A/N: i wanted to make yall cry so
The house felt like a thundercloud with walls.
Not loud anymore. That was the worst part.
The kind of quiet where the clock ticks too hard and every cabinet door sounds angry.
Ponyboy sat on the edge of his bed, arms folded tight, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. The argument with Darry still rang around his skull like a church bell somebody wouldn’t stop hitting.
You never think.
You never listen.
You act like a little kid.
And then Pony had snapped back. Hard.
Now the whole house felt crooked.
The bedroom door creaked open slowly.
Sodapop stepped in, shutting it behind him with his foot. His hair was still damp from the quick shower he’d taken after work, curls messy around his forehead. Usually he was smiling.
Tonight he just looked tired.
“Can I sit?” he asked softly.
Pony shrugged without looking at him.
Soda sat beside him on the bed. The mattress dipped warm against Pony’s side.
For a minute neither of them talked.
Then Soda rubbed both hands over his face and sighed shaky through his nose.
“You know he didn’t mean half that stuff.”
Pony laughed once. Bitter. “Sure sounded like he did.”
“No,” Soda said quietly. “He’s always trying.”
That made Pony finally look at him.
Soda’s eyes were already glossy.
Pony’s anger stumbled a little at the sight.
“He don’t know how to say things right,” Soda continued, voice wobbling. “Darry ain’t good at… soft stuff. Never has been.”
“He sure is good at yelling.”
From downstairs came the faint clink of dishes. Darry cleaning the kitchen because he cleaned things when he was upset. Like if he scrubbed hard enough he could polish problems away.
Soda stared at the floor.
“When Mom and Dad died…” he started slowly, “Darry was twenty years old, Pony.”
That hit different when Soda said it.
Not old enough to know how to raise two brothers. Barely old enough to breathe.
“He gave up everything.” Soda’s voice cracked now. “Football, college, sleep, money, friends… all of it. For us.”
“He coulda left,” Soda whispered. “People forget that part. He coulda let the state split us up and gone off and had his own life.” His eyes filled completely then. “But he stayed.”
A tear slipped down Soda’s cheek before he could stop it. He wiped at it fast, embarrassed.
“He stays every single day.”
Pony’s chest tightened painfully.
“But he acts like he hates me sometimes,” he muttered.
Soda shook his head immediately.
“No. No, baby, no.” His voice broke on the words. “Darry loves you so much it scares him.”
Soda laughed weakly through tears. “You know what he does when you ain’t home on time? He walks past the window every five seconds like some worried old housewife in a movie.” Another shaky laugh. “He pretends he’s not watching for you, but he is.”
Pony felt something awful and heavy twist inside him.
“He keeps your report cards folded in his dresser drawer,” Soda said. “He brags about you at work. Did you know that? Steve says half the garage already knows you’re smart as hell.”
“And every time you get hurt,” Soda whispered, tears falling freely now, “Darry looks like somebody reached into his chest and squeezed.”
The room went blurry around the edges.
Soda scrubbed at his face again, frustrated at himself for crying.
“He ain’t good with words, Pony. Me neither, sometimes.” His voice turned small. “But Darry loves you. God, he loves you.”
Downstairs, a cabinet shut.
Heavy footsteps crossed the kitchen.
Soda sniffed and looked toward the door before leaning closer.
“You remember when you got pneumonia?”
“Darry didn’t sleep for almost three days.” Soda smiled faintly through wet eyes. “I woke up one night and he was just sittin’ beside your bed staring at you like if he looked away for one second, you’d disappear.”
“He already lost Mom and Dad,” Soda whispered. “He can’t lose you too.”
Pony ducked his head hard, eyes stinging.
Soda immediately wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close like instinct.
For a while they just sat there together while the house creaked around them.
“I hate fighting with him.”
Soda pulled back just enough to look him dead in the eyes, tears still clinging to his lashes.
“Ponyboy Curtis,” he said firmly, “Darry could no more hate you than the sun could quit burnin’.”
germansingergirl
blakekathryn
pixelskylines
prguitarman
titsay
