this is set two years post canon, with canon divergence from original events.
i.
the way he looks as the sunlight pours into the car, making his hair turn from brown to red is something that you will keep to yourself. it suits him, the way the light bears down on him, the way the flannel turns from yellow to a more burnished gold. the way the glasses sit on his face, they fit him as you and him talk about the songs on the radio.
it's just a day trip to oklahoma city, taken because there's no one else to take him and out of all people, ponyboy curtis will get out of tulsa. he'll go to college, he'll make something a little more of himself and you're not one to get in the way of that. too, you admit, that you like the company. as the years have gone by, he's less afraid to say what he wants to, comes out of his head more often than not now around you.
you like it. he's the only person besides johnny cade that you'll take it from, and he's learning to give it back to you in fits and starts. you don't understand him at times, and you still don't entirely know if you ever will or if he ever will.
it's a sunday afternoon, spent on the road and in sunlight.
ii.
sylvia and you used to dance around each other. it felt like both of you were holding a knife, aimed at each other. you took turns, you hurting her, she hurting you. you liked the hurt, the dance of it all. it's supposed to hurt, you both thought as much.
iii.
he forgets things often. forgets his library card, forgets his jacket, forgets where he's supposed to be and who. over time you remember for him: you remember to give him your jacket, you swipe soda's library card to give to him, you show up at the right time to walk him to where he wants to go. sometimes you say: i'm doing this to help them all out, keep them all together. sometimes you say: i'm doing this because it amuses me, because i want to.
you can lie to other people. you can't lie to yourself very long.
iv.
he has long fingers, flicking the catalog cards in the library. he should've asked for help from a librarian, but he's a greaser like anyone else. asking for help just isn't the first thing he'll do, and you understand it. the frustration on his face as he flicks through them is funny, and when he looks like he might buckle, you shove him over.
you can tell that he's shocked when you find the card before he does, and while you might let the other guys wonder about it, it doesn't feel like you're giving over a part of yourself unwillingly when you tell him that in the cooler, when there isn't anything to do, reading is there. it's not something done out of fun, and you tell him that in so many words.
he still looks pleased to know, and you know that this is opening a door that you probably shouldn't.
you also feel as if this is a natural thing, that you're willing to open the door to him in this instance.
so you spend a longer time in the library with him. you let the day wind out, picking up more than he asked for, humoring him as you do it.
v.
she never said i love you. neither did you. it was immaterial, not the focus. even when you handed over your ring to her, you knew that if time ran down, she'd go find another guy to fuck. she knew that if it took too long, you'd leave her too, cold.
it was just like that between you both. you don't know how to be anyone or anything else.
being vulnerable with her wasn't an option. it was a weapon to be used in the future, and so were those three words. there wasn't a real tenderness between you, only imitations of intimacy with few real moments of it exchanged.
vi.
learning to be a part of them, it wasn't exactly tenderness to be part of a gang. you would never use that word. it still took time, caring between them all. at one point or another, you've lashed out at them, gotten angry. shoved, yelled, hit. it's an understanding that you have always had with other people: you will care about them, but eventually, you'll sink your teeth into them, you'll make them pay for knowing you. they'll hurt for every moment of kindness they've shown you, at some point because that's how it was. always would be. tenderness, kindness, love was never, ever free.
there have only ever been two exceptions to that. one came more naturally than the other, yet they are there.
vii.
you spend so long at the library that by the time you pull on the main road to go back to tulsa, it's not possible to get back before sun down - and the accident ahead makes it worse. you juggle the idea and decide that it's better to stay in town, have a stay at a motel than to try to head back in the dead of night. it takes one phone call to relate it to darry, and ponyboy seems interested in spending a little more time in oklahoma city.
it's not like tulsa of course. you have to find a new way to sneak into the theaters here, which makes it all the more fun to hop the fence. you and he joke about it, sneaking into the back to watch the movie together.
there's not much watching; the movie's almost too dull to watch so you both spend time being nuisances instead, making fun of the movie, exchanging words with the other greasers you find. some of them recognize you, most of them don't.
it's more you needling up the others, really. it's what you do, needle and prod, and provoke. you think you might even be up for a fight until the staff enter the theater.
then his hand is in your jacket, and then you're both running out, laughing in the night air. for a shy kid, the moments where he loosens up, laughs with you are always something to remember, to keep.
viii.
booking a motel is easy, with beers and burgers, and books. you still aren't all that interested in reading what he has, but all it takes is one ask for him and you roll your eyes. you lean back, drink, and he begins to read in the motel room.
his voice is steady, nice. his thumb comes up occasionally to push up his glasses up his nose, the flannel now gone, now just in the black shirt he'd worn and jeans. he'd forgotten socks that morning, feet curled up almost at his knees as he reads. the way his mouth move, the way his fingers turn the pages is mesmerizing.
this moment is for the both of you only. it's a moment you'd never have with anyone else, and you can't think of anyone else you'd want to have this moment with.
for a moment you think if you ever wanted something like this with sylvia. the answer is an immediate: no. no you hadn't.
the honesty sears you. it makes your fingers jump, makes you want to reach out, throw the book away from him and-
and you're not sure. you don't want to get arrested here, you don't want to fight him but you don't know what to do when the realization makes itself so clear to you.
ix.
years ago, they'd come to you in buck's. johnny had been stabbed, and ponyboy had barely been hanging on when you'd taken them to the hospital. you remembered ponyboy telling you that they'd both tried to save another greaser from the soc's, that it had been johnny who had tried to save them first. that they'd both gone all in, trying to help and now one of them was dying and the other couldn't do anything except beg to help.
of course, you did everything you could.
you'd told ponyboy, white knuckling the wheel, that it was going to kill him if he did something like this, you'd told them both that they had to toughen up, be more like you. that doing this sort of thing would get them killed if they didn't look out for themselves and no one else.
you'd said it at a moment you thought johnny was on the verge of dying. you only said it for ponyboy to hear, cradling johnny's form in the backseat. he had seemed shocked, out of it then. the bruises on his face were worse than you'd ever seen, face cut up in places, trembling as he tried to stifle the blood.
that drive, that wait for johnny had been grueling. ponyboy had never looked so pale, you never felt so angry. angry at johnny for having the guts at the wrong time. angry at ponyboy for following him without question. angry at the possibility they'd die that night, leaving…
leaving what?
in the hospital, you finally noticed he was shivering. remembered that he'd been dunked into water at some point during the fight. the jacket came off of you, and you'd put it on him with enough force that the zipper almost broke. he looked at you dazed, surprised that you would do this, and for a moment, your hands brushed his as you got him settled back.
you both stayed there all night. at some point, he'd fallen asleep on your shoulder, and you had let him stay there until the morning, until johnny was alright.
x.
you think about that night often. about what you said, that you'd never say it to anyone else, you wouldn't have begged anyone else to listen to you. you circle back to it often, wondering why you'd done that, why you had chosen him.
xi.
you're both in the bed now. the books are on the side and you don't know what to do with the revelation you've had, still. it sits in you, malignant, heavy. you don't want to admit what you feel, you don't know how to cut it out of you, either. you don't know if you want to.
you're dallas winston. if you want something you take it. and you don't know if you want to take him for yourself, or if you want to simply hold onto what you have.
or you tell yourself this, between sleep and wakefulness. truthfully?
you know that you will be awake when the sun rises. you're going to look at him, at the way the sunlight hits his hair, the way it will shine on his skin. you know that you don't want what you had with sylvia, knives at the ready all the time but neither do you want something soft, kind, easy. you want him as he is, here and now and it's too much to hold.
xii.
the sunlight hits his hair. you look at him, at the grey-green eyes he has, at the calm look on his face, at his comfort. your hand reaches up, and when he doesn't push you away, you move closer. he does too, without words.
who kisses who isn't important. only that you two do kiss, in this motel bed, as the light seeps into the room.
it's not gentle, but it's not rough either. it simply fits you both here and now, and that's what matters.
title from "prom night" by the midnight. mostly a winding road of a thing where i wanted a little moment get together vs something with big fireworks. a second part from ponyboy's pov will be up soon. as with all my fics, this is a mirror of what i have hosted on ao3 under the same penname. thanks so much for reading.