"Look I…I just wanted to see if you were okay," Dally wasn't used to this, this asking/pleading of another person. He was used to ordering, to being in control.
"Yeah. I'm fine. Why?" Johnny standing on the little rotting porch, paint chipping and flaking off the porch, off the house. Glass beer bottles strewn here and there. Johnny's right eye was nearly swollen shut, all shiny purple in a circle around it, but what he could see of the eye, the white part, was red. All red. It scared Dally to see that.
He'd been asking, casually he hoped, if anyone had seen Johnny lately because he hadn't for awhile. The others shrugged, standing around the gas pumps, Steve and Soda in their light blue overalls, DX caps. As usual Ponyboy knew.
"Johnny got in trouble a few days ago. His dad whipped him. He's probably home,"
Dally scowled. After a whipping Johnny usually took off, slept in the lot or at the Curtis house for a few days. Not like his parents gave a shit. But if it was particularly bad Johnny would stay home, too hurt to leave.
And he stood on the porch now, pulling a cigarette from his battered soft pack, looking across the street, past the lines of houses, the streets. Dally didn't like to admit the thrill he got when Johnny was around, the feeling of light headedness.
Johnny looked so nice in the sun, his black hair gleaming, loaded with grease. How he could stand that Dallas had no idea, running a hand through his clean white blond hair. But it did look good, in style and all.
And sometimes Johnny would glance at him, smile a little, and his eyes were so big and so dark…Dallas scowled, bummed a cigarette and lit a match, touched it to the tip of the cigarette. Tried to look at Johnny without him noticing.
"Hey, kid, you wanna go play some pool?"
"Yeah," Johnny's answer was quick, and he hopped off the porch, pitched his cigarette into the dirt and the weeds.
"I've been in that house way too fucking long," he said, and his look darkened, the way it usually did if he talked about his parents or his house. And Dallas realized a funny thing. Johnny never said 'home', like Ponyboy would. He'd say, 'my house'.
They ducked into the darkness of the pool hall, Dallas first and Johnny following.
It was a friendly game, Johnny wasn't too good at pool, the same as he was with most games and sports. He had no hand eye coordination. So Dallas set up a few shots for him, just for the sheer delight of seeing Johnny smile. Sometimes he'd give anything for that.
And when Johnny was lining up a shot, brow furrowed in concentration, Dallas would stare at him, drink him in. The straight black hair, smooth forehead, his skin so tan always, even in winter. His teeth, the way the front two kind of angled toward each other.
He tapped the cue ball and it hit perfect and one of his balls went flying to the pocket. Dally hadn't set that shot up for him. Johnny looked up and grinned at him, and Dallas smiled back and thought, 'what I wouldn't give to kiss that kid right now,'.