Chapter Text
Ponyboy huffs as he finishes packing up the last of his clothes. He zips up his suitcase and looks around the room with his hands on his hips, making sure he’s not leaving behind anything too important.
His dorm room is small and cramped, the walls jam-packed with posters. There’s just enough room between the two beds for a single nightstand. Ponyboy’s bed is on the right, the sheets tangled and two pillows strewn about. The comforter hangs off the bed and one of the pillows is half on the floor. Surrounding the floor of the bed are crumpled piles of laundry and a single stray sock. The other bed, his roommate’s, is neatly made with a teddy bear snuggly tucked in.
At the other end of the room are two desks across from each other. It’s cramped enough that there isn’t enough room for both chairs to be pushed out at the same time. David, his roommate, is at his desk, finishing up his paper a week early. His desk is neatly organized, a cup of pencils at the corner with a Mexican flag sticking out. On the other side, Ponyboy’s desk stands out with sheets strewn across the surface, pencils and brushes scattered everywhere, and two stacks of books which take up most of the desk.
David lifts his head and points his chin at Ponyboy’s suitcase. He eyes Ponyboy up and down before asking, “You ready to go back home?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, of course. Not looking forward to the flight, though,” Ponyboy replies.
David chuckles. “You really hate flying that much? You know the odds of it crashing are-”
“It’s not that!” Ponyboy blurts out, flustered. “I just- I don’t know. It just makes me anxious. Anyways, you’ve never even flown before, so I don’t wanna hear it.”
David rolls his eyes and turns back to his paper. “I guess you’re right. I bet I’d hate flying too if it meant I had to go to fucking Oklahoma of all-”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Ponyboy snaps. “Not all of us can grow up near Hollywood…”
David scoffs. “You make it sound like a dream. Los Angeles is anything but magical,” he explains. “Anyways, I’m almost done with the Art History paper, so at least I don’t gotta worry about that over spring break.”
Ponyboy pauses. “Art History paper?”
“Uh…yeah. Art History paper. You…You did start it, right?” David asks, narrowing his eyes.
Looking away, Ponyboy mutters, “Obviously.”
David doesn’t seem convinced, but chooses not to push it. “At least you’ll get to see your brothers again,” David states.
Ponyboy’s smile fades. “I guess…” he mumbles.
“You guess?” David repeats.
Ponyboy sighs, his shoulders slumping. “I mean- it’ll be nice to see them again and all. Just…things have changed,” he admits.
“What? Like…Sodapop getting back from Vietnam?” David guesses.
“No, no, not that…Just…Soda and Darry both changed a lot,” he stresses. Ponyboy continues, “Darry’s somehow become more of a hardass and I know the second I get home, I’ll be hounded with questions. I don’t need him judging me. And- And Soda? He’s…I mean…”
“Did he come back all…you know…” David trails off, tapping his pencil against the desk. “...fucked up?”
Ponyboy shakes his head. “No, no- I mean- Yeah, it affected him, but- he’s not like- he’s not like a totally different person. He’s just…He’s gotten a lot more sensitive and I…don’t really know how to talk to him anymore. I mean…What do you say to someone who’s been through hell?”
David looks up, a thoughtful expression on his face. He shrugs. “I dunno, man. I think you just…talk to them. A lotta my buddies got drafted and it sucks, but I don’t treat them any different, ya dig?” David explains.
“I feel like you’re not getting what I’m saying,” Ponyboy whines.
David shrugs. “Probably not,” he admits.
Ponyboy checks his watch and his eyebrows shoot up. “Shit! Kit’s gonna be here in five! Shit, shit, shit! Uh-” Ponyboy scrambles to pull his suitcase off his bed and squeezes past David. He rushes out the door in a flurry. As the door shuts, he shouts, “Bye, David!”
David waves goodbye, despite Ponyboy being unable to see him.
Through the crowds of people at the airport, Ponyboy spots Two-bit waiting for him, holding a large sign up in the air. Scribbled in red marker, Two-bit wrote, ‘HAPPY THIRD DIVORCE,’ with a poorly drawn picture of stick figures holding hands with a large X over it. His ears burning, Ponyboy awkwardly makes his way through the crowd, shielding his face. Business men bump into him and he accidentally knocks a kid over as he makes his way through.
As he approaches, Two-bit holds his arms out and cheers, “Horseboy! You’re back home!”
A few people turn to look and Ponyboy sincerely wishes the world would just swallow him whole already. He walks right up to Two-bit, hiding his face in his hoodie from onlookers. Scowling, he hisses, “What the hell, Two-bit?!”
Smirking, Two-bit wraps an arm around Ponyboy, yanking him closer, and jokes, “Aw, what’s wrong? One semester in Cali and suddenly you’re too good for your ol’ pal?”
Shoving him off, Ponyboy sneers, “Ain’t Darry supposed to pick me up?”
Two-bit’s smile falters for a second. Ponyboy tilts his head, confused. Two-bit laughs and starts, “Ah…well…Yeah, he was, but- uh- you know- he’s been real busy and-”
Ponyboy’s brows furrow in confusion. Voice softer, he asks, “What do you mean? Is something wrong? Is he okay?”
“Yeah, yeah! He’s fine!” Two-bit quickly reassures. “He’s just- he’s been a bit disorganized lately. Real scramble-brained and all. Soda’s been worried, but I think it’s just work catchin’ up to him. You remember how he likes to work.”
“Wait…what?”
“He said he’d pick you up, but he’s been distracted lately, so I came just in case,” Two-bit explains. He quickly adds, “Good thing I did, cause I don’t see him nowhere.”
Ponyboy looks around at the crowd and his heart sinks. Two-bit’s right. Darry’s nowhere to be seen. Frowning, Ponyboy mutters, “That’s…weird. He’s real on-top of things usually.”
Two-bit shrugs. “I think old age is gettin’ to him,” he jokes.
The chatter of the crowd falls into the background as Ponyboy zones out, lost in thought. He never thought he’d see the day Darry got as forgetful as him. It feels wrong. Darry’s the reliable one. He’s sturdy. While Ponyboy forgets his work at home or keeps his socks in a pile on the floor, Darry keeps him in check. As much as they fight, Ponyboy can always lean on him. At least, he thought so.
Two-bit slaps him on the back. “Alright! Let’s get going! I parked in a handicap spot, so we should probably get moving!”
“Two-bit!” Ponyboy gasps.
The Curtis house comes into view and suddenly, Ponyboy’s transported back in time. He’s sixteen again and hiding his writing from the gang, ashamed of how much of a pansy it makes him seem. While never too mean-spirited, the gang couldn’t help but laugh at the flowery filter through which he saw the world. Their laughter used to sour every piece Ponyboy made, poisoning his work. One second it would be a beautiful depiction of a mother bird with her eggs and the next it would be nothing more than a girly daydream. Just as the gang couldn’t help but laugh, Ponyboy couldn’t help but be hurt.
Tulsa feels like a whole other world from California and he’s not sure if it’s one he likes. In California, he’s not trapped in the confines of what it means to be a greaser. He’s just Ponyboy, an art student. When he paints portraits of men emphasizing their pretty features and soft edges, he’s not ridiculed or laughed at. Instead of mockery, he gets praise. Ponyboy grew comfortable no longer being confined, which makes returning to the box he grew up in all the more uncomfortable. What once felt natural now feels painful.
As the car slows to a stop, the pit in Ponyboy’s stomach solidifies. For a second, he wants to run, somehow get back to the airport, and plead with the airlines to let him return to California. The urge passes and Ponyboy unbuckles.
The familiar creaks of the steps only serve to pull Ponyboy further back in time. He doesn’t feel eighteen anymore. He feels like he’s fourteen again, about to step inside after falling asleep in the lot. The porch feels like a portal to the past, which only serves to leave him feeling unnerved. He pushes the feeling aside as Two-bit pushes past him and swings the door open.
“Guess who's home?” Two-bit cheerfully announces.
Rapid footsteps increase in volume and then there’s a sigh. “Two, what the hell are you-” Darry freezes, eyes landing on Ponyboy.
The first thing Ponyboy notices is that Darry’s hair is mussed and his shirt is on backwards. Ponyboy awkwardly waves, unsure of what to say.
Darry’s face falls, shame etched into his features. “Oh, gosh, that was today?!” he exclaims, horrified. “I’m so sorry, little colt! I- I- I don’t know what’s gotten into me and-”
Two-bit pats his back and goes, “Cool your tits, Superman. Ponyboy knows you don’t mean it. Ain’t that right, Pony?”
It takes a second, but Ponyboy nods. “Yeah, yeah. Of course. I- uh…I don’t really have room to judge with how forgetful I usually am.”
Darry nervously wrings his hands, eyes pointedly focused on the ground and his frown deepening. Two-bit shakes his shoulder and Darry reluctantly looks up, forcing himself to make eye contact with Ponyboy.
“I really am sorry,” Darry reiterates. “I- I didn’t forget you were coming home. I swear. I’ve been real excited, I just- I didn’t realize it was today. I thought- I mean- you were supposed to come home Wednesday and-”
“It is Wednesday,” Ponyboy states.
Darry blinks. His eyes dart between Two-bit and Ponyboy. “It…It is? I coulda sworn it was Monday…Two, is it really Wednesday?”
Two-bit nods. “Yup. Last I checked,” he confirms. Noticing Darry’s distress, Two-bit shrugs it off, adding, “It don’t matter, though. Pony’s home and we oughta celebrate!”
Darry nods, but doesn’t look convinced.
Two-bit grins and asks, “So…can we come inside or…?”
“Oh! Right! Sorry. Forgot I was blocking and- it- Yeah, come on in,” Darry rambles, moving to the side.
Ponyboy walks in after Two-bit, his suitcase dragging behind him, and looks around the room. The living room is a mess. The coffee table is covered in dirty mugs, scattered sheets, and empty bottles of beer. There’s dirty clothes draped over the side of the couch and empty cans littered around the recliner that’s reserved for Darry. Tiny fruit flies circle the air and there’s a thick layer of dust on the mantle.
Before Ponyboy can ask about it, he’s pulled into a tight embrace. It takes a second to adjust to Darry’s hug, but Ponyboy relaxes into it, inhaling the familiar scent of woodchips and cologne. Darry tightens his grip, lifting Ponyboy into the air.
“Too tight! Too tight!” Ponyboy gasps.
Darry immediately lets go. Ponyboy regains his footing as he catches his breath. Darry watches and apologizes, “Sorry, sorry! You okay?”
Dusting himself off, Ponyboy reassures him, saying, “I’m fine. Just- Damn, I’m not used to you hugging that tight. Usually, you’re pretty careful.”
“I’m usually better. I think I’m just thrown off these days and I’m just real happy you’re home, kiddo,” Darry explains.
Suddenly, his eyes widen and he ushers Ponyboy into the kitchen. As he pushes him towards the kitchen, he exclaims, “Oh! Uh- water! Food! You’re probably hungry. I bet the airplane food was no good, huh?”
“O-Oh, I didn’t bother trying it,” Ponyboy replies. “It costs extra and it didn’t really feel worth it.”
“Well, that’s a shame. I was curious how it tastes. Anyways, what do you want to eat? I can make you a sandwich!” Darry offers, already moving to grab a plate.
Ponyboy shakes his head, his eyes briefly flickering towards the hallway. Just standing in the kitchen was making him uncomfortable. The mess here was somehow worse than the living room, with the sink overflowing with dirty dishes and the kitchen table covered in used napkins and even more dishes. Hell, Ponyboy didn’t even know they had that many dishes.
Realizing Darry’s waiting for a response, Ponyboy’s quick to say, “Don’t worry. I just want to unpack first and then I’ll just get myself something.”
Darry nods, chewing on his response. “Alright.” He eyes Ponyboy warily. “Are you sure?”
Ponyboy nods and turns to head towards his room. “I’m sure. Just give me a second, okay?”
“Alright, alright. Go get unpacked, Pony,” Darry relents, waving him off.
Ponyboy heads to his room and sighs in relief. His bedroom hasn’t changed since he last saw it. He rests his hand on the desk, feeling it wobble beneath him. The wood is chipped and faded, a stark contrast to the sleek, polished wood of the desks back at UCLA. While the desks there are nicer, none of them hold the same memories. Ponyboy lifts his suitcase, throwing it onto the bed. It hits the mattress with a soft thump and he quickly gets to work unzipping the suitcase. He pulls out the clothes he packed, wantonly piling them up on his bed.
Buried beneath all the clothes is a small folder. Ponyboy gingerly pulls it out of the suitcase and opens it. Mostly, it contains photos he doesn’t want to accidentally lose. It’s not uncommon for him to misplace stuff, even if it’s something he holds near and dear to his heart. There have been a number of times where he’s taken a photo on campus and lost it within the same week. The bed creaks beneath his weight as he sits down to sift through the photos. Friends, sunsets, nature…He relives these memories with a hazy warmth spreading in his chest.
He lingers on the last photo. In the picture, Ponyboy’s caught mid-laughter as David plants a dramatic kiss on his cheek, his hair curled around his ear and his arms wrapped around Ponyboy’s neck. Ponyboy’s thumb rubs against the photograph, a small smile forming on his face.
Ponyboy startles when he hears a crash from the living room, instinctively clutching the photo to his chest. Following the crash, he hears Two-bit’s wild cackling and Darry telling him off. As the chatter fades into the background, Ponyboy relaxes, lowering the photograph. Dread fills the space joy once did as he starts looking for a place to put it where no one would check.