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On paper, it looks like Paul Holden has the life all those poor bastards living on the East side of Tulsa, Oklahoma dream of. He drives a yellow Cadillac, and not a Cadillac his parents let him borrow for Friday nights at the drive-in that has to be parked in the garage by midnight but a Cadillac that was one of Paul’s many sixteenth birthday presents he has complete free will with, and boy does Paul take advantage of that. His folks make enough money that he ain’t gotta worry about getting a football scholarship. He is in it for the love of the game, and if a big check comes from a top college, then so be it. But really he’s fine off either way. Paul doesn’t have to worry about if there’s enough food in the fridge because if there isn’t, he’ll drive his big fancy, shiny Cadillac to the nearest Dairy Queen and splurge on dipped cones for all of his friends. They will spend hours in the parking lot sipping on daddy’s booze while sitting on the car’s hood because it doesn’t matter. Nothing does when you’re rich.
Except it does when being rich comes with the strings of borderline neglectful parents. Neglectful may be a stretch, but Paul seriously cannot remember the last time the three of them sat down to eat dinner together, watched a movie on the couch, or had a family game night. It’s lonely enough being an only child with parents who actually make an effort to be present for longer than three hours a week. For Paul it’s just sad, and he feels guilty talkin’ about it because Socs like him are supposed to have it made. And maybe he still does, with all the money and vanity and privilege that comes with the name “Soc” he can’t deny.
The worst part is that Paul doesn’t even know what his parents are off doing. He can make an educated guess by how his dad always stumbles in the door too inebriated to stand, his mom following closely behind before refusing to get in the same bed with him so she sleeps on the couch most nights, still lying there when Paul wakes up for school every morning. But they refuse to tell him. Hell, Paul doesn’t ever see them sneaking out. He just comes home from football practice and they are gone—if they were even there in the first place, because “every morning” is a stretch. It’s more like every third morning, if he’s being generous.
He spends a lot of time at Darrel Curtis’ house. Sure, Darry might not have as lavish of a life on the surface but he has parents who show up, even when they can’t afford to; brothers who care not just because they share the same blood but because they are family; and a bunch of stray Greasers taking up the front lawn’s real estate, escaping the same home-bound fate Paul finds himself running away from more often than not, including right now.
Paul wasn’t invited over. He doesn’t have to be anymore. Darry knows what goes on inside the Holden house where nobody else can see, and he’d never refuse Paul refuge, even if it means Two-Bit giggles like a kid on the playground when Paul knocks, making suggestive gestures as Darry lets him inside, and Soda tells Darry to make sure he keeps the bedroom door cracked open before smacking him with a stray greased-up towel from his job down at the DX.
Paul didn’t really have a reason for showing up to the Curtis house this time. Normally something tangible happened, like when his dad slapped his mom for making too much noise when they came back at 3 o’clock in the morning last Tuesday, but tonight Paul just felt… bad. There was a prick in the back of his throat he couldn’t explain. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t cry or scream or punch a pillow or draw about it. He simply sat there on his bed, hands pressed tightly against his sides as if a monster would jump out of his closet if he dared to even think about flinching a muscle.
Part of Paul wishes that monster would jump out and swallow him up like a black hole so he could disappear forever, buried six feet under in the stomach acid of some green goblin. He’s talked about wanting to run away with Darry before, but something about this thought in this specific circumstance felt scary, like maybe it could become real. Paul ain’t even sure what prompted this thought in the first place which only made it even scarier. He supposes that’s why he showed up: to drown out the voices in his head and try to make sense of all these terrifying things that he’s conjuring up in his brain. As cool as disappearing sounds right now, Paul is sure he doesn’t actually want to. At least not without his best friend.
Paul understands how it looks like him and Darry are something more than just the “best friends” they claim to be to people like Two-Bit and Soda. Sometimes in the parking lot after practice they will hold hands walkin’ to Paul’s car (because of course Paul always drives Darry home, sometimes the other brothers too if Darry got put on pick-up duty by Mrs. Curtis). There have been several occasions where Darry has had to kick his brothers out of his bedroom so Paul can curl up next to him without feelin’ like there are hundreds of eyes starin’ them down.
In the deepest part of his soul he ain’t ever sure he’ll have the courage to show, Paul knows Two-Bit and Soda are onto something, and he’s almost positive Darry feels it too, but almost positive isn’t enough for Paul. If there’s one thing that makes this shitty town and his shitty life infinitely less shitty for Paul Holden, it’s Darrel Curtis. Right now nothin’ is worth the chance it’ll crumble at the snap of his fingers.
So here Paul finds himself again, standing on the front step of the Curtis family home. He knocks three times just like he always does, then shoves his hands deep in his pockets to stop ‘em from shakin’. Paul is never this nervous about coming over. What’s different about this time? Maybe it’s the fear of being judged—he can already feel the glare of all the Greasers practically breathin’ down his neck—or the fact that Paul’s brain is so miswired he fears he’ll accidentally slip up and say something incriminating to Darry. Something he ain’t ever gonna be able to take back. Something that’s going to change his life one way or another. For better or for worse.
But Paul is so tired, he doesn’t really care about all that. As soon as Darry answers the door, Paul shuffles inside the house with his shoulders hunched. He hears someone say his name, but he can’t be bothered to look up and see who it is, let alone respond with his usual Soc banter. He’s exhausted, and all he wants is to be alone with Darry. Paul supposes he’ll let that thought speak for itself in terms of what he and Darry are, or rather what he hopes they become someday.
Paul doesn’t say a word as he plops himself down on the floor in front of the foot of Darry’s bed. He slumps back, half-sitting, half-lying down. One leg is outstretched and the other is clutched tightly against his chest with his arms wrapped around it. He has this distant stare like some sort of lost puppy, but Paul knows he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. This house feels like a home, not some museum to be preserved like his own. Darry sits up straight on his bed, back pressed against the headboard. He fiddles with his fingers, clearly anxious because as routine as it is for Paul to show up unannounced like this, he’s usually rambling on about somethin’ before Darry even comes out to get him, not searchin’ for answers outside of his first-floor bedroom window.
They sit in silence like that for a while. Paul doesn’t know how long it lasts for and he assumes Darry ain’t either.
Eventually Paul breaks the tension by asking the only question that’s been weighin’ on his mind since he got here. “Have you ever wanted to disappear?” Paul turns around to look up at Darry who already had eyes on him. “I know we’ve talked about gettin’ out of Tulsa but lately it feels like the only way to get away is to…” Paul trails off, leaving the rest unsaid, but Darry knows. Darry always knows somehow, no matter how much Paul neglects to say, which is a lot for someone who talks as incessantly as he does.
Darry takes a deep breath before answering. “I have.”
“What makes you stay?” Paul instantly regrets the question and how quickly he asks it. It’s heavy and it’s awkward and it’s everything else he never wants Darry to feel because of him.
But Darry doesn’t care. Paul is the only person Darry can talk to like this, and Paul knows that Darry knows by the way Paul always bares his soul in the safeness of Darry’s bedroom, even if it still comes with a wave of hesitation Paul still can’t quite shake after nine months of friendship this close.
“Care about my family too much,” Darry shrugs. “Someone’s gotta keep Sodapop ‘n Ponyboy in line. Pick ‘em up from school when mom is running errands. Make dinner when dad’s too busy workin’ a double.”
Paul looks away from Darry, his eyes drifting down to his lap where he starts absentmindedly tapping his fingers on his knees. Darry lets his stare linger elsewhere, too. Paul knows Darry didn’t mean nothin’ bad talkin’ about his family like that. If had the same relationship with his folks that Darry has with his brothers, he prolly would’ve said the same thing if someone asked him what keeps him from running away. But it stings sometimes, knowing that no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never have the type of family Darry has. Found families are one thing—Paul could argue he’s found it with Darry and by association the rest of the Greasers—but blood runs deeper, and there are few things in this world Paul wouldn’t give to live one day with blood like Darry’s.
Paul lightheartedly scoffs, throwing a look over his shoulder to Darry. “You know I ain’t got that.”
It goes silent again. It’s heavy again and it’s awkward again and Paul really wants to get up and escape, but he feels stuck. Like there’s a weight deep in his stomach, pulling him down to the ground that just won’t let him leave. Maybe it’s his heart gettin’ too big for his chest to handle it, or maybe it’s butterflies or anxiety. Paul doesn’t know. And he hates that he doesn’t know.
Suddenly Paul feels the air shift next to him. Darry slides off the mattress, plopping down right next to Paul on the floor. There’s a few inches in between them, both too scared to do or say anything out of fear it might make the other up and leave, but he’s here. Somehow Darry is always there when Paul needs him, even in moments like this when Paul feels so disconnected from the world he can’t tell right from left or up from down. In a way, Darry has been the only constant in Paul’s life since the day he offered to give him a ride after football practice after his dad’s busted up truck broke down in the school’s parking lot. It’s a scary thought, being so close with another person like this, but out of all the scary thoughts Paul has had lately, it manages to be the most comforting.
Darry is always there.
Paul removes his hand from his knee and sets it down on the ground. Darry’s hand was already sitting there, like it was waiting for Paul’s to join. They sit like this for a moment, letting the room get so heavy Paul can’t take it anymore. He inches his hand closer to Darry’s until their pinkies are finally touching. Paul continues to take initiative, linking their pinky fingers together. It’s a silent gesture, but one that took Paul months of building up courage. Darry must recognize this because he cranes his neck to face Paul, giving him a small smile. It’s something intimate, like the kind someone’d give at a crowded party meant for only the person standing next to them to see, except it’s already just the two of them which makes it tug on Paul’s heartstrings even harder.
“Maybe you do already got it,” Darry suggests. It comes out so naturally Paul can’t help wondering how long Darry has been practicin’ that line in his head because this isn’t exactly a new conversation for them. Everyone in Tulsa is always talking about gettin’ out of Tulsa. Greasers and Socs both spend more time plotting their escape than actually enjoying what’s right in front of them. Paul knows there’s plenty here for him here with Darry, but why would they stay in this run-down town when Paul has the means to take them anywhere Darry wants to go?
Paul finally lets his eyes meet Darry’s again. There’s something different about them. Paul always thinks Darry’s got this look like he personally hung all the stars in the sky for him, but this time they are glimmering with a promise of the life they are already making here instead of hope for a future where they escape this all.
“You really think that?” Paul asks earnestly, refusing to break eye contact. Darry’s rarely been the kind of guy to verbalize what’s feeling. He prefers to show it instead, and everything Paul has been trying to figure out if Darry reciprocates is being shouted loudly from the way his eyes are glazed over in a way Paul can only describe as I don’t know if I’m allowed to but I really want to kiss you right now.
Paul is sure he’s giving Darry the same look back by the way Darry fully grabs Paul’s hand, letting their intertwined fingers sit on the bare patch of carpet between them. The already tiny space separating them has grown even smaller, making Paul feel like he’s stinkin’ up the place with the way his armpits are suddenly profusely sweating while his heart is beatin’ right out of his dang chest.
Paul has dated a couple of girls before. Of course he has, he’s a Soc boy for goodness’ sake. There was Diane in middle school and Brenda through the summer leading up to his junior year of high school where he finally met Darry. They kissed and fooled around, doin’ everything everyone else was doin’ with their girlfriends. Paul would be lying if he said he didn’t like it but he has never felt how he always feels with Darry around them. He was with those girls because all of his friends were with girls, so surely he was supposed to be with them too. Having a girlfriend was the right thing to do, but Darry feels right to Paul. Not Diane or Brenda, or any other girl who has tried to flirt with him at one of Chet’s lavish parties.
He’s talked about this with Darry before. Darry has had even more flings with girls than Paul, but neither of them ever bothered to put a label on themselves despite the few times they have drank a little much too alcohol and rattled off lists of guys in their grade they would completely hypothetically get with if they were to ever get with a guy, but they never would so it’s fine.
Darry and Paul both know that hypothetical bullshit is just that: bullshit. But neither of them ever pushed because what they had going was so special, they didn’t want to ruin it by getting together for real. Getting with someone he thought he was supposed to be with backfired on Paul twice. He’d be a fool to try it again, especially with someone who means as much to him as Darry does.
But Darry is different. He’s different from anyone Paul has ever known, not just the coupla girls he’s dated over the years. It’s so dramatic and cheesy Paul cringes at the thought, but it’s true. It’s like Darry came in and swept him off his feet without ever meaning to. That’s what makes this so sacred. Sure, two guys kissing prolly ain’t socially acceptable in this God forsaken town, whatever, but this feels like Paul’s love at first sight romance. If all the straight couples get to have that, why can’t he have it with Darry? It’s been nearly a year. He’s allowed to finally make his move after months of endless back and forth pining that neither of them ever bothered to label as flirting although it clearly was.
And that is why Paul is brave enough to finally close the gap between them that’s been beggin’ to be filled since that dang car ride. He surprises himself, but he supposes the only reason he’s been able to do anything scary over the past nine months is because Darry was there for it all—even when he didn’t have to be, even when he prolly had better things to do. He showed up for Paul because Paul is family. Family is about who a person comes home to at the end of the day, and Darry always welcomes Paul with open arms.
It must surprise Darry too, because he flinches away for a split second before indulging. Darry raises his free hand to Paul’s cheek to brush away a stray tear Paul didn’t realize had fallen. He doesn’t know if it’s a sad tear or a happy tear but he knows that Darry will be there to carry him through it regardless, so he lets the panic dissolve away in Darry’s lips.
It’s messy. They don’t quite know how they fit together yet, but that’s okay. It’s frantic. This has been a long time comin’, Paul realizes now. It’s soft. Darry ain’t show that side of himself too often; Paul’s lucky enough that it’s the only side of Darry he knows. It’s hot. With nervous sweat, pumping hearts, and rushing blood, there’s bound to be a little heat in the air. And most importantly, it’s them. It’s so stupidly them, Paul wants to roll his eyes and scoff.
When they pull away, Paul can’t stop himself from laughing. Darry cocks his head to the side and raises an an eyebrow. “What?”
“I came here all sad and I ended up kissin’ you.”
Darry scootches closer to Paul. He’s surprised there’s still room for them to get even closer to one another. Their hands are still intertwined, and Darry squeezes them as he asks “Did it work?”
Paul really laughs this time because of course Darry would ask that. Paul lets them get lost in the moment for what feels like an eternity before turning to fully face Darry. Paul rubs his thumb across the back of Darry’s knuckles as a way to say Of course it did. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that. Paul is too emotionally exhausted to actually speak these words, but Darry gets the message anyway.
Darry always does.
Darry lets go of Paul’s hand to wrap his arms fully around his back, letting him settle against his chest. Paul feels Darry take a deep breath and relaxes at the sensation, his eyelids fluttering shut on instinct. He’s still so damn tired but at least he doesn’t have to worry about his parents gettin’ into some blowout fight past midnight. He’s safe here.
Maybe he and Darry will talk in the morning about all this, or maybe they won’t. It doesn’t matter because they don’t need some big label put on it. They are simply Paul and Darry, and that’s enough.