Cinnamon
Warning: Slash.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders.
Pairing: Steve/Ponyboy.
Word Count: 475 (only actual Drabble)
One Drabble a Day Challenge, Date: Sunday, September 4th, 2009
Cinnamon
I glared at the bastard's smug face one last time before stomping on his foot, enjoying his surprised and mildly pained cry, before storming out of the house faster then he could catch me.
Steve Randle.
Sometimes I forgot why I even loved the smug bastard. He was always making fun of me and always smug about it. He never even apologizes when it's him who starts the argument or does something bastard-ish to me, like flirting with the Soc girls that always come down to the gas station he works at.
Never.
And now, after another pointless argument that started with his prodding and 'harmless teasing', I wondered why I even bothered with him. We didn't get along all that well, really, and we didn't even like the same things: we were just two entirely different people.
Shaking my head and sighing, I quickly check my watch (a gift from Darry for making it through high school) before wincing at the glowing red numbers that stared back at me: 11:56. Almost midnight, I'd been gone for well over an hour.
Turning around, I make my way back to my house, sneaking in quietly. Darry isn't there to scold me, so Soda must have told him Steve and I fought again. I felt a little happy at this: I was looking forward to seeing the black eye Darry would have given him (like he started to do every time Steve bugged me too much since we started dating).
I tip toe into the living room, expecting too see the lump on the couch that was Steve sleeping and not wanting to wake him up. Instead, I'm greeted with the sight of the kitchen light on and the scent of hot chocolate and the sight of Steve dozing off on the counter, half-standing and half-slouching against the refrigerator. At the sound my my light footsteps, he snaps awake with a half-annoyed, half-relieved look in my direction.
"Want some?"
He asks simply, holding out my favorite dark-green, chipped mug filed with slightly steaming hot chocolate. I take it with a half-cautious half-glare, because even though I don't remember why we were arguing, I'm still mad at him. But I'm hungry and thirsty, so I take a sip, readying myself for the taste of too-much sugar and cream (just the way Steve likes it, opposed to my favorite, which is hot chocolate with cinnamon, marshmallows and stirred with a mint-candy cane) and am surprised when the delicious semi-warm taste bursts on my tongue: it tastes of cinnamon, marshmallows and a hint of mint-candy cane.
My surprised must have showed because Steve is giving me a smug look as he watches me gulp it down, holding out a slice of chocolate cake with a half-smirk half-smile I knew meant 'I love you, I'm sorry'.
Maybe he wasn't all that bad.