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“Hullo?” Pony asks, picking up the phone. Darry shoots him a glare and he quickly amends his statement. “Curtis residence.”
“Hi, Pony. I’m gonna come over soon, you still have my jacket and I need it later.”
A stupid grin sneaks onto his face before he can help it at Curly’s voice. “Hi, Curly.”
Soda walks into the room with his DX shirt still open and no socks on. “Oh, God. Hang up, Pony. If his voice is here for more than 30 seconds we’ll have to get the house fumigated.”
“Ha ha, you should become a comedian.” Pony says, pulling the phone away from his ear. Soda smirks before sticking his tongue out like a child. He pulls the phone back to himself. “Yeah, okay. What do you need it for later?”
“I just do.”
Curly hangs up before Pony can ask him anything else.
“Curly comin’ over then?” Soda asks, sitting down to pull on one of his socks.
“Only for a little. I have somethin’ o’ his.”
“Don’t you have school or something to give it back to him?”
Pony huffs out a laugh. “That’s not what people usually go to school for. And it’s Labor Day, there is no school.”
Both Soda and Darry have work, because apparently roofing companies and filling stations are just the most essential places in the whole country.
... Okay, Pony can see the filling stations, but roofing companies?
“Make sure you have that room cleaned up a little by 5. I’m comin’ home early.”
“If I get home before him, I’ll help you do the whole thing last minute, Pony.” Soda says with a teasing smile and Darry sighs, opening the door.
“I’m gonna take back my offer of a ride.”
“I’m goin’, I’m goin’.” Soda says, hopping up with both socks on and making for the door.
“Shoes.” Darry says.
“Oh, right.” Soda says, grabbing his shoes from where they’d been piled with everyone else’s.
“Button your shirt.”
“I can do it in the car.” Soda responds, ducking under Darry’s arm, and then they’re both gone.
Steve leaves after a few minutes. He’d really only been there for breakfast after his dad kicked him out last night. No one else is around this time of day.
Pony sits on the couch, trying to read one of his books, even though none of the words are sticking in his head. It doesn’t take long for the front door to slam open.
Pony’s head flies up. There stands Curly. He looks ready for the day. At least, compared to Pony, he does.
His hair is greased and he’s got a clean white shirt on. His dark jeans look cleaner than normal too.
“I’m surprised you didn’t get into a fight on your way over here.”
“Oh, you’re just a comedian, aren’t ya?” Curly says, glaring. “Where’s my jacket?”
“I’ll get it for ya.” Pony says marking the page he’s on with a cigarette from his pocket. He stands and Curly’s cheeks go a little dark. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Oh, it’s nothin’.”
Pony narrows his eyes. “Then what the hell do you have to be starin’ at?”
“Just... you look nice.” Curly says awkwardly, shoulders pulled inward like Pony’ll hit him or something. Pony looks down at himself.
He’s wearing one of Darry’s old shirts, and Soda’s pajama pants, which look a hell of a lot baggier on Pony than they do on Soda because he has smaller hips. His hair isn’t greased, and he’s got a fading shiner from a fight with a particularly bold Soc a few days ago.
His ears light up pink. “Oh. Uh, thanks. I guess.”
Even if they’d been doing this... thing for a couple months now, Pony isn’t used to outright compliments. That’s not one of the things that’s part of... this.
They kiss, they go by each other's houses, they talk, sometimes they hang out, always keeping at least a foot apart in public. They don’t—They’ve never—They aren’t a couple. Not the way Steve and Evie or Two-Bit and Kathy or even Dallas and Sylvia are.
They aren’t together. They never have been.
“Let me uh... go and get your jacket.”
“I’ll just come with you.”
Pony walks down the hall toward his room, feeling the skin at the back of his neck prickling at the feeling of Curly’s eyes. He opens up the door and points at the desk chair. “There it is.”
Curly walks into the room, beelining straight for it.
“Well.” Curly says, grabbing the jacket off the back of the chair. “Guess I’ll be on my way, then.”
“Guess so.” Pony says, rocking back and forth on his heels. “You could also stay. For... a little. No rush.”
Curly looks down at the jacket in his hands. “I could. shouldn’t.”
“But you could.”
He’s still staring at the jacket instead of Pony.
“I could.”
“Five minutes?”
Finally, he breaks his staring contest with the jacket and looks up with a smirk. “I guess if you missed me that bad.”
Pony smirks and grabs Curly by the hand, pulling him into the living room.
The afternoon is quietly domestic in a way that neither of them are used to nor prepared for, but that they both absolutely love. Pony’s reading, with his back pressed up against Curly’s chest. Curly’s legs are on either side of him, and the TV is going lowly in the background.
Maybe it’s reckless.
It would be impossible to explain away their position if someone walked into the room, but Curly’s always found a way to make his careless attitude rub off on Pony’s more than anyone else has.
“Pony?” Curly asks, and he loves that he can feel the sound of his name. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Why do you need to know?”
Curly runs his fingers through Pony’s hair like he’s petting a dog that needs to be calmed down. “Thinking of your gift.”
“My birthday was two months ago.” Pony says, leaning into it despite himself.
“For Christmas.”
“Christmas isn’t for another three months.”
“Well, yeah, but asking now’s the only way you’ll forget about the conversation enough to be surprised.”
Pony scoffs. “I hate surprises.”
“Yeah, but weirdly enough, you love gifts.” Curly says, leaning in close to Pony’s ear before pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Now answer the question.”
“I dunno. I like blue well enough. Orange better. Sometimes yellow.”
“Okay, so the whole damn rainbow. I get it.”
“Oh, shut up.” Pony says, A couple seconds later, he asks, “What’s your favorite show?”
Curly grins. An absurd amount of time goes by like that, one of them asking questions and the other answering them. Half of it is things they already know and the other half is things they think they already know.
“What’s your favorite food?”
Pony barely has to think. “Spaghetti.” Or something from DQ, but that’d been tainted a bit... considering.
“What’s your favorite memory?” He asks Curly.
“Probably the time you and me played chicken.”
“Oh, really? Before or after Tim bashed our heads together and dragged us home?”
Curly grins sharply. “The whole thing, really. Especially because you bruise so much easier.”
“Oh, please.” Pony says, scoffing. “You had just as big a bruise as I did.”
“We’re literally never going to agree on that.”
“We should get an outside opinion.”
“We already did and Angela said you were right, but she’s also biased which means there are no witnesses.”
Pony moves down the couch a bit, turning to face Curly. “Right, of course. That’s what it means.”
“What’s your favorite song?” Curly asks before they can get into (another) full-on argument over the forehead bruises.
“Unchained Melody. Righteous Brothers. What’s your favorite thing to do with me?”
Curly looks to the side, mulling it over. “Probably sleep.”
“Huh? Why? I’ve only fallen asleep around you once.”
“Yeah, it’s the only time you didn't talk.”
Pony grabs the pillow they keep for whoever ends up on the couch at night and throws it at Curly’s hysterically laughing face.
Curly grabs the blanket off himself, still smiling and breathless as he asks another question.
“What’s your favorite place?”
“Library.”
“Not the movie theater?”
“I like movies better than books but the library better than the movies.”
“Weirdo.”
“Shut up. Favorite movie?”
Curly starts saying something and then clamps his mouth shut. “Don’t have one, I guess.”
Pony glares at him. “You don’t have a favorite movie?”
“As long as you’re the one asking? No.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Curly snorts and nudges Pony with his foot. “You’re kind of an asshole about movies.”
Pony’s ears go red but he just glares. “Fine. I get another question, then.”
Curly sighs like he’s just been greatly inconvenienced. “I didn’t know there were rules.”
“They were implied. You ask, I answer, I ask, you answer. You didn’t answer so I get to ask.”
“Yeah alright, go ahead.”
Pony pauses. He hadn’t really thought of what he’d say, just that he wanted to say it. “Favorite person?”
“You?”
Even though Pony figured Curly must’ve liked him (at least a little bit) to be risking both of their lives (social and... otherwise) for a couple kisses in the dark, a warm feeling spreads through his chest. That gnawing monster of fear and uncertainty in his chest yielding like an obedient dog at the words, laid out so plain. Like there could never be another answer.
“Well, besides me obviously.” He says, trying desperately to mask the blush currently burning on his face.
“I can’t answer that.”
“Why not?” Pony asks, looking over at Curly and smiling like an idiot with no way to stop it. “I won’t get mad or nothin’.”
“Well, if I tell ya then I’d be breaking a longstanding pact with my siblings. None of us ever say who’s our favorite because it’ll just make us fight.”
“It’s not like I’ll tell Tim you like Angela more.”
Curly rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
It’s silent for a couple minutes, with just Curly staring at him in silence to keep him nice and uncomfortable. “It’s, uh... It’s your turn.”
“Yeah, I know.” He keeps on staring.
“You gonna ask a question, then?”
Curly blinks and shakes his head like he’d just been snapped out of a trance. “Sorry, I just wanted to see how red your face would get.”
Pony picks up the nearest thing—the blanket that hands over the back of the couch for whoever ends up stumbling in at midnight—balls it up and throws it at Curly’s face. All it does is muffle his laughter. Curly pulls the blanket off his face.
“My face is not red!”
“There’s a lotta things you can lie about in this world, Pony. This ain’t one of ‘em.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m looking at you!”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Y’know, you can deny it until you’re red in the face but—oh... wait.”
Pony scrambles forward to cover Curly’s mouth before he can start laughing at him again. Curly’s eyes are still scrunched up and crinkled around the edges, and Pony can feel his face burning now.
“You have really pretty eyes.” He says, in what’s clearly a desperate attempt to get the attention off himself. Curly raises his eyebrows. “And I like the way you did your hair today. Looks less like you’re trying to copy Tim. And you have a really nice voice. And y—Ew!”
Pony tugs his hand away when he suddenly feels Curly’s tongue on his palm. A second later, they’re both crashing to the floor in an impromptu wrestling match.
Pony’s laughing the whole time as Curly tries to pin him down. But he’s too slippery, twisting and turning every which way. Eventually, Curly almost gets him, but Pony bucks his hips just enough to make him lose his grip, and flips them both.
Curly surrenders easy enough, holding up his hands by his ears and breathing heavily. “Jeez, man. Did you lotion yourself up or something, why couldn’t I grab ya?”
“Who knows?” Pony says proudly, grinning and grabbing Curly’s wrists loosely. “Anyway. Back to what I was saying... You’re really funny, even when you’re being a dick for no reason.”
“No reason?”
“And I like when you’re excited about something. You’re really sweet whenever other people aren’t around. You’re nicer than you pretend to be. Almost like Dally, but he’s meaner than you.”
“Hey! Don’t compare me to Dally.”
It should sound annoyed but Curly just sounds fond. He isn’t even really trying to fight it this time, just smiling up at Pony and looking like he’s getting drunk off of this. Sure enough, there’s a slowly darkening quality to his cheeks with each compliment Pony attacks him with.
“I like watching you drive. And watching you play with your yo-yo. Even though you never bring it outside your house. And I like the way my name sounds when you say it. You’re a pretty good listener, when you feel like it.”
Curly eventually has enough, flipping them over, still breathing heavily. “You’re a mean, mean person, Ponyboy.”
“I take pride in it.” Pony says, grinning like an idiot.
Curly smirks and leans down, pressing a short kiss to the tip of Pony’s nose. His whole face lights up red a second later. “Not fair.”
“How is that not fair?”
“I was using words. We’re clearly on different skill levels.”
“Fine. I’ll use words, too.”
Pony sniffs and the looks away.
“You’re pretty.” Curly says, smirking.
“I am not pretty.”
“You are too.”
“I’m handsome.”
“You’re that too.” Curly laughs at Pony’s blush until Pony hits him lightly on the shoulder. “There, we’re on the same skill level now.”
Pony finally stops glaring and breaks into a tiny smile that he tries to hide again a second later.
Curly leans down and presses a gentle kiss to Pony’s lips. He pulls away a second later. Really, it wasn’t more than a peck. “You’re a really easy guy to be around, y’know that?”
Pony smiles and sits up as much as he can with Curly still half-sitting on his stomach. “You’re a really easy guy to be around.” He shoots back like an insult.
Pony leans up to kiss him again and Curly almost loses himself in it. It’s so easy, to lose track of time. It’s like as soon as they connect, they get sucked into this timeless space where there’s nothing but each other. Curly’s whole world narrows down to Pony’s lips on his, Pony’s hands on his waist, Pony’s legs under him.
Pony is eventually the one to pull away, huffing out a breathless little laugh. “Alright, get off, this hurts.”
Curly climbs off Pony’s lap, letting him sit up fully.
Pony leans forward until his torso is practically pressed up against his legs, groaning as he does it. “Yikes, that was an awkward way to bend. I shouldn’t have tried to sit up when you were still halfway on my stomach.”
“You’ll be okay.” Curly says, patting his shoulder in a way that feels almost mocking. “Promise.”
Pony glares. “Didn’t you have somewhere to be?”
Curly smirks and stands. “I did. Must’ve slipped the mind. I’ll be off now.”
A flash of panic crosses Pony’s face and he scrambles up. “You could always stay for another five minutes!”
Curly steps closer and gives Pony a chaste little kiss. It’s almost 5:00. The last thing he wants is one of Pony’s brothers coming home and seeing them wrapped up in each other. He can only imagine how poorly that would go.
“I’ll see you ‘round later, savvy?”
Pony sighs. “Yeah, I savvy. Gotta clean my room anyhow”
Curly waves, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving the same way he’d came.
And if Curly leaves his leather jacket there again? Well, that’s no one’s business but his own.