Chapter Text
Keith ‘Two-Bit’ Matthews was never the one to love someone.
If you are meaning platonically or in a Familial way, he loves people, but Romance is another story for him. Romance just isn’t his thing.
Nobody knows why, but Two-Bit just doesn’t feel Romantic Love, not like how Steve loves Evie and their similar interests in Inventions and Engineering or how Sodapop used to adore Sandy with all his heart. He was more of the one-night stand type, like Dally before he met Sylvia.
Two-Bit was a Greasy Playboy, hooking up near weekly with Blonde dames like Kathy, Susan, and countless others he never remembered the names of after a few weeks or so. He doesn’t commit to people and enters relationships that’ll eventually end tragically or suddenly, he just fucks and leaves in the night.
Until he met Marcia Valentine.
She was a brunette, about Five-foot Eleven with a fairly good build for a woman like her. Her clothes were nearly entirely white, with the exception of that maroon sweater she’d worn when He’d first ever seen her at that Drive-In. Clean clothes, no scars on her body, and he could tell that she barely touched makeup with a face so clean like that.
At first, he wasn’t sure what the feeling was. He kept talking to her like it was nothing, smirking like satan when he saw how his jokes (which were usually called dumb by most girls) were being laughed at by Marcia, and how having her tell them back felt nice. Once he figured it out though, this feeling , it was terrifying to him. To think that he, an Alcoholic greaser that’ll probably never leave the state of Oklahoma, was in love with a Socialite Girl that had her life all planned out to perfection. It’s scary.
That’s probably why he threw the number away that night. He didn’t really think it was a phoney, she didn’t seem like the person to hand fake numbers, but the fear of falling further for her was extremely high. Could he have kept the little receipt with Marcia’s phone number on it and just never bring it up to Johnny or Ponyboy or literally anyone else in this world? Probably. Did he throw it out anyways? Absolutely.
God he feels like an idiot though.
But that’s no longer his problem! If he tries hard enough he’s eventually gonna forget about her! Just as long as he doesn’t see her face ever again and doesn’t think about her, everything will go back to normal and he’ll never feel this shit ever again.
.
.
.
Remember what he’d promised to do last week? Yeah.
It ended up being way easier said than actually done, turns out, you can’t exactly “forget” this type of stuff in a place like Tulsa.
He saw her at a Store he was at on a random Wednesday, whist he was in the middle of smuggling out a Pop Bottle and some Cigarettes (It’s not like he can’t afford it, he just doesn’t wanna pay. Capitalism sucks). He just stared at Marcia for god knows how long, watching her slowly check off a grocery list and practically jumping away when she nearly caught his eyes faced to her.
Next day, she’s out walking around town with some of her friends when he’s in the middle of being kicked out of a bar for back-talking to the Bartender about his Drink. She had to listen to him drunkenly swear at the Workers, hearing some stuff in particular that a Girl shouldn’t have to hear in broad fucking daylight.
He did stop swearing at once point, just falling over on the sidewalk and groaning about how Darry’ll kill him if he finds out how badly he fucked up this time. After a few minutes he’s sitting down on a wall in an alleyway, ten seconds away from puking his insides out, when he hears a female voice calling near him.
“Are you okay…?”
No. Not at all, actually, but even god knows he’s never gonna tell anyone that. Not when he’s somewhat sober at least.
“…here, lemme help you out..”
There’s a hand grabbing his shoulder now, slowly pulling his body up on its legs. Speaking of his body, he’s got a cut on his cheek. It isn’t too bad, he’ll recover without any scarring, but Marcia probably doesn’t know that.
“Where’s your house? I can walk you home.”
As if. She’d get jumped or cat-called if she dared to step one foot into Greaser Territory. But he simply nodded, pointing to the direction of the house that was supposed to be home for him. It kinda wasn’t though.
By the time Marcia was to his house, she’d probably been called ‘Sugar’ and ‘Honey’ about ten times by Greasers driving around the neighborhood. Two-Bit simply would flip them off or cuss at them so they’d fuck off and leave the two alone. She’d led him to his front door though, safe and somewhat sound.
“Y’know… I shouldn’t be lettin’ a gal like you to walk home alone…” He offered, leaning on the fence of his house.
“Oh it’s fine, I can walk to a Payphone and get my Dad to pick me up.” She shook her head no, smiling at him like they’d been close for years. “By the way… you never called me.”
Fuck. Make an excuse, quick. “I uh…. I… lost it. Sorry baby…” Good call, sweet and smooth, you absolute fucking idiot.
“Huh. Well, I can write it again, no sweats.” Wait- I’m sorry WHAT. “Do you have some paper I can borrow?”
“Ehh- sure- be right back.”
Welp, this mission to forget his crush on this girl has ultimately failed in the worst way possible. Now Two-Bit isn’t even sure if he’s having a Dick-brain move or he’s genuinely acting with a somewhat confused mind. He grabbed the nearest slip of paper and a working pen anyways, and quite hastily handed it to Marcia. “Here.”
“Oh wow, you were… quick.” She expressed some puzzlement in how quick he acted to get her a Pen and Paper, as she started writing her number down again on the slip.
“Well, I just had to be- not really- I just-“ Wow… this has got to be the most ridiculous he’s ever looked. In front of a girl too.
“If you were thinking about this wasting my time, I actually don’t have much to do anyways. But, I have a curfew on Weekdays, even when school’s out.” Marcia laughed to herself (or at him!) before handing the paper and pen back to Two-Bit. “Call me soon, but not immediately, okay?”
“…’lright doll…” He muttered, looking briefly at what two items laid in his hands before watching Marcia walk away from his house and out of the neighborhood.
He stood there for quite a while, probably about two minutes if anyone was keeping track, before slowly walking into his house. He set the pen on the Counter in the kitchen before grabbing the nearest Bottle of Alcohol he could find, and attempting to down the whole thing in one go.
It tastes weird now, and he starts coughing once the bottle’s completely empty. He feels weird, not buzzed like how Alcohol is supposed to make you feel, this is entirely different. He collapses on the couch, his face slamming on the pillows while the paper in his hands rests on the Coffee Table.
Is he really going to fall asleep right here..? Yeah, maybe he will.
But… he feels good this time. He’s not drunk, or high off his ass on drugs he stole from someone else, so this is something else entirely.
He feels nice. It’s scary for him, and he’s not sure where this will go, but hopefully he doesn’t fuck it up. Hopefully…