sore ribs || the outsiders imagines

sore ribs // s.c.

something about the 11pm atmosphere soothed you. not in a sense that you were totally zen, but more so that you felt safe to be yourself.

then again, you'd always felt that way around him.

it was a late night blur, tired eyes that spoke for the loopiness that had settled inside, probably due to exhaustion. but it suited the both of you nicely.

darry'd asked the both of you to get groceries in the morning, but when one of you can't sleep, you always end up somewhere else doing something other than sleeping.

so there the both of you stood, roaming around the nearly empty grocery store at nearly midnight on a friday.

you think, standing next to him as he looks through the eggs, that if you'd gone out in daylight like this, you'd certainly receive looks and scowls from older people who'd tell you to cover up more.

it was pajama shorts, a t shirt and one of soda's flannels that clothed you. not enough for some people, but you were always enough for him.

he turns to you,

"ya see, i ain't never eaten a brown egg in my life. darry always gets the white ones, if it hadn't been for him havin' us do the shopping, i might've never even known they existed."

you shook your head with a hearty laugh, and he let out a somehow softer one in response, placing the cartoon in the cart and pushing it down the next aisle.

"i mean, think about it, who's to say it's not just painted that way? maybe gives 'em some class or somethin'."

his smile was irresistible, and every part of you wanted to be smothered in him, wanted to have that grin of his ingrained in your memory. it would haunt you, but in the best way possible.

"why do you say that?" an airy laugh climbs its way through your teeth this time, and the feeling it gives you reassures you that he is the best things that's happened to you.

"well golly, look me in the eye and tell me you've seen a greaser with brown eggs in his carton instead of white! that'd be laugh, but i bet the socs have 'em. some sort of elegance or somethin'!"

your eyes made your way to the back of your skull in utter loss at his sarcastic attempts. before soda could continue his rant, you'd come up with a rather uneventful pun;

"don't you mean,,, eleggance.."

he stopped the cart and turned to face you, his face turning bright red as he suppressed a range of laughter, that eventually found its way through anyways.

it was extremely stupid, but then again, those are the sorts of things the two of you find funny when you're sleepy.

you continued roaming around the store, making stupid puns and at one point, soda'd managed to accidentally knock over a cart of canned spaghetti, resulting in a very messy aisle 4.

he ended up having to buy about seven of the cans, which would be fun to explain to darry later on.

now you sat across next to him on the couch, passing a can of spaghetti back and forth. he suggest that maybe if you both ate at least two cans, darry'd be less upset, or wouldn't even have to know.

personally you thought he'd find it funny.

a heavy exhale escaped your lips as you pressed your face into soda's neck, one hand draped over his chest and the other playing with the hair at the back of his neck.

you felt the similar soft laughter travel beneath his chest, and you knew his ribs were just as sore as yours were.

but in every way, you think as he leans to press an admiration filled kiss to your lips;

sore ribs were a good thing.