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"WHATARE YOUDOIN' OUT OF THE COOLER, DAL?"
Ponyboy asks the New Yorker, surprised to see him out and about. His emerald eyes frosting over in the cold Oklahoma wind; the tips of his ears matching the red on his cheek from the nippy air; his dark hair contaminated with street soot, the debris sticking to his anxiety-riddled skin.
The youngest Curtis tries to itch his neck— the dry blood dripping down his skin is starting to become an irritating reminder that he should've been more careful— but his older brother pulls his hand away, worried that he'll accidentally pick open the cut.
"Leave it alone, Pony," Sodapop scorns softly, before turning around and eyeing up the greaser that is so opposite of him, he still cannot believe they're friends.
Sodapop is the fun-loving sweetheart, someone who gets drunk off of smiles, almost as sweet as lemonade during a hot summer day. When people hear that Sodapop Curtis is coming, they gleam. Dallas is the brooding cold-heart, someone who gets a high off of violence, his frigid gaze leaving a shiver wherever he treads. When people hear that Dallas Winston is coming, they grieve.
And then the middle-Curtis child remembers all the things that made them the same. They are the close in age. . . Dallas a little older by thirteen months. They went through family trauma and are still struggling with it. Both are good-looking (attracting girls and guys to their unique charm). Both are caring in their certain ways; how Soda cares for Ponyboy the same way Dally cares for Johnny.
Both are beautiful boys who deserves to be loved.
"Yeah, what are you doin' out, Dally?" The greaser with pecan-colored hair questions, his eyes automatically flickering down to the dried blood on the fair-skin knuckles. He's seen them torn and bruised but never bloody. "I thought you were in there for anotha' week?"
"If I wanted to be interrogated, Curtis," the brunet teases, feeling a bit relaxed after punching that guy relentlessly a few hours ago. "I would've stayed in there."
"I'm just stating the obvious, Dal," Sodapop back treads, worried that he'll come under fire from the renown hotheaded brute force of the borderline hoodlum.
Steve Randle walks by, rubbing some dirt off his face before pushing his best friend back towards the house— Soda allows him to, seeing it as an easy escape.
"Well, Imma be honest with you, Pony," Dallas says, putting his arm around the youngest.
His voice dropping to a soft but stern tone, subtly hinting that whatever he's about to say is strictly confidential between him, Dally and Johnny— cause it's always been them.
