Chapter Text
Moonlight searched across the floor desperately, leaking over Curly’s uneven floorboards in long rectangles of white. The night was warm, but Curly’s room held a comfortable breeze. It was one of the rare days when the old, water-stained air conditioning unit hanging out of his bedroom window decided to function. The moon waved through Curly’s thin billowing curtains, looking at them like a spotlight.
Warm, familiar noises bubbled up the stairs. A reunion, a gathering. An orange glow slid underneath Curly’s door, a reminder: they were not alone. Chairs scraped against the floor, rude and juvenile banter and curse floated up alongside the cacophony of some argument, soon to be forgotten at the snap of Tim’s fingers. There were things to do: people to jump, “meetings” to attend, places to guard. Pony had never imagined that boys so unruly would ever listen to anyone, yet Tim commanded their attention like a writer controls a pencil.
Pony had his ear pressed up to Curly’s chest, his back sliding up against his ribs. He couldn’t help but feel uneasy under the watchful eyes of the stars. He could feel his stomach swirl, his heart speed beneath his bones. He sighed heavily, feeling the purples and blues swell in his core. Curly brought a hand to his hair and lightly combed through it, the strands falling delicately off his scarred fingers.
“You sure they ain’t gonna find us?” Pony whispered, tilting his head up to face Curly.
“Yes. Listen, I know I do stuff-”
“Like get arrested?”
“-like get arrested,” he nodded, laughing quietly. “But I don’t mess when it comes to Tim. Or Angel. Trust me.”
“Yeah, okay.” He put his head back down with a thump and appreciated the warmth for another moment. The sky still felt so judging, the light seeping underneath the door so threatening. As much as Pony loved Curly, there were risks he didn’t like to run. “Can-can we just wait until they’re gone? Be friends until then?” He sat up again, his right ear hitting the cold air in a way that should’ve been refreshing, but felt more like an open wound.
Curly looked at him, now at eye level. “I- yeah- okay.” He sat and twiddled his thumbs for a moment. “You wanna play chicken?”
“No way in hell I’m doing that again. Darry’ll have my head on a stick.”
“Well. . .” he considered for a moment, creating and scrolling through a mental list of what he would do had Pony been a friend. The truth was, Pony had never just been a friend. Since he’d first met those eyes, those pupils steeped in a kind of strange sorrow, something in his heart had shifted. The first time, it felt like his heart was pumping blood the wrong way. Maybe that was a condition he needed to get checked out, but there was no time nor the money when he had to pursue Ponyboy.
He peered out of his window and looked down at the sun-bleached grass. It was broken by a small circle of mud where Curly’s feet landed every time he snuck out. Each and every time, of course, to the Curtis house. It was easier to do when Pony stopped sleeping with Soda. He considered proposing sneaking out, but one glance at Pony’s anxiety-ridden face was enough to make him immediately toss the idea out of the window.
“Why not just talk?” He sat properly now, having swung his feet over the side of the bed. He sat parallel to Ponyboy, the way you’d sit on a park bench. Neither made eye contact. “Y’know, like . . . friends?”
The word would’ve echoed around the room more had it not been so heavy.
“This ain’t fair,” Pony weeped, suddenly gripped by a wave of tears. “This ain’t fair at all!” He buried his face in his hands, furiously grabbing at his tears and furiously lashing his arm out to wipe them away.
Curly reached out for his arm slowly and tenderly before one of Pony’s arms flew into him. He retracted it slowly and quietly, watching Pony process what he’d done. The initial sting of his arm tingled for a moment and Pony looked around, wondering what he’d hit. “Oh, I’m sorry!” he nearly yelled, collapsing onto Curly. His face was warmer than usual, his tears and cries being pummeled into Curly’s shirt.
They wound up in the same position they’d started in. Only now, Pony was curled in on himself, clutching his ribcage. Curly sat helpless. He gingerly reached for Pony’s head and pulled him closer, rubbing a gentle, calloused thumb up his cheekbone, down his nose. His other hand caressed Pony’s hair, letting curls drop off of his hand. He moved tamely, watching Pony’s every twitch like he was a shelter kitten.
“You alright, Pones?” Curly asked once the sobs had subsided, transforming into the occasional hiccup.
Pony cleared his throat and sat up, suddenly keeping a distance. Curly’s chest felt like a piece had been taken out of it, like the flesh itself had been cut and he was now left with a cold, aching cavity. Ponyboy fixed his posture, sharply straightening his back and trying to claw the rest of the evidence of crying from his eyes. He looked so tired, dark chandeliers hanging under his eyes. They were now rimmed red and his nose turned a soft pink. He crossed his arms, letting them burrow as closely to himself as he could manage. “I’m fine.”
“You ain’t.” Curly opened his arms again and watched as vulnerability streaked over Pony’s face at the invitation, how his pupils widened and his mouth dropped open. But instead of redeeming his opportunity, he backed up, dragging sheets and blankets in ripples with him.
“I’m okay, I swear it.” He swiped at his nose, breathing through a gasp. “I’m okay, I’m okay.”
The noise downstairs drowned out in their oppressive silence. The moon disappeared behind a cloud.
“You ain’t,” Curly repeated.
Pony looked at him and returned to his arms, sinking into the hug.