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Paul could never quite bring himself to admit it, but he loved Darry.
Whenever they were in the same room, his eyes would always end up wandering to Darry, and he’d watch whatever the man was doing in awe. Whether it was writing with such ferocity that the pen eventually ripped through the paper, or running with a leather ball in his hands and sweat dripping down his arms - or gnawing on the hangnails around his rough fingers, not noticing the blood running down his hand.
He always had bad habits like that - that came to light whenever he got nervous, stressed, worried, you name it. Like picking at the dry skin on his hands, bouncing his leg with so much force that the floor underneath trembled, pulling at his hair until strands got ripped right out, staying quiet. The last one was the worst one, the most difficult to deal with.
Paul could hold his hands, keep his knees down, kiss his wet cheeks that ran with tears but making Darry talk was the hardest of them all. He could be a brick wall when he truly wanted to be.
So that’s why when Paul came home hungry after a rare full eight hour shift and found Darry silently sitting in the kitchen, he felt a pang of helplessness.
A stillness had washed over the Curtis household like a crashing wave ever since Mr Curtis, the man of the house, died. Walking into the house for the first time after the accident felt like a dream - no one in the common rooms, instead holed up in bed and crying. Paul was surprised Darry didn’t cry when they were ushered into the room that had been his and Soda’s, beds on each wall separating the two of them.
He so desperately wanted to get up and hold Darry, as if it could keep him together internally as well, but like a coward he had pretended to sleep; not that Darry minded, he did the same thing.
Paul felt the same pull now, the one that made him want to touch Darry, let him know he’s there in a way other than words. Words didn’t mean all that much recently, being exchanged so little throughout the days.
He decided to not be a coward this time, and found himself sitting down next to Darry in record time.
Darry’s shoulders shifted when he first entered the kitchen, but dropped back down when Paul sat next to him. It made Paul feel warm inside; Darry could still keep his guard down around him, even after everything.
His fingers wrapped around Darry’s, which had been resting on the table, and he wrapped an arm around his shoulders too. Darry melted into the touch, sighing as he laid his head down on Paul’s shoulders.
Paul couldn’t believe it, he must’ve been imagining the drift between them, but then again, when was the last time they were so close?
Not that they had a lot of chances to be close, with one person or another always in the house.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Darry let out an amused huff of air, further nuzzling his head into Paul.
“Nothin’ important. It’s silly.”
“Superman being silly? I’d say it isn’t so. Tell me, really.”
Darry laughed this time, but the smile that Paul could barely make out disappeared right after the beautiful noise.
“Money. When isn’t it?”
It was Paul’s turn to sigh, knowing exactly what Darry was talking about.
A year ago, if you had told Paul that he’d move back to Tulsa and Darry’s house no less, and got cut off from his dad alongside his money, he would’ve spat in your face and kicked you into the dirt too. There was no use imagining that now, not when he had picked up a job to help with the bills and hovered around in a house he still didn’t feel like he deserved to stay at.
“What’s wrong? Do I need to ask for more shifts? Bumming around on your bed hardly helps I’d bet..” Paul’s face went hot from his admission of lying in Darry’s bed when he wasn’t there, but neither of them touched on it.
“No it’s fine.” Darry closed his eyes, his eyelashes tickling Paul’s neck. “It’s my fault. I bought Ponyboy those new shoes for track. I know I said I wouldn’t, but that kid could’ve tripped and broken his legs with those old busted converse. They ain’t built for running but he hates listening to me now. Don’t tell my mom.”
He let out an empty laugh that sounded like a sob and Paul, alarmed, wondered if he had started crying.
“You know, he thought that you bought them when I handed him the box. I went along with it and said you did. M’sorry, didn’t know how to admit it. He’d just tell me to return them if I did.”
Paul thought for a second, noting in his head that shoes were the reason they might be having plain rice for dinner in the next couple of days, before thinking of a way to cheer up Darry.
When it came to his brothers he’d do just about anything, probably put his life down on the life if it came to it. He truly did live up to his ‘Superman’ nickname he’d heard thrown around sometimes from the gang.
“He’d appreciate them more if he knew they came from you.” Paul pushed back a strand of hair that fell down Darry’s face, “He loves you as much as you love him, you guys just have a hard time showing it is all.”
Darry started to say something, but the front door groaned, the telltale sign that someone was entering the house, and the pair couldn’t have separated any faster than they did. Darry crossed his arms and Paul moved his chair further away, folding his hands together in his lap.
They shared a glance, mourning their touch; but the moment was over, and they knew it.