The Curtis house is loud in that familiar way that never really settles into silence, no matter how many times the day changes.

Sodapop is at the kitchen table with Ponyboy, leaning over a math book like it’s something personal between them. Ponyboy taps his pencil against the page, clearly close to giving up, while Soda tries to keep his usual grin in place.

“Okay, look,” Soda says, pointing at the problem like it might cooperate out of kindness. “You just do that step thing. Easy.”

“That’s not how math works,” Ponyboy mutters.

“It should be,” Soda replies without missing a beat.

In the living room, Steve is stretched across the couch like it belongs to him, flipping through a magazine he isn’t really reading. Dallas sits nearby with his boots up on the table, staring into nothing like he’s already halfway into trouble somewhere else. Two-Bit is talking—of course he is—half joking, half storytelling, making Johnny laugh in those quiet, surprised bursts that don’t come easily from him.

Johnny looks calmer than usual, like the house is doing its job and keeping the outside world away for a little while.

From the kitchen, a pot bubbles softly.

You stir the soup slowly, watching the steam rise and curl toward the ceiling. It’s simple food—nothing fancy, just enough to feed whoever ends up sitting down. Something warm that doesn’t ask questions.

Then the front door opens.

The shift in the house is immediate, even before anyone speaks.

Heavy footsteps. A brief pause. The sound of keys dropped on the table.

“I’m home,” Darry says, voice low, tired in a way that feels permanent.

Ponyboy straightens right away. Soda looks up too, relief flickering across his face like it’s automatic.

Darry stands in the doorway for a moment, taking everything in at once—Steve and Dallas in the living room, Two-Bit mid-story, Johnny listening quietly, Ponyboy stuck between frustration and relief, Soda still trying to fix everything at once.

His eyes land on you at the stove.

For a second, his expression softens—just slightly, like it slips through before he can stop it.

You keep stirring the soup. “Almost ready,” you say.

Darry nods once. Simple. Quiet. “Good.”

Soda shuts Ponyboy’s book with a firm clap. “See? Dinner’s on. Math’s done. Everybody survives.”

Ponyboy groans, but there’s relief in it.

From the living room, Two-Bit cheers like that means something important. Dallas barely moves, but he’s paying attention now. Steve glances over, finally interested.