Come on, skinny love,
Just last the year.
Pour a little salt
We were never here.
Prologue
Randy
You knew that it was unnatural, and from the time you were eleven onward, you told yourself that you weren't really feeling anything. Bob was your best friend. You were confusing feelings of love and physical attraction with feelings of close friendship. That was all. You could love a girl in the way you were supposed to. And you could love a guy, like Bob, as a best friend. It was no different than the way you loved family. Both feelings were normal, and you just had to carve the distinction between the two into your mind. For a while, you thought that everybody did.
You told yourself that you'd start feeling something when you looked at skin mags. You took out girls, and you engaged in the talk about what you'd done and with which chick. When you and your buddies went to see Goldfinger, you pretended that Honor Blackman got you hard, when really it was Sean Connery who turned you on.
And then everything shattered. Bob was murdered. His girl was basically widowed, and so were you. When you called him into your car at the Tastee Freez, he made you realize something, even though he didn't mean to. Then, when it was all over, you went to see him while he was still hurt bad. It hit you like a ton of bricks. When his brothers left the two of you alone and he was fast asleep, you gently kissed his forehead. Your lips felt warm and tingly for the next week.
You pretended that you were enjoying being single, and during the remainder of your junior year and the whole of your senior year, you slowly pulled away from your parents. By the time you started college, you were living in the hippie house full-time, and you hardly ever saw your family. Your old friends were long gone and forgotten.
You picked up one guy. Or rather, he picked you up. He was from Muskogee and a business major at Tulsa. He looked like Michael Nesmith, and you think he was looking for something serious. It would've been a good arrangement, but you weren't ready to come to terms with your feelings yet. You ran, and he let you go.
XXX
But now, a familiar face stares at you from the auditorium entrance. If you're being honest with yourself, you've thought of him a lot since Bob died. But you tried your best to push those feelings away. You tried your best to ignore him and not think about him. But you realize he's smiling and nodding at you, and you know it's a lost cause. Ponyboy Curtis sits down in the seat next to you, and your past hits you full force.
A/N: this is going to be pretty experimental, and in second POV. It's an extension on my oneshot "Diplomat's Son". I love reviews of all kinds :)
SE Hinton owns The Outsiders. Bon Iver (and NOT Birdy) owns Skinny Love.