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Ponyboy doesn’t have any illusions about his relationship with Curly.
Curly isn’t a romantic and Pony knows that. He never has been and he wasn’t going to change because he spent a few months with a guy he likes.
Still, complete radio silence on Valentine’s Day stings a little more than he thought it would.
He’d take one of Curly’s god-awful attempts at romantic poetry (that half the time were taken from a first-grade classroom) over this.
He’d held out a small bit of hope all day, maybe during gym Curly would come to class and say hello. But he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him all day long.
It’s dark out by this point, slowly ticking toward February 15th, and Soda is snoring peacefully next to Pony.
The house is asleep. The neighborhood is asleep, which almost never happens around here.
He settles down for bed, right along with the pit of disappointment he knows would morph into anger when he sees Curly again tomorrow.
He shifts, making sure he doesn’t shake Soda and wake him up.
It’s 11:48.
He hates how there’s a slight ache. It’s dull, but there, and it still hurts.
He knows it shouldn’t hit him so hard. He knew going into it that Curly was going to put the same amount of effort into this thing than he had all his other flings. And he also knows that Curly isn’t a grand gestures kind of guy.
Especially not with a boy.
So, all he does is close his eyes and bite down on his cheek to make the pain in his chest ebb away.
He’s just about to fall into sleep when he hears a crash.
It sounds like someone fell through the screen door, and while it’s common for people to crash on the Curtis’ couch, it’s not common for them to literally crash.
He looks over at Soda, who barely even stirs, before his eyes flick to the clock. 11:52.
He bites his lip, arguing with himself over whether he should get up or wait to see who it was in the morning.
The decision is made for him when he hears heavy footsteps coming down the hall. His heart seizes in a cold fear and he gets up, being careful not to make too much noise on the creaky boards.
He rests his hand on the doorknob and listens through the wood. There’s a slight curse and the sound of tripping, a dull thud coming from the bathroom and Pony’s shoulders relax.
It was probably just one of the guys, stumbling their way back to the Curtis house after a fight.
But the knot of fear in his stomach doesn’t loosen, so he twists the doorknob and opens it slowly, just enough so he can slip through. He’s silent on his way to the bathroom doorway. It’s dark, and when he peeks in through the doorway, he can just barely make out a figure.
“Hello?”
The guy curses again and almost falls.
“Shit. Pony?”
And, no, never mind. Yeah, he recognizes that voice.
“What the hell are you doing here Curly?” He flips the light switch and the room is illuminated in a couple seconds, a gentle buzz coming from the lightbulb.
Curly is sitting on the floor, looking down, holding his stomach lightly.
“What’re you doin’ here?”
Curly sighs, his shoulders falling just a bit before he lifts his head. It makes the pool of fear in Pony’s stomach boil over again.
“What happened?” he asks, frantically, slipping to his knees next to Curly.
There’s a cut above his eyebrow, pouring blood down his face. His nose is bleeding but not broken, and he’s looks honestly...
Pathetic.
But Pony finds it really hot for some reason.
Concern overpowers that, though and he reaches up, opening a cabinet and pulling out a first aid kit.
“What the hell happened?”
Curly sounds almost shamed when he says “I got in a fight.”
And he knows it’s because Curly had looked him in the eyes and promised to stop getting into so many fights, a week ago.
‘An early Valentine’s present for ya, Baby Curtis.’ he’d said, a simple smirk on his face.
“Shit, Curly. Who the hell’d you get in a fight with?”
“Just a couple guys...”
Pony feels the overwhelming urge to hit Curly over the head, but he doesn’t. Instead he takes out an alcohol pad instead of just cleaning the cut with some warm water.
“So... you got jumped?”
“Nah. I would tell you if I got jumped.” Curly says, and he smiles until Pony presses the alcohol into the cut over his eyebrow. “I fought ‘em. By choice.”
Pony sighs. “At least you’re honest.”
Curly bites his lip and it’s quiet for a minute, just Pony patching Curly up in the gentle quiet of the bathroom.
“I had to!” Curly eventually bursts, even though Pony didn’t ask. “One of ‘em was talkin’ bad ‘bout you.”
It strikes Pony suddenly that the gesture is surprisingly... sweet. “Yeah?”
Curly bites his lip when Pony wipes the blood from around his mouth.
“You mad?”
“As hell.”
Curly sighs. “I’m sorry.”
Pony knows he shouldn’t. He knows that.
But he says, “It’s okay.”
And he helps Curly up and toward the living room.
“No, Pony. I can’t stay. Your brothers’ll kill me if they wake up and I’m sleeping on their couch all busted up.”
Pony snorts. “I doubt they’ll care. Maybe they’ll question you but they didn’t care when your brother stayed the night.”
Curly looks nervous, his face barely illuminated by the dirty light from the street being filtered through the curtains.
“Okay.” Pony says, and he sits on the ledge of the couch.
Curly steps closer, right in between Pony’s legs and kisses him.
It’s sweet and he closes his eyes, pretending for a moment that it’s not the middle of the night and he can’t taste the iron of Curly’s split lip.
It lasts what feels like forever before Curly steps away.
“Thank you, Pone. We can get lunch tomorrow or somethin’ if you want.”
“Yeah.” Pony says, staring into Curly’s eyes. “We should do that.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Curly says, another quick kiss before slipping through the door.
Pony looks at the clock. It’s 1:18.