It was the kind of evening where the air felt heavy with the smell of sun-warmed pavement and the hush of something waiting to happen. The sun had just begun to slide beneath the edge of the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of orange and pink, soft and fading, like something too beautiful to last.

Ponyboy was supposed to be home by now.

Darry noticed first—how the living room stayed too quiet, how the door never creaked open with that familiar shuffle of sneakers. He didn’t say anything right away, just set his jaw and checked the clock like it had wronged him. Sodapop noticed too, but he stayed easy, calm, like always. He didn’t push. Darry did.

“He said he’d be home,” Darry muttered, grabbing his jacket off the hook like it owed him an answer. “Let’s go.”

They found him on the edge of the lot, sitting on the remains of a shattered bottle like he didn’t even feel it. His arms were looped around his knees, and his eyes weren’t on them. They were fixed on the sky.

Ponyboy didn’t even flinch when Darry called his name. Just stayed there, still as a shadow, watching the sunset like it was telling him something no one else could hear.

Darry stood there, confused and getting impatient, not understanding why his kid brother would sit in broken glass just to stare at the sky. “What’re you doing out here, Pony? You were supposed to be home.”

But Ponyboy couldn’t explain. Not to him.

Sodapop, though—he got it. He didn’t say anything, just walked over, dropped down next to him, and tilted his head back to catch the last bit of light.

Some things didn’t need words. Especially when it came to sunsets.