Johnny didn't believe in angels. If there were truly a god and angels up there, then why hadn't they heard his childhood prayers for the fighting of his parents to cease?

However, then he met you and his perspective of angels switched a little. The gang got to know you through Dallas, the though and reckless greaser being a friend of yours —which actually was flabbergasting. Where Dallas was rough you were soft, where you were sweet he was bitter, where he was reckless you were careful. It was a shocking contrast.

When Dallas first introduced you to Johnny, he was astonished when after the first meeting you started bringing him homemade pastries and tuperwares with food, giving him old shirts and jackets of yours, offering him your place as somewhere to crash if he needed it. Yeah, you were an angel.

Since the moment you helped him put his right arm into the sleeve of the jacket of yours you had just given him, warm and cozy ~and smelling just like you~, the whole gang knew he was totally whipped —the sudden flush on his cheeks gave him away.

"god, man, you've got puppy love, and you've got it bad" Dallas teased him more often-than-not when they were alone. Johnny he knew it was true.

It was late at night, the designated monthly sleepover of the gang taking place in the Curtis' household living room. Blankets and pillows were scattered on the floor, bodies sprawled on the couch and infront of the TV.

Dallas and Two-Bit were drunk, playing cards, while Steve and Soda ate up the leftovers of the chocolate cake you had brought them. Ponyboy was out cold on the couch and Darry was doing something in the kitchen.

Johnny came into the living room then, wearing a set of pyjamas ~that had previously been yours~ and with his black tuffts of hair all messy. He walked over to where you were sat on the couch, and took his designated place next to you —brown, doe, eyes peeking up at you. "hey" he spoke, quietly —almost shyly— to not wake the snoring Ponyboy.