Work Text:
I ain’t exactly one to get attached, much less obsess. Sure, I liked stuff. In fact, I liked plenty more than most people think I do. I like blondes (though I found I like a redhead too), I like drag races, I like tuff-looking scars like my brother Tim has, and I like messing stuff up. Not important stuff, obviously. I’d never mess up a person if they didn’t deserve it, or mess up a public park for the fun of it. I would mess up some Soc kids' car if they jumped my buddy, though, or mess up some kids' faces if they needed it.
That was just stuff I liked, though. I could go a while without reopening the scars on my knuckles, flirting with a blonde, or visiting the drag races. I definitely ain’t attached. I think the only people I'm attached to — and only people, ‘cause things ain’t worth anything in the long run — are my brother, Tim, and my twin sister, Angela.
It’d take a lot to get me obsessed. Specifically it’d take a seemingly stuck-up redhead, who really just has his head in the clouds and looks for the good in everything. Ponyboy isn’t like any of the girls I’ve dated, and yeah, maybe it’s ’cause he’s a boy, but I think it’s because he’s shy and sensitive and better than anyone else in Tulsa.
He’s the only person, ‘sides my Mama ‘fore she got hooked on coke, I’ve ever said “I love you” to. I love Tim and Angel too, of course, but it just ain’t the same. I show my siblings I love them through helping them out and fighting with ‘em. I couldn’t do that with Ponyboy. I mean, sure I could help him do some chores or tease him about his freckles, but I’d rather hold him close to me in bed and whisper “I love you” in his ear until we fell asleep, ‘cause I’m obsessed.
I feel bad sometimes, because I always push Ponyboy to talk to me about everything. He always does, too. He told me about how he thinks it’s his fault Darry’s miserable, and how it’s his fault Sodapop is too exhausted to even grin anymore. He told me about how he thinks it’s his fault his folks, Dally, and Cade died. When he says that sort of stuff I don’t know what to do besides hold him and say it ain’t his fault. That isn’t what I feel bad about, though. I feel bad ‘cause I don’t tell him nearly as much.
He asks about how I’m doing, but I don’t tell him anything. I don’t tell him about how when Tim left for a day, my mama beat me over the head with a pan until I passed out and Angela had to drag me to our bedroom. I don’t tell him about how one of Mama’s hook-ups tried to stick his hand down my boxers, or how when I fought back he threw me on the floor and stomped on my left wrist until it broke. He doesn’t know that we couldn’t afford any actual doctors, so it healed all shitty and now I’m right handed. He doesn’t need to know, ‘cause he’s got enough going on already. I’m obsessed with him, and I want him to stay, so I don’t push him away by showing him some scar tissue. None of it really bothered me much anymore, anyways; he was clearly still in the midst of his pain.
It don’t matter much tonight, anyhow. Tonight we’re walking out to the tracks, and we’re sitting up on the top of the wall. Ponyboy wanted to watch the sunset, and I have to admit it’s real nice. He has this glazed look in his eyes, like he’s not really looking where he’s looking. I grab his hand, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“I love you, Ponyboy,” I say suddenly. I don’t know why I did it, he just needed to know, I think.
He looks at me and blinks, before clutching his stomach in laughter.
I furrow my brows. “What’s so funny? I didn’t say anything weird.”
He stopped laughing suddenly, but the smile on his face remained. I couldn’t help but smile too.
“God Curly, you’re such a romantic. I never thought you’d drop the tough act for a teenage boyfriend.” Every word he spoke made my stomach itch to wrap around his and hold us together until we die. That’s weird, though, especially to say out loud. It would be something good to laugh about.
“Shit, maybe Bryon was right. You really are a stuck-up poet of a greaser. You won’t even admit you love me too!”
Ponyboy groaned, dragging his hands down his face before flopping his head down onto my shoulder. “I love you, but don’t even bring up Bryon when I’m busy sweet-talking you again.”
“You weren’t very sweet,” I pointed out. He picked his head back up from my shoulder and frowned.
“You know what I meant, Shepard.”
I placed my hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in for a short kiss. I could feel him smile against my lips, and it made me giddy, almost. I love his smile.
“Yeah, I did.”
——
So basically, we were at one of those weird greaser parties. Neither of us really cared much for it. Ponyboy hardly even moved once the music got a bit louder than before as more people entered.
I was the one who grabbed his arm, pulled him up the stairs, and into the bathroom. It was the first time I had gotten a better look at him for the day. He had his usual purple jacket on, but his jeans had to have been bought for a 12-year old Darry and passed down a little too late. I didn’t mind much, because he looked pretty, and handsome, and about every other word that means the same thing as those two. Ponyboy called it cinnamons or something. I don’t know, it’s sort of irrelevant.
“Are you alright, Curly?” He asked, and he looked so concerned. It was almost sweet, but his eye bags were so deep I was about to ask him the same thing. I put my hands on his hips and buried my head in his neck.
“I’m just fine, are you? You don’t look very happy to be here.” I bit softly at his neck, not strong enough to leave a mark but enough for him to feel.
“I thought I looked great,” he taunted, and I detached myself from him just to look him in the eyes.
“You look like one of those gods from history class right now, but you also look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” He gave me that cheeky sort of smile that I can tell only comes up when he thinks I’m acting like a lost puppy. “You’re like- Zeus, or whatever his name was.”
He perked up a bit at that. “If I’m Zeus, will you worship me like him?” He had this cocky look on his face when he said it, but his eyes widened afterward and his ears turned bright red. I decided to take some pity on him after all. Only some, though.
“Of course, Almighty Zeus,” I teased, pushing his back against the wall and moving my hands to the bare skin under his shirt. He buried his face deep into his hands. Red creeped from his ears down his neck bleeding onto his shoulders. I gave him a moment to collect himself, rubbing small circles on his sides with my thumbs. He felt thinner than before, like I could wrap around his entire waist with just my two hands. His ribs were protruding more than usual, as well.
He moved suddenly, hands leaving his face and wrapping around my shoulders. He yanked me in closer, pulling me into a deep kiss. I was surprised, to say the least. I almost fell to the floor in both ecstasy and shock. I steadied myself when he moved his hands from my shoulders to my chest, pulling away from the kiss to dive back into his neck. I loved the taste and the smell and the little gasp he gave every time I bit down somewhere new. He didn’t seem nearly as enthusiastic as I was.
“Curly!” he whined, “What is your obsession with my neck? All you’re doing is leaving more marks for Darry to yell at me over.” His mock annoyance made me falter for a moment, but only a moment.
“It ain’t an obsession with your neck,” I mumbled against where his neck met his shoulder, “It’s an obsession with you, like, in general.”
He just laughed a sad sort of laugh, and I still don’t understand why.
I let him tease me that night, instead of talking about anything real. I thought he needed a break. I wish we’d talked instead now, though. We left around eleven, and after I walked him home he gave me his jacket to wear on my wall back to my house. I had my leather one, I don’t know why he worried like that either. I was planning on giving the purple one back the next day, anyways.
——
Ponyboy bled out in the bathroom. He slit his wrists in the bathroom.
He left me a note, but I won’t read it. Sodapop and Darry read theirs, I know that for a fact, ‘cause when they dropped by to give me mine and tell me the news Sodapop was the one talking while Darry mumbled something about being called “dad.” I know Darry called Ponyboy and Sodapop “baby”. I think they were practically his kids. I don’t know, I ain’t some shrink, but I do know Darry hasn’t talked to Tim since it all happened. Usually they were close, not now though, not any time soon, either.
Sodapop was still bawling while he talked to me. Darry was, too, but he wouldn’t look at me. I think he was hurt, ‘cause Ponyboy killed himself before telling his brothers we were dating. I think the Curtis brothers hate me a bit now, but I’m not sure what I could’ve changed. I wish I could’ve changed everything, but I ain’t no god, that was supposed to be Ponyboy.
I don’t like much of anything anymore. I especially don’t like messing things up or giving people what they deserve. I ain’t some guru, how am I supposed to decide who’s right and who’s wrong? I don’t really talk much, either. I can’t find the words to speak.
His letter’s still in my purple jacket’s pocket. It’s sealed. I don’t want to know what he wrote. He probably hates me just like his brothers.
I’m walking down to the tracks to watch the sunset. On the way Steve Randle saw me. I think he broke my jaw. I don’t know what I did to him, but he probably hates me ‘cause Sodapop does. Or because I’m heading down to the tracks instead of down to his funeral.
The usually welcoming fall air seems to nip at my exposed skin until it burns. It’s whistling, and it sounds a lot like the drawl on his words when he would tease me. He would’ve called it the autumn breeze’s whispers, just because it sounded more poetic.
My jaws throbbing and I can’t feel my hands, but I manage to climb up onto the old wall we used to sit on. There’s a little brown bird sitting there, with the brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen. The rest of its flock flew away as soon as I approached, but he stayed.
It was too cloudy to really see the sunset. Ironically, I was happy about it. I didn’t want to see the sunset if he wasn’t there to be a know-it-all, then switch to a sensitive boy who just wanted to feel better, and then kiss me to pretend it was alright. I wish he could’ve stayed, for one last sunset.
At some point my little bird flew away.