@pokemonandflowers asked: prompts 9, 11, 18? like where the reader and Soda broke up and they run into each other at a party or something and end up talking about their relationship and decide to go home together? thx love 💕
9. “Bullshit. You fucking miss me.”
11. “This is not a love story.”
18. “You really think you’re better off alone?”
At the sight of his eyes burning into yours, a frigid heat began to flower in your chest.
It was optimistic of you to think that Sodapop wasn’t going to be at this party. He never worked Friday nights. Or on Saturdays. Those were strictly social days.
So when you happened to glance at him in the basement of Buck’s house late into Friday evening, you were only half surprised to see him there. Even less surprised to see him already staring at you.
Your group of friends didn’t seem to notice your lack of contribution to the conversation for the next few minutes. Every time you tried to join in, you were acutely aware of Soda’s eyes on you. Sneaking glances at him only proved to worsen the juncture.
His foot was tapping in a rhythm that didn’t match the beat of the music booming through the house. In his hands was a near-empty dark glass bottle. Lone strands of hair fell to his forehead in a boyish fashion, but the irked visage he wore was anything but puerile. He looked frustrated. There were people around him, though he didn’t exactly take them into account. He stood against the wall silently, taking a sip of his drink every so often, stealing longer glances at you.
Deciding that you’d had enough after ten minutes of awkward stillness, you told your friends that you would be back soon and started in Sodapop’s direction.
“Sodapop?” You greeted him with a slight smile as he leaned back from the wall, looking you up and down and mirroring your expression. “How are you?”
“Y/N,” he responded at first, then motioned to the drink in his hand. “I’ve been here a while.”
“No worries. I got here a little bit ago, so I have yet to calm my nerves with some liquid courage,” you chuckled.
“Being around so many people,” you explained. “Trying to forget about schoolwork, you know.”
Sodapop raised an eyebrow. For half a second it looked like he was far from believing you, but a moment later his doubt evaporated and he nodded.
Before you could respond, someone bumped into Sodapop, virtually knocking the bottle from his hands. He sidestepped in front of you, waving off the apologizing stranger before looking down in your direction.
“Wanna go upstairs? To the living room, I mean?” Pink flecked his cheeks and he scratched the back of his neck quickly, evidently antsy. Embarrassed.
“Sure. I suppose it’s a bit too crowded down here to talk.”
You saw the way Soda subtly reached out for your hand and then drew back lightning fast. Not fast enough for you to copy his movements, though. Both of you disregarded the accidental actions, knowing muscle memory was sometimes stronger than actual memories. Nonetheless, the visions of your guys’ breakup took hold of your attention as you followed Sodapop upstairs and into the sparsely populated living room.
There was a couple on the couch simply talking and laughing, sitting too close and clasping their hands together. At the sight of you and Soda approaching, they got up and disappeared into one of the bedrooms down the hall with hurried words and vibrant smiles.
You sat down on one end of the couch and Sodapop sat on the other. He cleared his throat stiffly.
“How have you been, Soda?” you asked, breaking the enduring silence.
He looked up at you and frowned. “Didn’t you already ask that?”
“I did, yeah. I just, I want to make sure you’re doing okay.”
Something like annoyance flashed across his face. “I told you, Y/N, I’m fine. I’m nearly working full time now, actually. I’m bringing in almost as much as Darry. We ain’t living so tough anymore.”
“That’s good,” you found yourself saying, nearly wincing at how defensive Soda was acting.
“Yeah. I go drag racing with Steve on the weekends and this summer me and Darry and Ponyboy are even plannin' a little getaway.” As if he was proving himself to you, Sodapop leaned back against the armrest of the couch and grinned, obviously satisfied with his answer.
“It sounds like you’re doing really well, Sodapop,” you concluded calmly.
That must’ve woke him up, though, because then Sodapop receded back into his original state: frustrated and longing and unsure. “I’m sorry. It sounds like I’m showing off or something, don’t it?”
“No,” you started, then paused. A slight simper tweaked your lips. “Well, yes, actually, but I get it. You’re fine, Sodapop.”
He managed to smile at you, thankful that you weren’t as offputting as he was acting. “How are you doing, Y/N? Really?”
You hesitated before answering. “I’m doing good, really. I’m studying every night to keep my grades up. I joined a couple of school clubs and I even found work at the A&W down the street.”
“Ah,” Sodapop began, nearly smirking. “Distracting yourself.”
“That’s what I’m doing, Y/N. All those shifts I’ve picked up? Helping Pony with homework for classes I’ve never even taken before? Going out with buddies whenever the DX or my brothers don't need me around? It’s all to keep my mind busy.”
“From thinking about . . .”
“You,” Sodapop finished bluntly.
“Soda,” you murmured, unsure of what else to say.
Sodapop shook his head. “No, don’t worry about it. Do you, uh, ever think about me, though?”
Maybe he’d had more than one drink, you decided privately.
“You miss me, right? Because I miss you. A lot.”
“Soda . . .” you trailed off again.
He simply stared at you, waiting in an uncomfortable, steady silence. You couldn’t get his hopes up, though. You had to lie. You had to spare his feelings before he got hurt again. Before both of you got hurt again.
“I’m moving on, Soda. You should too.”
“Bullshit,” he announced abruptly. “You fucking miss me.”
You narrowed your eyes at Soda. He wasn’t swaying in place. His pupils were blown a bit wider than they should’ve been, but it was clear that he wasn’t plastered. Tispy, at the most. This wasn’t really the alcohol talking. It was him.
“You ain’t over me, Y/N, and I ain’t over you.”
“We can’t afford to think like that, Sodapop,” you told him gently.
“I can’t stop thinkin’ like that. You’re all that’s on my mind, Y/N. No matter what time of day, no matter where I am, you’re the only thing I can focus on.”
“I understand that, I do. I’m sorry, Soda-”
“You feel the same way, Y/N, I know you do.” Sodapop edged closer to you, his voice nearly a plead.
“So what if I do?” you countered. “There’s a reason we broke up, Soda. This is not a love story. Just because we get back together doesn’t mean it’ll change anything. We still might not work out.”
“You’re scared of trying and failing?”
You looked down at your hands in your lap, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. When he put it like that, it sounded silly. “I guess.”
“You really think you’re better off alone?”
That brought your gaze back to Sodapop’s. You parted your lips, ready to deflect his words, but failed.
“I can’t stand to go through the pain of losing you again,” you admitted quietly.
Sodapop shifted so that he was sitting right next to you. Wordlessly, purposefully this time, he reached for your hand and intertwined your fingers together. He smiled at you softly.
“Whether we work out or not, you’re not losin’ me, Y/N. I can promise you that,” he chuckled sincerely.
“And you won’t lose me,” you told him.
Sodapop looked at you with his smile beginning to fade. There was a split second where his gaze fell to your lips. He found your eyes quickly, though, and he unconsciously squeezed your hand.
His voice was barely a whisper. You tightened your grip on his hand.
“You do?” You couldn’t stand to get hurt again. Maybe he was confused. Maybe he was lying.
But Sodapop backed away and looked you over, visibly confounded. “Do I-? Of course I do, Y/N. I never stopped, you know that. Don’t you?”
“Well I-I wasn’t sure if I could believe it.”
“Listen, Y/N, I don’t know if you want to give us another chance, but I do. Can’t we just try again?”
You broke away from him, shaking your head and closing your eyes. “No. No. We can’t be one of those couples that are always breaking up and getting back together.”
When your eyelids lifted, you were startled to see Soda smirking gently at you.
“But we can be a couple,” he pointed out.
That roused a chuckle from you, though you continued to shake your head. “Soda, please. You know what I’m trying to say.”
Once he saw that you had grown serious, Sodapop nodded solemnly. He clenched his jaw, cracking his knuckles. “Well I still have feelings for you. If you wanted to give us another shot, I’d agree on the dime.”
He tilted his head, inching just a bit closer to you. It was hard for you not to do the same. “You know I still love you, Y/N," he mumbled.
Downstairs, the music blared and shook the foundation of the house. People were shouting. Your friends were making memories that they wouldn’t be able to recall in the morning. Lights flashed on and off at dangerous rates. But all you could think about was Sodapop.
“Can I come over?” you asked him. “Can we talk about this back at your place?”
Sodapop tried to cover the dazed elation that altered his expression. “Of course, Y/N.” He made a move to get up, but you remained on the couch, staring towards basement steps.
“I still love you too, Soda.”
You looked up at him helplessly.
Sodapop extended a hand and you took it gratefully, frowning as he pulled you to your feet. Both of you were close enough to feel each other’s breaths against your skin. His smile was sincere and his motions were familiar.
“Come home, Y/N. I’ve missed you.”
