𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑺 ✷ johnnyboy

CHAPTER TWO

"ME AND DALLY HAVE BEEN OUT ALL NIGHT. YET THE ONLY THING I CAN THINK OF IS PONYBOY."

Johnny Cade

There was something definitely off with him when me and Dally left for the streets. He was fidgety, at the least. I don't think anyone can read him better than me, maybe Sodapop, but I could tell he was anxious. But about what?

Both me and him had been through a whole lot. I don't know who it's affecting more, if i'm being honest. I think about what happened at the church every living hour of my life. When I hear the word "fountain," a shiver is sent down my spine. There's always the same lump in my throat every time I go to talk, telling me I should be dead. But i'm good at ignoring it.

I don't know if Pony is, though.

He hasn't talked to me about sunsets lately. Or books. He isn't like his old self, he even told me he finds movies boring. Boring?! It's just like Dally said, in the car. Being in jail can change you. But we weren't in jail, we were in a burning church. And I killed a kid for him.

Dally is walking me back to the lot, an arm around my shoulder. He's going on about another life lesson; but all I can think about is this. I'm worried for him, man. Maybe a little too worried. Is that weird? No, I don't think.

Dally shoved me a bit as we reach the lot. I laugh lightly. The sky is dark, stars igniting the black pool.

See, this is why me and Pony get along more. We notice the type of things like this, the stars. Dally would simply take one glance and move on. I could sit here for hours, connecting the small dots with thin lines of imaginary string.

"Alright, kiddo." Dally sighs. "I'm letting you sleep alone, but DON'T tell Darry, OK? I live right over there if ya need me." Dally isn't as strict with me as Darry is. Darry won't let me do anything without someone by my side. I want to tell him that i'm okay by myself, i'm old enough to fend someone off. It's sort of annoying.

"Okay, Dal, thanks." I say as he throws me a makeshift blanket of newspaper. I sit against the rusted over car and pull the pieces of the crinkly paper over my shoulders.

It's a cold night, the half moon sitting feverishly against the black backdrop. Wind rustles through my hair and wafts somehow make it in between the cracks of the blanket. It's either this or home, I say to myself.

Dally waves a goodbye and trots off. I readjust myself, my arms wrapped around my chest for warmth. I close my eyes softly, and I feel my limbs soften as I drift into sleep.

***

It's raining.

Fat droplets of water roll down my face and have soaked through the blanket. My whole body is sodden and wet. I'm shivering so hard, my teeth chattering.

I'll get hypothermia, and then i'll die. The rain hurts. Like bullets just coming down from the sky and pelting my coat.

I stand up and peel the sticky paper off of my body. In an instant, I'm running hard, to the one place I know.

The Curtis's.

There's no cars on the road, so I run straight in the middle, my feet hitting hard against the blacktop.

I reach the recognizable curb and turn into their home. All of the lights are off, and I don't know who's home. I stumble through the front door and shut it hard behind me, secretly wishing it'll wake someone up so they could help me.

I'm dripping water onto the wooden floors, my head spinning in circles. I can't feel my arms anymore, they stay stricken at my side, unable to move.

I then see Ponyboy. He's wearing nothing but a pair of snug olive jeans, and he's yawning hard. I probably woke him up. His normally greased bleach blonde hair is a messy nest resting on his head, small strands hang by his ears. He rubs the sleep out of his tired eyes and blinks, revealing his delicate, sterling grey pupils swirled with a jade green. His hands curve around his waistline, hugging his hips.

"Oh, golly, Johnny!" He says as soon as he sees me. "Are you OK?"

"Man i-it sure is p-pourin out there," I say through the skin of my teeth. Pony places his warm hands on my shoulders, sending a sharp pulse down my spine.

"Yea, your sopping. I'll get some clothes for you," Pony says as he turns and leaves to get me a fresh change. I stand there unmoving, not sure what to do.

Pony jogs back in the room with clothes under his arm. He points me to the bathroom and tells me that there's towels in the closet. He shuts the door behind me. As soon as he does, I melt.

My back slides against the door and I cradle my head in my shaking arms. Oh man, what am I doing?

Being a faggot in this time will get me killed. I'll be dead before I know it.

And that's not even my biggest concern. The whole gang will practically disown me. I know the repercussions this'll have on me. So why am I letting it take me over?

I stifle back tears, trying to steady my hands. I'm probably soaking their floor. But I just can't fathom it, that i'm like this. What is really wrong with me?

I pick myself up slowly. I stare at my image in a mirror for a long time, studying my face and body. My clothes are cold and stuck to my small frame, hugging my contours. My jet black hair is still damp, the curls fanning out at the sides. Without the grease, it's long and soft. My light, beady eyes—I hate how their not tuff like Dallys—are round and pleading, no matter how I try to imitate them.

I walk over to the small closet in the bathroom and pick a soft, blanket like towel. I drop my trowel of clothes to the floor and spend time running the towel up and down my body, leaving no trace of any water. I dry my hair in circular motions, puffing it out with my hands.

I stare intimately at the clothes Pony's given me. There's a silky, copper top and a grey pair of sweat-shorts. Their warm to the touch. I pull the shirt over my head and slide the shorts on carefully. Their a bit big, but they fit.

I crack open the bathroom door and peer into the living room. Pony's face is in his palms, his elbows resting on his knees. He's looking at the floor, tapping his foot nervously.

"Pony?" I whisper, stepping through the threshold. He immediately sits up. "Good, you dry?" He walks over to me. I nod, and he pats me on the back slightly.

Pony leads me to his bedroom. "Sodas not home, so you can share the bed with me." I can feel my ears flush pink as I sit on the edge.

He flicks off the lamp and climbs under the covers, tucking his knees to his chest. I hesitantly do the same, our backs touching ever so slightly.

"Goodnight, Johnnycakes," Ponyboy mutters sleepily.

"Goodnight, Pony." I say, shutting my eyes.

TOTAL WORD COUNT: 1,255

i'm planning to do a "he fell first, he fell harder" trope, just to let y'all know!!