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Curly Shepard lived up to every rumor whispered about him on the streets of Tulsa. Reckless? Most definitely. Mischievous? Without a doubt. Dangerous? His middle name. From skipping school to picking fights with people much older, he's done it. You name it; chances are he's been called it. There's rarely a line or boundary he won't cross. But to Ponyboy Curtis, he was so much more than that.
Pony stared into the mirror, checking his hair and thinking about the day, interrupted when someone draped an arm over his shoulders amid the cicada's chorus. The familiar scent of leather from a long-worn jacket, cheap cologne to mask the smell of smoke, and grass from all the times he rolled around fighting filled his nose.
There he was, his insufferable one and only .
"To what do I owe the honor?" Pony half sarcastically uttered, turning to see Curly with his trademark Chesire cat smile. As much as Pony dreaded seeing it at times, he couldn't help but feel this sense of importance every time he did. Curly always smirked, always. But when he looked at Pony, he couldn't help but smile.
Yeah, it wasn't the grins in those chick flicks Pony would see on the big screen. But it was Curly's; that was a scene to watch on its own.
"Damn, Baby Curtis, I didn't think it would be a crime to see you now," Curly chuckled.
Pony grunted under his breath. "You know good and well, Darry pretty much wants your head on a pike for what you pulled-"
"Banm yon ti repo, Ponybabe, for the last time, I swear I didn't see em there," he chimed.
"Well, whatever that means," Pony said, unlinking Curly's arm from his shoulder. "He did, and now he won't even look me in the eyes at dinner or anything, so thanks for that."
With the whole Curtis house at their disposal, they walked into the living room. Pony plops onto the couch, and Curly follows suit, putting his feet on the coffee table.
A small breeze entered the room, wafting through the curtains and befriending the sun's rays, meeting on both their skins.
"C'mon, you can't stay mad forever. Admit it, the look on his face was at least a little funny."
Pony looked over, and just like he had done a million times before, he giggled at Curly. Despite how long Pony's known Curly, he couldn't quite pinpoint if it was his eyes, his toothy smile, or maybe even the way the light would hit Curly's face just right. Still, he always had a way of making Pony feel at home again.
"Where is everyone anyway? There's always someone around to tell me to bring my troubles someplace else," Curly said as he wrapped his arm around Pony's shoulders once again and pulled him closer, looking around as if he was making sure any of them wanted to make him eat his words.
Pony shuffled, settling into Curly's embrace. "Believe it or not, some of them have jobs."
Curly quirked an eyebrow up, dropping his head a bit. "And the others?"
"Ok, they don't have jobs, but they are surely doing something important."
"Surely they are," Curly mocked as he rolled his eyes and landed them on the open window, looking into the distance.
As silence settled between them, Pony admired Curly with lingering looks. People often remarked upon Pony's staring habit, but he couldn't help it, especially when he saw Curly: with his freckles shining in the sunlight like stars in the night sky on his dark skin, his eyes scanning like a panther, his body always cool and collected, yet always ready for the next exciting thing, his-
"You're staring again, yknow," Curly interjected, quirking an eyebrow and dropping his head.
Pony scoffed and looked to the side, a little embarrassed that he had been caught. "It's not like you mind or anything; your ego could power cities in a storm for years, maybe even rival Dally's."
A grimace appeared on Curly's face at the thought of Dallas. But as quickly as it emerged, it went away. "Well, what can I say when you're remarkably radiant like me?" Curly sighed loudly while pushing himself onto Pony, huffing out the last of his response, "You just inherently recognize your greatness. Can't say much about ole Winston, though".
Pony hummed in response. He could've quipped a witty response, but he was caught up in something else. He was always secretly fascinated with how Curly said his r's. It was small; barely anyone ever realized how Curly's accent still lingered with how he softly pronounced them, but when they did? Nobody would dare speak up and say something about it out of fear of getting knocked out. But Pony wasn't just anyone—to Curly, at least. Every time he brought up his accent, a smallspark lit up in Curly's eyes. A glimpse of something softer, more vulnerable than his usual bravado. It's small moments like those Pony cherished the most, where he had the true Curly all to himself.
Even on this couch, Curly's weight against him made Pony feel different.
Curly isn't the type to take kindly to just anyone touching him; even while getting patched up from a fight, Curly seemed to be on edge. Hell, Pony's not even sure of the last time he saw Curly hug, let alone have his arm around Tim or Angela the way he did with him. Then again, Pony can't recall any of them being loving towards each other that didn't involve them using every colorful word under the sun or a rough touch.
Maybe it was just "The Shepard Way," as Curly put it.
Pony giggled. "Honestly, the way you're 'buddy-buddy' with me, we should call it 'The Christoper Shepard Way'."
Curly perked, hearing his real name come out of Pony's lips—the same lips he wants a smile out of every day. The same lips he's kissed countless times—the same ones he wants to, possibly even need to, kiss now.
"Ya think so?"
"Yea, why not?" Pony nudged him.
Curly chuckled, gazing at Pony as if he was the only thing in the room.
"Ou telman etranj," he said, flicking Pony's forehead.
Later, when they share a cigarette on the porch stairs, passing it back and forth while the world passes them by, the sky will have long gone with its shades of pink and orange, and the sun will be hidden behind the row of houses and trees that line the street, like a game of hide and seek; the fireflies replacing their hold. Curly will stare intensely into a puddle nearby, watching his reflection. Ponyboy, in turn, will reflect on Curly—not just the Curly that everyone else knew, or even the Curly he saw himself as, but his Curly.
Because to everyone else, he was just Curly Shepard. But to Pony, he was Christopher Ezekiel Shepard, and that's why Pony loved him.