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To Pony, Curly was a quiet and comfortable normal.
Nothing about Curly was quiet, nothing about Curly was normal.
Curly was loud, demanding respect he’d easily get without the need for making his unending want for it known. He’d stomp his heavy combat boots like the ground itself was a delenda, those around him turning to look as though Curly would snap at them if they didn’t. Pony understood those who feared Curly, but never would himself.
The logic behind Curly’s actions was relatively left unknown. Some said it was because he was plain stupid, a testament to how he’d never make it out of this now haunted town. (if Pony was to overhear those whispers and mutters, he’d defy them and point out anything and everything he could to disprove them.)
Some say Curly was manic, a body that nearly moved on its own with no way to stop it, lest you’d used physical force. (Pony would tell you that if you wanted Curly to stop, you could just tell him, and he’d stop his movements and he’d tilt his head in question. Pony wouldn’t know it was just for him, in moments reserved just for them.)
Pony knew that Curly isn’t who’d you’d think of when it came to quiet or normalcy. But to Pony, lying in Curly’s arms wrapped up on his lap, was like home. It made him feel safe, safe and warm and like nothing could ever hurt him again, because Curly wouldn’t let anything hurt him.
But in a world where any normalcy had been stripped from Pony’s hands, where he was left wholly open with wounds that couldn’t be licked clean. Curly stayed the same. That might have been bad for other people that Curly wasn’t as fond of, but it was good for Pony.
When Curly returned from Juvie, he feared the worst. What he found was worse to him.
He missed Pony, he’d missed Pony so greatly he’d stuck himself to good behavior in hopes to see him early. He’d feared it wouldn’t be enough, and Pony would finally realize he’d deserve better than a boy who’d got himself ruined before his life began.
But Pony didn’t break up with him as he’d feared. It was worse.
Pony was a shell of himself, a nearly lifeless husk, (like how Johnny laid in the cold ground, life burned out of him-)
And Curly didn’t like it. Not at all.
Curly missed the boy who would drag him outside his house and have him look at the sunset. The boy who hangs himself off of Curly’s arm as they’d watch its colors blend together before muddling into the dark blue of the night sky. Pony wouldn’t leave, he’d look at the stars. Curly didn’t understand, but he understood Pony had loved it,
and Curly loved Pony.
So watching him warily make himself over to Curly, who had picked him up and swung him around, before kissing him, looking like he’d not slept in weeks scared him. As Curly ran his hands along Pony’s side up and down later in the night, he’d felt his rough hands brush against Pony’s bare ribs, covered by a thin layer of skin and nothing else.
Curly’s teeth sank into Pony’s skin, so pale it nearly reflected light that fell onto it, it left marks much easier than he'd found. Curly didn’t like how easily he’d bruise, or how if he’d pressed too hard he’d leave an unintentional mark.
Pony melted into Curly’s touch, his cold body a perfect match for Curly’s warmth. He collapsed a top Curly, nearly purring, his eyes that had been sunken in lighting up as he looked up at Curly. Vying for answers as to what had made Pony, the strongest and kindest person he’d known, a hollowed out and gutted version of his former self, he’d questioned Pony.
He was met with broken down sobs, two hands grabbing at his shoulders and Pony trembling in Curly arms that had long since been wrapped around his waist. Curly could only whisper comforts to a pain he didn’t understand, praying he’d say the right thing.
Pony would eventually stop, becoming a sleeping statue in Curly’s arms. Curly wasn’t sure what had brought this upon Pony, but it wouldn’t happen again, he was sure of it. He cafune Pony’s knotted and uneven hair, blonder than when he’d last laid eyes on Pony.
The next morning would be met with an aubade, warm light muffled by the curtains attempting to bleed into their sanctuary. Curly wouldn’t wake Pony up, letting him rest. He liked knowing Pony was safe in his arms.
To Curly, Pony was a grounding force, and the best person he’d ever known.