped onto Johnny’s knee, not like the other boy could exactly walk away at the moment though. Ponyboy’s expression softened, eyes still as wide as saucers, “It’s troublesome to me.”
There was the quiet again; Johnny wished one of them would just take up their instrument again and start playing to drown it all out. Ponyboy was still practically leaning over him, Johnny’s guitar pick that the boy wore on a chain swinging between the two of them.
“Say you’re good.”
Johnny was taken aback at the sudden statement, “I’m sorry?”
Pony looked more intensely now, his words tightening, “Say. You’re. Good.”
He thought it over: Johnny was sure he wouldn’t truly believe it, but there was something in the way that Pony was speaking, the way he was so intent on making sure that he was believed, that Johnny didn’t think he was dirt on the bottom of his shoes… Part of that made Johnny think that maybe he was better than he was giving himself credit for.
“I’m good.”
Ponyboy leaned back again, a miniscule smile on his face. “Good. You should say it more often.”
There was something in the way the exchange had gone that made him think that it wasn’t only about the music, that there was something hidden in both of their words that they didn’t want to talk about at the moment. Knowing Pony, and knowing himself, Johnny knew that it would come out at some point - maybe as they lounged in Pony’s room, possibly while sneaking into a theater, but at some point those unspoken words would become known to the open air.
Ponyboy moved around the garage setting his guitar in its flimsy case and taking Johnny’s base to do the same. He moved with such intent that Johnny couldn’t do anything but just sit back and observe.
Finally, he held out one of his hands, while holding one of Johnny’s crutches in the other. Yes, he had sworn off accepting help from the gang, saying their babying made him sick to his stomach, but there were things that Pony could do that other people couldn’t. This was one of them.
Johnny slid his arm into one, resting his weight on it, as Pony got the other one ready.
“Let’s go to the lot, it's getting dark out so it’ll be a hell of a lot cooler.”
The lot. Now that was another spot where the unspoken could drift out into the world. Johnny knew that Ponyboy was probably going there to get him to talk, but he didn’t mind all that much. Sometimes talking about it all was a lot better than bottling it up in his head.