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It’s getting cold, the wind cutting across the parking lot. Johnny bounces on his heels to try to keep his toes from going numb, but it ain’t really working. Soda grins and starts saying something about Dally being cold-blooded, when the door of the jail opens with a clang. Sylvia storms out, Dally sauntering behind. She gets to the boys and snatches up her purse, then turns around and flings her ring across the parking lot. It clatters inches from the storm drain.
"I hope you choke on your dog's dick!" She growls and storms off, shouldering Johnny out of the way.
Johnny steadies himself, then scrambles over and picks up Dally’s ring before it gets lost.
“That went well,” Soda murmurs as Dally joins them. Dally huffs and flicks his hair out of his face. He doesn’t have a jacket, so his cheeks are getting pink and the hair on his arm is standing on end. He and Soda hug manfully, a slap on the back. Dally hesitates, then slings an arm around Johnny’s shoulder, leaning into him. This close, Dally smells like sweat and cheap jail cigarettes and dried blood.
“Got a weed?” he asks, and Johnny fishes one out of his pocket, and Soda flicks a lighter, “Fucking bitch.” he murmurs as he takes a long drag.
“What happened?” Soda asks, cocking his head to one side.
He purses his lips and glares in the direction of Sylvia’s car.
“She slept with Shepard.”
“What?!” Soda’s eyes go wide.
“No way,” Johnny murmurs. Dally tightens his grip on him.
“Yeah, Tim came by this morning to tell me about it,” he shrugs, rolling his eyes “Whatever, man, let’s get the hell outta here.”
***
“Fucking - I can’t believe that bitch,” Dally mutters, kicking his dirty clothes out of the way. At a guess, the clothes are at least two weeks old, having sat rotting on the floor of Buck’s place since Dally was arrested last. Johnny settles back on the unmade bed, tucking a deflated pillow behind him, and watches as Dally dumps his rings in the jelly jar lid he uses as an ash tray, “And Tim Shepard? She steps out on me with Tim? He ain’t even good!”he glances at Johnny and then away, his jaw tightening, “You know what she said to me when she found out I knew?”
“What?”
He flexes his jaw.
“She said I shouldn’t be mad ‘cause I was flirting with Mary G. at that party a few weeks back. I mean, it’s like she doesn’t even – flirting and fucking are different, everyone knows that! Even Soda flirts.” He pulls a carton of Kools out of his dirty jeans pocket and scowls when he finds it empty. Johnny leans forward and fishes his Camels out. He shakes the pack. Dally catches it with one hand and nods a thanks.
“Still can’t believe you smoke these,” he mutters, taking one out and tossing the pack back, “We gotta get you onto a real brand.”
“What, like Kools?”
“Or Marlboros or something. Fuckin’ Camels...” he mutters. He flicks his lighter unsuccessfully a couple times, then shakes out his hand and tries again, “Fuckin’… flirtin’ don’t count, everyone knows that.”
“Sure.”
“Sylvia—” Dally starts again, cutting himself off to take another drag, “At least Tim told me it about it,” he decides, shaking the hair out of his eyes, “I mean, I should probably slash his tires for doin’ it in the first place, but, shit. Sylvia… She just loves makin’ me look like a -” he huffs, “What a skank, I can’t believe I even took her back...” He trails off, glaring down at the filter. The curtains are open, the sun just starting to set, the shadows on his face lengthening, stretching around the line of his frown.
“Well, hey, I think you lasted almost a whole month this time.”
Dally shoots him a glare.
“Who’s side are you on?”
“I’m just sayin’.”
Dally stomps over to the window and yanks the curtain closed, then stomps back to the bed. Johnny shuffles forward. Dally’s cigarette is finally down to the filter, so he snuffs it out on the dresser where it sizzles against the dust that’s collected there, and positions himself between Johnny’s spread knees.
His freckles are fading this time of year, especially a couple weeks under the harsh fluorescents of jail, but Johnny can still pick a couple out on his nose, under his eye. His lips are thin and rough, a bit of dried blood tucked into one corner. His tongue, when he swipes it against the side of his mouth, is pink, wet.
They kiss for a while, Johnny’s hand winding around the back of Dally’s neck. When they pull apart, he looks calmer, blinking with a sleepy, half-lidded expression.
Johnny purses his lips.
“This is a bit more than flirting,” he points out.
Dally snaps awake, his eyes narrowing.
“This don’t count,” he says quickly, “This is different.”
“I dunno that it is,” he says slowly.
He huffs, pulling away. “Well, it is.” He holds his hand out for another cigarette and Johnny hand it to him, then takes one for himself. They smoke in silence for a minute. He reaches over and brushes Johnny’s bangs out of his eyes, then kisses him again.
“Least you don’t care if I flirt,” he mutters, “It don’t bother you none.”
Johnny says nothing, looking down at his nails, which are bloody and bitten short.
Dally narrows his eyes.
“You don’t… You don’t care about the flirting, right?”
He looks away, to the wall where a dark crack has steadily been moving up the wood panel behind the loose headboard. Every time the headboard knocks against it, it widens a little. He's traced his finger over it dozens of times while they're laying in bed together, Dally dead to the world with an arm slung around his waist, Johnny too wired to sleep yet.
“I never said that.”
“Oh, fucking -” he whirls away, running a hand through his hair, exasperated, “Really?”
He shrugs. Dally stares at him.
“Well, you – you never said nothin’,” he says dumbly.
“Why bother? I know what you’re like.”
“Christ, Johnnycake, you still coulda said somethin’.”
He picks at a hangnail with his teeth.
“Not like it matters,” he says, his shoulders tightening, “Not like I could be the one wearin’ your ring.”
He sighs.
“You should be,” he insists, “If anyone’s gonna… It should be you.”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, “Like you said, it’s different.”
He frowns.
“Yeah, but – not ‘cause you’re a guy. I mean, yeah, that matters to other people but I don’t – I don’t give a shit.”
“What, that I’m a guy?"
“Yeah, man, it – it don’t make no difference to me."
He pulls on his lower lip.
“… Matters to me,” he admits quietly.
“Well,” Dally says looking away, a little lost, “Okay.”
A beat of silence. Johnny flicks his ashes away.
“You probably hurt her,” he says, watching the ashes scatter into the air.
“Huh?”
“You probably hurt Sylvia, flirtin’ with Mary like that.”
“Jesus, Johnnycake, what do you care? You don't even like girls."
He flinches.
"I may not -” he swallows, “I may not like girls, but I sure care about 'em more than you do."
Dally doesn't say anything, just turns and stamps around the room, digging through his dresser and slamming the drawer, fiddling with the lamp that's always flickering, even ducking down and fishing a box of matches out from under the radiator.
"It ain't about caring," he says, slowly, once he’s standing again, "It's about the rules."
Johnny tilts his head.
"What rules?"
He purses his lips. "The rules, man! Loyalty! There's - it's like shuttin' your trap around cops, or not bringing a blade to a skinfight. There's just shit you – you just don’t do. Like you don't fuck your guy's friend while he's in jail. Who gives a shit if I was flirting or not?”
Johnny digests this, then takes the ring out of his pocket. It’s warm from his body heat. He holds it out.
"Here,” he says. Dally stares at it, “You’re right, man, there are rules, whether you like 'em or not."
He snatches the ring, shoving it back onto his finger.
"Flirtin' never hurt no one," he repeats, glaring at the ring.
“I think it does.”
“I’m tellin’ you, it don’t. I could buy a girl a Coke and it still don’t mean nothin' 'til we start makin' out."
Johnny stares at him. He stares back, then rocks back on his heels.
“Whatever, man, you gonna finish what you started or not?” Dally asks hotly, looking him up and down with a wry grin.
Johnny huffs, but leans in.
***
Dally’s still in a mood the next day, winds up breaking his blade while slashing Tim’s tires. Johnny can tell by the way his jaw is tightened that he’s one wrong look away from breaking something. He considers cutting class to keep him from actually killing someone, but Dally drops him off outside the school with a glare.
“I’ll see you later?” Dally asks, eyebrows raised suggestively.
“Yeah,” he says, grinning, “You will.”
Ponyboy gets jumped that afternoon, and Dally invites the two of them along to the Nighty Double for a movie the next night. Then Johnny goes over to Buck’s with Dally and the two of them make out until their mouths go numb. Johnny almost forgets he’s annoyed at him until Dally starts talkin’ about how he’s itching for some real action.
“This don’t count?” he asks, gesturing to a love-bite that’s starting to purple just under Dally’s collarbone.
“It counts,” he contends, “It’s just different.”
“I don’t see how.”
He huffs, his breath hot on Johnny’s neck.
“It’s – ‘cause you’re – it just is.” he insists, defensive.
Johnny rolls his eyes and drops it.
***
All things considered, the night doesn’t start off bad. Pony’s in a good mood despite getting jumped the day before; they fuck around with a waitress and chase off some kids. He almost forgets Dally’s on his nerves until they get to the Nightly Double and sit behind a couple of Soc girls.
Dally glances at him with this look in his eye like he’s got something to prove, and Johnny feels the bottom of his stomach drop out. ‘I’ll show you how much this don’t count,’ his toothy grin seems to say. Johnny sinks into his seat, and sure enough, Dally starts in on the girl, saying the nastiest, sleaziest shit he can think of. It’s nothing Johnny hasn’t heard before, but it still stings.
The girl is having none of it, her back straightening into a tight line the longer Dally talks.
It don’t count, Johnny tries to remind himself, despite the jealousy squeezing his stomach. He’s trying to prove that it don’t count.
Then Dally says some shit that Johnny’s never heard before, and something in him snaps.
“Leave her alone, Dal.”
It might not matter to Dally, but it matters to him. Besides, that girl don’t deserve that kinda talk, Soc or no.
Dally whirls on him, shocked and bewildered, but Johnny holds his ground. His heart pounds. Dally’s eyes flicker over him, his mouth somewhere between a frown and a sneer. But Johnny keeps staring at him, his eyes hard, and eventually he deflates like a slashed tire and stalks off.
The girls are grateful, smiling at him like they ain’t afraid of him, and he and Pony join them in the row ahead. Pony and one of the girls start talking in low voices and Johnny just sits there, not really listening, waiting for his heart to come down from his ears.
***
He doesn’t see Dally again for hours, and by that point their dumbass argument is the furthest thing from his mind. He feels like a different person now, like maybe all that stuff happened to someone else. He stands on Buck’s porch with blood on his hands, feeling like a snake that’s shed it’s skin, or like he’s the husk of skin left behind and a strong breeze could blow him away. He doesn’t really know. What he does know is that he needs to see Dallas, that Dallas will be able to help.
A few minutes later, the blond appears silhouetted in the doorway and Johnny feels something in him unclench. It’s alright. Dallas is here, it’ll be alright.
Inside, there’s a moment when Ponyboy is changing his shirt and is blind to the world, where Dally looks at Johnny, a pained expression on his face. Johnny frowns and glances away, wanting to say something but not knowing what. There are more important things, now, anyway.
Johnny isn’t sure where they stand, exactly, as he’s tucking a wad of bills into the waistband of his jeans, but as they’re leaving, Dally ruffles his hair and gives him a look, the soft one reserved just for him, so he figures they’re probably okay.
***
It’s early one morning, Johnny sitting on the church steps. He isn’t sure how long they’ve been out here, a few days maybe. Long enough.
He hears a whistle off in the distance, a low long one ending in a short high note. He returns it, suddenly more awake than he’s felt in a long time.
Sure enough, Dally crests over the hill a few moments later. Johnny’s heart pounds in his throat.
“Dal,” he breathes as soon as the blond is within earshot.
Dally smiles at him crookedly, his sharp canines biting into his bottom lip.
“Hey.”
They stare at each other for a beat, and then Johnny throws his arms around him, circling his waist. Dally hesitates, then drapes his arms over his shoulders. He’s in a thin jeans jacket, not really warm enough for this weather, but he’s warm. Johnny buries his face in his shoulder, breathing in the cloying smell of Kools, and sweat, and dirty tang of the rodeo. It smells like Dally. It smells like home, and Johnny instantly feels more relaxed than he has in days.
“Hey, Johnnycake,” Dally murmurs into his hair.
When they pull apart, Johnny tugs on Dally’s sleeve, bringing them around the back of the church. After checking over his shoulder, he pulls him in, kissing him desperately.
When they break apart, after not nearly long enough, Johnny rests a hand on Dally’s cheek. His jaw is sharp with stubble, and he rubs his thumb across it. Dally leans in to the touch.
“It’s been crazy in town without you,” he murmurs. Johnny traces his lips with the pad of his finger.
“I’ll bet. It ain’t been no picnic out here, neither.”
He huffs a short laugh.
Johnny goes to tuck a bit of hair behind his ear before remembering he doesn’t got that much any more. Instead, he fishes in his pocket for a loose cigarette. Dally pulls out a box of matches. Its the last cigarette in the pack, so they pass it back and forth between them in silence. Its morning but its early, bits of overnight fog still clinging to the grass.
“You still mad at me?” Dally asks after a minute.
“Kinda,” he admits, taking a drag.
He sighs, blowing his hair out of his eyes.
“Yeah, I… I guess I don’t blame you.”
Johnny raises an eyebrow.
“It hurt,” Dally says after a moment, glancing over at Johnny and then away.
“Huh?”
“It hurt. When I found out Sylvia had slept with Tim. It made me feel… Like I didn’t matter to her.” There’s a high note in Dally’s voice, it shakes a little.
“Oh,” he agrees, not sure what to say, “Yeah, I’ll bet.”
Dally hands him the cigarette that’s gone a little wet around the filter. He takes two drags and hands it back.
“I don’t – you - you’re different,” he stammers, “And not ‘cause you’re a guy, ‘cause, hell, I don’t trust Tim as far as I can throw him.” He sighs, glancing again at Johnny, his mouth parted slightly, his breath ghosting out in front of him, “It’s different because I can rely on you.”
Oh. Johnny blinks, feeling warmth spreading all the way down his stomach.
“I can rely on you, too,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, “You were the first person I thought of when – when all this happened.”
“I better have been,” he says sharply.
“You were.”
Dally doesn’t say anything for a moment, then crosses his arms, looking away.
“That’s the thing, though.”
“What is?”
“I wanna be someone you can rely on,” he says softly.
He frowns, shifting his weight.
“You are.”
Dally swallows.
“No, I mean – I’m sayin’ maybe - maybe I haven’t been actin’ like you matter to me.”
“I – I know I do,” he shrugs.
“I know,” he huffs, “But… I’ve been thinkin’... maybe you got a point about the broads.” he sighs, flicking his ashes away. “I flirt so much ‘cause I know it doesn’t matter. ‘Cause - ‘cause I know you’ll still be there when I’m done. But if you’re -” he glances at him, “if you’re the one who’s stayin’, I guess I gotta give you somethin’ worth stayin’ for.”
Johnny mouth falls opens in shock.
“I ain’t sayin’ I’ll be perfect,” he says, “But I’m sayin’ I want to try.” he looks down at Johnny’s mouth, “I’m sayin’ you make me wanna try.”
Johnny’s insides turn to goo.
“But – but it ain’t just me,” Dally adds quickly, “You gotta tell me when I’m pissin’ you off.”
He thinks for a moment, then grins a wry grin.
“Does that mean I get to sleep with Tim?”
A thousand emotions cross Dally’s face in an instant: confusion, curiosity, and finally settling on annoyance.
“I’d skin both of you.”
Johnny huffs a laugh, then looks down at his feet, at the hole in his thin shoes.
“I guess I can try, too,” he mutters. It comes out quiet, hard to get out.
“C’mon, Johnnycake,” Dally murmurs, grabbing the hem of his leather jacket, “Let’s do somethin’ that matters before the kid wakes up.”
Johnny looks up at Dally’s lascivious smile and laughs, leaning in.