made-up fic titles: two sleepy people and blame it on midnight
You could hear a pin drop about now, Ponyboy thinks. He doesn't want to acknowledge what he's just implied, doesn't want to turn and look at Johnny's face now.
The party is going on in the other room. He can feel the smoke burn in his throat before he lets it out, sleep starting to tug at his eyelids. If he talks now, if this goes further, things will get worse, heavier. He will have to say more about the hollowness in his chest that Dallas left when he crossed the hospital room, gripped Johnny’s hand and left Ponyboy there, watching them shut him out for good.
Nor does he want Johnny to roll over and actually address the gut of what he just admitted to, of what he shouldn't have ever implied: that the man Johnny had married at sixteen, the man in the other room joking around with Two-Bit was the entire reason Ponyboy was getting out of here as soon as he graduated. That it made him feel bitter and angry and sad.
They're both tired, they're both spent from a day outside, from the weed, from this last halcyon summer and if Ponyboy says more, if Johnny breaks the silence, he'll have to acknowledge it all.
So instead, he lets the smoke out of his nose and throat and says, "'m feeling real tired. Should get up, turn in for the night."
A peel of laughter leaves the other room. Ponyboy keeps his eyes on the shadows twisting around on the ceiling, and not Johnny's faint scent or his breathing or the way he turns over and his shadow – even his goddamn shadow – blends into Dallas' own. "I ain't so tired."
That's a lie.
"S'midnight," Ponyboy thinks of the church, how good it was to sleep beside Johnny, how safe it felt, and how he doesn't want to be touched by him anymore, doesn't want the reminder. "Should get to bed, Johnnycake. Y'gotta work and I gotta pack."
He knows Johnny isn't one to argue, isn't one to push. Johnny and Dallas' shadows bend towards each other and Ponyboy rolls over on his side, away from the sight, and focuses his eyes on the wall. "S'gonna be a long day tomorrow."
He bets on Johnny's silence, on his little frightened rabbit heart that hated arguments, that loved Ponyboy, that wanted to keep the peace, that wanted to keep Dallas. It wins, because Johnny wordlessly turns over to the opposite side, and Dallas' laughter rings in Ponyboy's ears again.
He wishes not for the first or last time, that he could want someone else. That he didn't have this bitter root in his chest over two people he cared about the most, that were his best friend both in some ways.
It would be world's easier. It would feel less selfish and shitty to feel that when he knows that they're happy and he wouldn't feel like a horrible person whenever he wishes he were the one kissing Dallas or nuzzling against his neck or in the car with him at the movies.
Ponyboy isn't though. He never could be.